Crush
Minisinoo

2. Seeking

Umbridge's first strike for her new regime came against Hufflepuff, perhaps because she perceived it to be the weakest house, or perhaps because it was Cedric's house and Umbridge still held a grudge for his role in the sacking of her old boss.  She understood the principle that it was better to attack one's peers and be certain they knew one was the cause of their suffering, than to attack one directly.  It played on both guilt and resentment.

Unfortunately, Umbridge failed to account for the way Hufflepuff House acted and reacted.

Her very first dormitory inspections came on Thursday morning before breakfast, no doubt thinking that sleepy, hungry students made easy targets.  To make her point, she began with Cedric's own room.  Yet he and all three of his roommates had been raised in magical households and didn't have much reason to be harbouring Muggle items.  Furthermore, as seventh years, they were well used to the list of forbidden items, and how to stash any in places not easily found.  Umbridge's search came up with little -- and gave the rest of Hufflepuff a forewarning while freeing the eldest and most experienced wizards in the house to disperse to other rooms to Banish anything illegal.  "Send it to my Captain's office," Cedric hissed to the other three when Umbridge, Filch and Jorkins had departed.  They simply nodded.  This was no time to maintain divisions, and the beauty of the Hufflepuff tunnels was that there were two ways in and out of virtually every room.  News spread at badger speed.

Thus, Umbridge's first dormitory check turned up one pack of Muggle-made chewing gum, a Muggle magazine, two Fanged Frisbees, and three ball-point pens.  Hufflepuff had decided she couldn't go away empty-handed or it might look too suspicious.  That she wasn't happy seemed obvious, although she put a good face on it at breakfast, announcing that she hoped the other three houses would prove to be as upright and conscientious as Hufflepuff when their turns came.  All up and down the Hufflepuff table, there were suppressed smirks.

And for the first time since he'd got back, Cedric did not sit alone.

The fact that his office down in the Hufflepuff changing rooms now held a lot of contraband might have been seen as the reason, but he didn't view it as holding anything hostage for his reintegration.  There had been no negotiation for acceptance, and no moment of hesitation.  Like a band of siblings nearly seventy strong, they might snipe amongst themselves, but when push came to shove, Hufflepuff was Hufflepuff.  They protected their own.

Thus Umbridge's first sally against Cedric resulted in the opposite of her intention.  Rather than isolating him further, it caused his house to welcome him back into the fold.  Cedric was cynically amused, even as he was equally glad to be accepted again.

That evening after dinner, Mad-Eye Moody's fifth-through-seventh-year duelling club met for the first time.  It mostly amounted to Moody taking their names and giving an impromptu test in spell casting.  As a seventh year, and after his extensive practise for the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric wasn't surprised to be amongst the best.  Other stand-outs included one of his roommates, Scott Summers (who'd attempted to put his name in the Goblet of Fire, but hadn't been old enough), Angelina Johnson, Roger Davies, and (of course) Harry Potter.  Fred and George Weasley also showed some prowess, which annoyed Cedric.  Despite the fact they ought to be allies, the twins now had three reasons to resent him:  he'd beaten Harry to the Snitch once, he'd been allowed to enter the Tournament, and he was a full member of the Order of the Phoenix.  At one point during the club trials, they ganged up, attempting to set his trousers on fire.  He blasted them both across the Great Hall floor, to mixed whistles and boos.

Harry appeared torn, neither clapping nor hissing, but he didn't look upset either.  Cedric took some confidence from that; what Harry thought mattered to him most of all.

Cedric half-expected Moody to punish the twins -- two against one was hardly fair -- but instead he said, "Duels in the real world are rarely fair.  The idea is to win, not play by the rules."  In fact, Cedric thought Moody secretly glad the twins had tried to cheat, but even gladder that Cedric had dumped them on their bottoms -- literally.  It had made a good object lesson.

