Crush
Minisinoo

8. Falling Out

Cedric was the hero of Hufflepuff.

The last of his once-liminal status had been forgiven and forgotten.  After all, he'd led their team to victory over Gryffindor.  It had been close -- very close -- and the house was ecstatic with their victory after the long anxiety of the match itself.

"We knew you could do it, Ced!"

"You're the best Captain we've had in ages!"

"Harry who?  We have the best Seeker at Hogwarts!"

These and variations were shouted at him over and over whilst his team- and housemates slapped his back and fed him Butterbeer and biscuits and cake filched from the kitchens next door.  The impromptu party in the common room was, if possible, even wilder than the one they'd thrown when the Goblet of Fire had spat out his name the previous autumn, or when he'd wound up tied with Harry Potter after the Second Task.  In a fit of complete silliness, Alex Aubry flung her bra at him, bringing cat-calls.  It landed on his head and Ed made him wear it like a crown, which was a bit humiliating, really.  Immediately after, Zach Smith flung his underpants, shouting, "Wear those too?"  The underpants just got "Ewws!" and Cedric made a face before throwing them back, privately wondering what the hell Smith was implying.

Cedric found the whole thing ironic, as he hadn't really won.  Harry had lost.  That was different, and Cedric wasn't at all sure why Harry had lost, but the more he thought about it, played the final minutes of the match over and over in his head, the less he could escape the obvious.

Harry had let him catch the Snitch.

It made no sense.  Cedric hadn't thought Harry the sort to . . . to patronize him.  Yet he couldn't come up with a better explanation than that Harry felt sorry for him for some reason, and he didn't appreciate it.  So he went looking for Harry to get a straight answer.

Unfortunately, Harry was nowhere to be found that Saturday evening so Cedric had to return to the common room with his questions still festering.  And they