"This group," Moody told them when he was done testing and they were all seated in a circle around him and Flitwick, "will be the actual duelling club.  The younger students are in prep classes.  But you -- I'll be pitting you against each other in real duels.  They won't always be 'fair' pair-ups, either.  I'm trying to teach you to protect yourselves, so you fifth years may be matched against sixth or seventh years.  And the best of the seventh years may find themselves matched against Flitwick or myself, or two other students at once.

"You can learn as much from having your arse handed to you as you can by winning.  When you lose, I'll expect an evaluation as to why you lost -- and I don't tolerate whinging.  If you're going to whinge because somebody beat you, get out of here and don't come back.  Any questions?"

There was a pause as students looked at each other.  Harry, Ron and several from Gryffindor appeared eager.  Draco Malfoy was there with his usual myrmidons, sneering in disdain -- perhaps come to see what the 'opposition' was up to, even if the battle lines weren't formally recognised.  Roger Davies appeared confident, but then, he had good reason to be, whilst a number of the Hufflepuffs looked nervous.  Cedric suspected his own expression was bland.  He didn't like to give away his state of mind.

Ernie Macmillan had tentatively raised his hand; Moody nodded to him.  "You said you'd ask us to evaluate why we lost, but, er, what if the reason is just that the other wizard is older and more experienced?"  He gestured towards Cedric.  "I mean, if I was set against Ced, I wouldn't have a prayer."

Moody eyed Ernie without replying long enough that the younger boy turned beetroot red.  "That's not a reason, Macmillan.  Diggory, get up here."  Sighing, Cedric rose and entered the circle centre where Moody stood.  Why couldn't Ernie have left him out of this?  "Macmillan, you too."  Ernie rose as well, and Cedric feared that he knew what was coming.  "Take your positions and engage."

Ernie's mouth had dropped open.  "You can't be serious!  I was just . . . just . . . giving an example!"

"Well, I am serious, and this is an example.  Gentlemen, back to back, pace five and draw wands.  Salute and engage."

Cedric sighed again but did as instructed, following up his salute with an unvoiced Disarming spell that sent Ernie's wand across the chamber before Ernie could so much as think of what to return.  Wandless, Ernie just stood and gaped at him.  Cedric lowered his own wand.  "See!" Ernie yelled even as Moody bellowed at Cedric, "Finish it, boy!"

"I did," Cedric replied.  "I disarmed him."

"That's not finishing it.  Finish it!"

"What am I supposed to do to him?" Cedric snapped back, annoyed.

"How about this?"  Moody pulled his own wand and pointed it at Ernie.  "Impedimenta!"  Ernie instantly froze for a few moments.  "Disarming isn't enough.  He can still get away, you fool."  And, wand still out, he aimed it at Cedric.  "Expelliarmus!"

Cedric wasn't certain why he'd been expecting that, but he had, and he twisted sideways more on instinct than design.  The spell flew past him.  Turning the rest of the way around, he fired off a Trip Jinx at Moody -- aloud, because being startled made him unable to do it silently.  Moody easily blocked it, returning an Impedimenta like the one he'd cast on Ernie . . . and missed again.  Cedric followed up with a Stinging Hex, silently this time but again, Moody blocked it and followed with Confundo too fast for Cedric to block.

And that was that.  Cedric woke again to sense a minute later with Hermione, of all people, leading him to a seat.  "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just . . . confounded."  He snorted.

"Good job, Diggory," Moody said, apparently breaking off what he'd been saying to offer the compliment.  Cedric wondered if it were genuine or just lip-service.  "In any case, my point is that Diggory didn't stand there, waiting for me to follow up.  He was on the move.  Even if you do lose your wand, you can still dodge.  Got that, Macmillan?"  Ernie had also been helped to a seat by Hannah; he nodded, but appeared a bit stunned still.  "Now evaluate.  Macmillan, what went wrong for you?"

"Cedric's older and more experienced."

"That's not what went wrong.  That's a fact you knew in advance about your opponent.  You knuckled under to it; you didn't use it against him."

"Use it against him?"  Ernie looked astonished.  "How could I have possibly used it against him!"

"Potter, what would you have done?"

Harry appeared completely startled by the question.  He'd been slouching back in his chair, arms crossed, watching quietly.  "Huh?"

"What would you have done, facing Diggory?"

"Er . . . dodged?"

"Not a bad idea.  Why?"

"He's probably faster.  I'd need to get out of the way in order to be able to cast at all."

"Why is he faster?"

Harry seemed puzzled by that.  "Er -- because he is?"

"Bad answer."  Moody turned, then pointed to Angelina Johnson.  "Why was Diggory faster than Macmillan?"

Angelina also appeared startled, then embarrassed.  "Because he was using wordless spell-casting."

"Partly.  Why else?"

"Eh . . . ?" she hesitated.

"This isn't a garden party, girl.  I'm not interested in your manners.  Spit it out."

"Cedric's a Seeker -- an athlete.  Ernie . . . isn't.  Cedric's got quicker reflexes."

"Very good," Moody said.  Ernie was blushing, but Moody didn't seem to care.  "The first rule of duelling is to know your own weaknesses and the opponent's probable strengths -- and it has to be honest.  Diggory is two up on Macmillan.  He knows nonverbal spells and he's a faster draw.  Diggory is one up on Potter with the nonverbal spells, but it's probably a toss-up as to which of them is the faster draw.  There's one other thing nobody's pointed out.  What could Macmillan and Potter use against Diggory?"

This brought silence.  Nobody seemed to have a clue.  After a moment, Moody barked, "Well?"

"Diggory doesn't want to ruin his pretty face?"

That came from the back of the room and caused a few people to snigger whilst others snorted in shock or drew indignant breaths.  Cedric was fairly sure it was Montague who'd said it.  "Up yours," he called back, then to Moody, "What they could use is that I know it's not an even match, which means I might get lazy."

"Thank you," Moody said.  "If Diggory got lazy and Potter dodged, Potter could probably get off a return spell before Diggory could recover.  Macmillan might even be able to.  It is possible to use your opponents' strengths against them, not just their weaknesses.  Now get out of here and we'll meet again next Thursday.  Come prepared to be called up.  I won't be warning people in advance.  Diggory -- stay."

Cedric had assumed Moody wanted to talk to him about what had just happened, but instead, Moody said, "Got an assignment for you, kid.  You've been here seven years now, and you were a prefect.  I suspect you know more than a few hidey-holes around the castle.  Dumbledore's portrait is missing."

"Missing?  You mean somebody stole it out of the Headmistress's office?"

"No, I mean Dolores Umbridge stashed it away somewhere."

"Isn't that . . . erm, not done?"

"Not supposed to be, far as I know.  But I don't think she's interested in oughts."  He lowered his voice.  "The Order needs to have access to that portrait, Diggory.  We're looking for it too, but while you students might find it hard to believe, we teachers have even less free time than you do.  And the more eyes, the better."

"Has anybody just asked her about it?"

"Well of course.  Minerva asked her point blank -- didn't get any sort of answer, just a dodge.  So you keep your eyes open, and alert Potter, Granger and the Weasleys."

Cedric nodded.  "Yes, sir."

"I'll see you in class, kid."

Cedric headed out then, pushing the doors open only to pause on the other side.  Harry was standing against one of the walls, apparently waiting.  "How are you feeling?" he asked.  "You were pretty confused after Moody hit you with that last charm."

"I'm fine now," Cedric replied.

Harry looked down at his feet and kicked at the stone floor.  Cedric wondered what he was doing there when he asked, "What'd you think?"

"Think about what?"

"Moody's class."

"It is a class, isn't it?"  Cedric walked over to stand near Harry.  "He's calling it a duelling club, but it's a class."

"Yeah -- prepping us for fighting Voldemort and his followers right under Umbridge's nose.  You were dead impressive back there against Moody."

Blood burning his ears and unreasonably pleased, Cedric shrugged with one shoulder.  "Thanks.  I'd not have expected to get two spells off at him, that's for sure."

"I didn't expect his first spell; I'm amazed you dodged that."

Cedric frowned.  "I . . . did.  Expect it, I mean.  I'm not sure why or how.  But yeah, I almost . . . it felt like the sort of thing he'd do, so I wasn't surprised."

Harry didn't reply for a minute, just looked up at Cedric.  In the shadows of the main hall and behind the glasses, his eyes looked black rather than green.  "I think you've got good instincts," he said finally.

"I think I got lucky," Cedric replied, smiling.

"I keep telling people that about the times I've fought Voldemort.  I got lucky."

Cedric nodded.  "Moody's going to pit us against each other, you know -- probably sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I sort of gathered that."  Harry's eyebrows went up.  "I'll go easy on you."

"And I'll kick your arse."

"You just try."

"No 'try' about it."

Harry snorted but there was a hint of a smile about his mouth.  A competitive edge had existed between them since that first Quidditch game where they'd squared off in Cedric's fifth year.  Then had come the Triwizard Tournament, then Cho -- even if Cho had never meant to Cedric what she'd meant to Harry.  Competition still occasionally coloured their friendship, adding flavour.  Cedric wasn't sure if he wanted to best Harry in order to impress him, or from a primitive drive for pack dominance, but the younger boy drew out of Cedric a desire to prove himself, and prove himself against Harry in particular.

Now, though, he remembered what Moody had told him.  "Mad-Eye says Dumbledore's portrait is gone from the Headmistress's office.  He thinks Umbridge had it removed.  He wants us to keep an eye out for it, see if we can find where she stashed it.  The more looking, the better."

Harry frowned, clearly concerned by that news.  "This Saturday, Ron wants me to practise with him; he's going to try for Keeper.  But maybe we can do some searching that evening?"  Cedric just nodded, not minding an excuse to spend time with Harry.  "When are you running tryouts?  For Quidditch, I mean?"

"Not for another week at least," Cedric replied.  "What with not playing last year, I've got to replace about half my team.  Assuming I'm still Captain."

Mouth open slightly, Harry asked, "Why wouldn't you be?  Doesn't your Head of House have the final -- ?"

"No.  Hufflepuff elects; it's an old tradition.  They can call for a re-election if they don't want me, although there can't be more than one replacement a year, barring an emergency.  That keeps the house from being fickle about it."

Harry frowned.  "Why would they want to get rid of you?  You made Hufflepuff a team to be reckoned with two years ago."

Cedric shrugged, not sure how to reply to the compliment.  "Well, I don't really expect them to, but I'm not exactly the most popular person in the Sett right now -- although after this morning, maybe that's over."  His smile turned sly.  "My denmates and I helped hide stuff when Umbridge showed up for that search."

"I heard about that, but they shouldn't have been treating you so badly in the first place."  Harry's face was earnest and sincere, and Cedric was touched.

"Hufflepuff doesn't take betrayal well, and that's what they thought I'd done."

"How was anything you did a betrayal?"  Harry sounded more indignant than curious.

"I didn't trust them.  To Hufflepuff, that's the worst betrayal of all.  We pride ourselves on our loyalty, especially to each other.  They interpreted what I did as not, well -- not wanting to be Hufflepuff, not wanting to be part of them.  That wasn't how I meant it -- "

"Of course it wasn't how you meant it!  You were just doing what, er, the other me told you to do.  Hufflepuff prides itself on being fair, too, and the way they just assumed things was hardly fair to you."

"Thanks, Harry," Cedric said softly, "but it's past now.  There were some misunderstandings, and then pride got in the way.  The dormitory search this morning broke through that.  It gave me a chance to sort of . . . redeem myself in their eyes."

"You know, sometimes you sound a lot like Hermione with how you analyze people."  Harry glanced towards the stairs.  "I reckon I should go up; it's almost curfew.  I'll see you tomorrow, or Saturday."

"Tomorrow or Saturday," Cedric echoed, heading back to the Sett, feeling warm.

The warm feeling only increased when he entered the Common Room to mad applause from his housemates.  His face burned.  "You embarrassed the Weasley twins, Ced!" Ernie crowed, apparently having forgotten his own embarrassment at the end of Cedric's wand.  "Then actually held off Moody."

"Even Professor Moody said you did better than he expected," Clara Barton, a sixth year, added.  She'd been among those following him about the year before, hoping for an invitation to the Ball.  He thought her nice enough but avoided her lest he inadvertently encourage her infatuation, and now he wasn't certain how to respond.  He didn't feel that he'd done much extraordinary, not like winning a Quidditch match, so all the attention made him uncomfortable.  Smiling shyly at everyone, he ducked out of the room down the tunnel to his dormitory.

Peter and Scott weren't there, but Ed Carpenter was, sprawled on his bed reading Quidditch Quarterly.  "When are tryouts?" Ed asked without looking up, unconsciously echoing Harry's question earlier.

"I was thinking not until next Saturday at the earliest.  I'd like to have two sets:  one to eliminate those wasting our time, then we'll practise with the remainder for a week and do a final cut the next Saturday.  I'm not sure a single day's evaluation is the way to choose a team that'll play together the best."

Ed rested the magazine on his abdomen.  "That's . . . different.  But a good idea, I think."

Cedric didn't look at Ed as he said, "I, er, I'll have to ask everybody to, you know, fly in the trials.  Not that I think you have anything to worry about, mate -- you're our best Chaser, hands down -- but to be fair."

"I understand," Ed replied, and returned to his magazine.  "You'll stay Seeker, I assume?"

"Dunno.  I may try for Keeper.  I was tall when I got Seeker and I've grown more since.  There may be somebody better suited out there."

"Doubt it.  You beat Potter to the Snitch."

"Two years and three inches ago -- not to mention there were Dementors involved."

"He's bigger too now."

"But still half a foot shorter and I don't know how many stone lighter."  Cedric dropped back on his own bed to stare at the black canopy above with its field of yellow suns and stars.  He felt drained but happy for the first time since he'd returned.  He was back in his house's good graces, Harry had complimented him, and Ed wanted to talk Quidditch.  It had been a good day.  "Anyway, we'll see.  If I'm expecting everybody else to fly trials, I should too."

Ed chuckled.  "What will you do if you find somebody better as Seeker and as Keeper?  Play Beater?"

Cedric looked up.  "Well, maybe the house should elect a new Captain, in that case."

"No fucking way, mate."  Ed rolled up on his elbow.  He was solid and burly, if not as tall as Cedric.  "Look at me -- I'm Beater build, but I haven't got the aim with a bat.  I can run a Quaffle though.  True, you're tall for a Seeker, but you're nimble with a fast turn and have the best eyesight on the team.  You know as well as I do that it's not all about build."

"I know.  But I also know people may think I'm privileging myself if I don't at least try other Seekers."

"So fly in the Seeker trials.  I guarantee you there's nobody in this house who can match you."

As it turned out, Ed was right.  Even by the end of first elimination, it was clear that nobody else in the house could outfly Cedric when it came to catching the Snitch.  Other positions were less clear-cut.  Ed was back for certain as Chaser and Cedric's lieutenant, along with Alex Aubry, another seventh year.  Alex had been their only female player two years before, but this time, there were three other girls up for possible positions on the team:  two of four for third-position Chaser, and one of two for Keeper -- Clara Barton, in fact.  The Beaters from two years ago were both back, and male.  That position rarely had a female player due to the power needed in shoulder muscles.  In any case, Cedric was pleased with his semi-final pull.

He heard from Harry that Ron had made the Gryffindor team as their replacement for Wood, although privately he doubted anybody could replace Wood.  Two years ago, Oliver had been the best Keeper on any team at Hogwarts.  But whatever the quality of their new Keeper, Gryffindor still had an excellent trio of Chasers, as well as Harry and the twins.  Their old team remained mostly intact, and Gryffindor was, Cedric knew, 'the team to beat.'  Yet Cedric thought he might have stronger Chasers with Ed in charge, and if Clara worked out as Keeper as well as he thought she might after first trials, Hufflepuff had a chance of upsetting Gryffindor for the House Cup.

Quidditch and Moody's duelling club aside, however, the first two weeks of the year proved largely frustrating.  Cedric, Harry, Ron and Hermione had no luck in their first search for Dumbledore's portrait.  Even when they enlisted Ginny and the twins (who knew more hiding places than Cedric could credit), they fared no better.  "I wonder," Hermione said, "if she removed it from the castle altogether?"  Cedric wondered too, but was too stubborn to give up.  He'd turn the castle on its ear before Christmas if required.

Schoolwork was not only frustrating but merciless.  In his NEWT year, Cedric was swamped and would easily have made his revision-hour quota even if not required to by the new rules.  These rules were widely unpopular, in fact, and by the end of the third week, news came that Umbridge planned to institute teacher reviews too.  Certain positions were on the line, namely Trelawney's and Hagrid's, and possibly Binns' (if one could sack a ghost).  In Cedric's opinion, Trelawney should have been fired years ago and Binns should have stopped teaching when he'd died, and if Cedric bore no ill-will towards Hagrid as a person, he didn't think him a good teacher (although he didn't tell Harry that).  At least he was still away on whatever mission he'd been given by the Order.  Professor Grubbly-Plank was acting as his substitute.

As it turned out, Umbridge didn't target Trelawney or Binns first, however.  She went after Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor about whom Cedric had never heard a bad word.  Burbage was cheery, fair and generally regarded as competent.  Yet Umbridge issued her a list of restrictions on what she was permitted to teach, and according to the fifth years who'd been in class the day Umbridge had sat in, Burbage had been rebuked for the generally positive view she'd been giving of Muggle technology.

"Professor Umbridge said Professor Burbage made it sound like the Muggles were our equals even without magic," Susan Bones told Cedric and several others in the common room on Friday night.  As Burbage had been in Hufflepuff, the house was taking her censuring personally even if she wasn't House Head.

"Umbridge didn't like that opinion, eh?" Scott asked, plopping his feet on a pouf.

"I think she's a bit of a wizard supremacist," Susan replied.

"After seeing her new rules, I'm pretty damn certain she's a wizard supremacist," Justin Finch-Fletchley said, settling down beside Susan on the bumblebee-yellow sofa.  "She eyes me like I'm a cockroach who crawled out from under a rock."

"She eyes me about the same," Cedric replied, opening his Advanced Charms text.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect, mate?  You got her boss sacked."

"Her boss got himself sacked for incompetence -- and I'm crying big crocodile tears about it."

Finch-Fletchley laughed.

The next day, Cedric finalized his Quidditch team -- a task he didn't find pleasant as it meant telling some promising players that they just hadn't made the final cut.  He approached each privately before breakfast because public humiliation wasn't his goal, and when the team assembled on the Pitch at 10:00 that morning for practice, it was himself as Seeker, Ed, Alex and a sixth year named Zacharias Smith as Chasers, Clara Barton as Keeper, and his two former Beaters.  Neither Ed nor Alex appeared pleased to see Smith, but however they felt about Smith's not-so-charming personality, on the field the three of them produced a unique alchemy of pass and reverse-pass and unerring shots through the hoops.  An opposing Keeper would complicate things, but after their tenth unbroken perfect hoop-shot, Cedric couldn't resist pumping his fist in the air in victory.  Nobody was going to be making fun of Hufflepuff on the Pitch this year.

Of course there were still unknown quantities on other teams, like Ron Weasley of Gryffindor, and Roger was replacing both his other Chasers and his Beaters, but Cedric already knew the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Keepers and they were no match for his Chasing trio.  He also knew all three of his fellow Seekers and could admit at least to himself that only one was worth worrying about.  Cho wasn't untalented or she'd never have made the team, but he was better.  Draco he'd never taken seriously.  No, it was Harry whom Cedric would have to outfly, and the Gryffindor Chasers who his own Keeper would need to worry about.

He mulled over these things whilst showering in the Hufflepuff changing rooms and gradually became aware of eyes on his back.  Looking over his shoulder, he caught Zach Smith glancing hurriedly away.

Cedric frowned.  Smith hadn't . . . Smith hadn't just checked out his arse, had he?  Cedric was almost afraid to pursue that possibility even in his own head despite sensing eyes on his backside again just a few minutes later.  Why was Smith looking at him?  Did he . . . was Smith . . . Smith wasn't gay, was he?  And if so, did he somehow know that Cedric was too?  Was Cedric giving off signals without realising it?  Hermione, Viktor and Remus had all guessed, and while they'd insisted it wasn't obvious, Cedric worried anyway.  In the changing rooms, he'd always been careful to restrain any curiosity about his fellows' bodies in deference to their privacy.  If it wasn't gentlemanly to ogle a girl were he straight, then he shouldn't ogle a boy, either.  Cedric had ethics, or at least liked to think that he did.  Having Smith looking at him felt, well, odd.

But also just a little flattering.  And exciting.

And bloody hell, this was not the place to get an erection thinking about Zach Smith.  Cedric didn't even especially like Smith, although he did like how he played Quidditch.

"Think of something else," he muttered under his breath, switching the water from hot to cool in an effort to wilt things.  Combined with a fear of discovery, it worked, and he turned off the taps, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and make his way out, pretending he wasn't aware of Smith stealing glances at him.

Questions about why Smith had been eying him in the shower plagued Cedric for the rest of that Saturday.  Perhaps he'd just been trying to take the measure of his Captain.  But if he had been admiring Cedric's body, did it matter?  After all, Cedric was hopelessly besotted with Harry . . . who was hopelessly besotted with Cho Chang, and Cedric knew it.  Yet he also recalled what had happened in his office last June.  Older Harry had admitted to fancying Cedric, fancying him more even than Cho in the long run.  Older Harry had told Cedric to have patience, his younger self would need time to reach the same realisation.

But Older Harry wasn't Younger Harry.  Older Harry had witnessed Cedric's murder and felt guilty.  Perhaps guilt had fuelled his attraction?  Younger Harry considered Cedric only a friend, maybe a big brother.  Was it fair for Cedric to encourage more?  It wasn't that Cedric doubted Harry might be bisexual, but when homosexuality was so frowned upon in the Wizarding World, it would be selfish of Cedric to woo Harry if Harry liked girls as well as boys and could have a normal life.

These were things Cedric had told himself often enough, gone round and round with in his own head.  Perhaps he should stop pining after Harry.  Perhaps he should consider somebody else -- like Smith.  Smith was handsome, not three years younger, and in Cedric's own house.

Seated in the common room attempting to read, Cedric lifted his head to look over to where Smith was playing Exploding Snap with some of their housemates.  As if on cue, Smith turned to look at him too.  Smith didn't smile or acknowledge Cedric at all beyond meeting his gaze and holding it; after a moment, he turned back to the game.  Cedric returned to his text.

The problem, he reflected, was that Smith just didn't make his blood race.  The other boy embodied things Cedric neither admired nor liked, whilst Harry was everything Cedric wanted.  Just because somebody might be gay too didn't mean Cedric found him attractive.  Annoyed, he shut his textbook and headed back to his dormitory, opening his trunk to dig through it and take out the small brown leather diary with the Black family crest embossed on the top.  Settling down at his desk, he pulled out a quill and ink bottle, then pricked his finger to open the diary.  Picking up his quill, he dipped it and wrote:

Have you ever been checked out by another bloke?  How do you know if that's what he's doing?

It wasn't the first time Cedric had written to Regulus since arriving at Hogwarts.  He took his promises seriously, so he and Regulus 'talked' several times a week.  Regulus was as real to Cedric as any of the living people in Cedric's daily orbit, but none of them was somebody Cedric dared ask such a question of.

The diary was a bit sluggish to respond, as if Regulus were puzzling over a reply or (more likely) struggling with amusement.  Finally, it responded:

A little more information might be nice.  Describe the situation and perhaps I can tell you.

So Cedric did, explaining what had happened earlier in the changing room showers and the oddly intense look just now in the common room.

Sometimes, the diary replied, I'm not sure if your innocence is more darling or more frustrating.  Of course he was checking out your arse, you idiot.  I'd lay several galleons that he knows you noticed and has guessed you're thinking about it.  He'll make a more obvious move soon.  Either he's very grateful for making the team or you're a pretty piece.  Or both.  What do you look like?  You've never told me.  And be honest.  None of this false modesty you Hufflepuffs are so fond of.  I bet you're a heart-breaker.

The question took Cedric by surprise.  Why would Regulus care?  My hair is dark brown and I have grey eyes.  I'm 6'2", and weigh about 13 stone.  I reckon you could say I'm attractive.  What about you?  Did you look like your brother or very different?

Same colouring, similar features, the diary replied, but Sirius was always taller.  He wore his hair long, mine was short.  I was slighter, built like a Seeker.  I can't believe you're that tall and play Seeker!  Speaking of which, how did the final cuts go today?

Cedric told him.  Regulus had proved to be as enthusiastic about the sport as Cedric, and the fact they'd played the same position had resulted in quite a few technical discussions.  They argued strategy a while, but before Cedric put away the diary, it asked, So will you boff your admirer?

You're vulgar.

Oh, please.  Stop being a prude.

No, Cedric wrote after a moment, I don't think I will -- even assuming he's interested.  He's not my type.

He doesn't have to be your type to fuck him.

Yes, he does.  For me, at least.  I have to feel something more than lust.

You are such a hopeless romantic.  You'll also never get a leg over at the rate you're going.

It wouldn't work.  He's cranky, arrogant, and argumentative. 

Oh, Merlin's beard!  You don't have to have a conversation with him to shag him.  Just do it and get it out of your systems.

I told you, I'm not interested.  I was just curious as to whether I might have been imagining what I thought I saw.

Given your level of ignorance, I'd say he must have been as obvious as a wart on a baby's bottom.  If you are pretty, I doubt he's the only bloke checking you out around school.  Most are just more sly.

Cedric rolled his eyes.  You're imagining queers everywhere you look.

And you're not imagining enough.  The book sounded almost smug.  Unlike you, I actually paid attention to who was shagging whom in school.  I doubt you have any idea, you poor naïve boy.

If you're going to be insulting, I'm going to put you away.

Only trying to open your eyes a bit, Cedric love.  And remember, sex doesn't require a chat.  Just let him suck you off next time you're in the showers alone together.

The diary was outrageous.  Cedric snorted and closed the cover, slipping it back into his trunk and undressing for bed.  The next day being Sunday, he had a lie in that morning, sacrificing food for sleep, and didn't make it up until almost noon.  Tired still but starving, he tottered out to the common room to see who was about and whether they might want lunch.  Faces were solemn and apprehension tickled him inside.  "What's happened?" he asked.

His roommate, Peter Adamson, handed him a copy of that morning's The Daily Prophet.  The front page headline read:

Daisy Hookum Dead
My Life as a Muggle Author Murdered

Best-selling author Daisy Hookum, 62, was found dead on Saturday evening at her home outside York.  Her husband, radio personality Tilden Toots ('Toots, Roots and Shoots'), was away recording a show in South America, so Hookum was alone.  Her property wards were breached, her door forced, and she was beaten to death with one of her own books.  With the Dark Mark still glowing above her cottage, not to mention her life-long friendship with and sympathy for Muggles and Muggleborns, Ministry Aurors don't believe there's much of a mystery.  "She was obviously another victim of He Who Must Not Be Named," said department head Kingsley Shacklebolt . . .

3. Amnesty

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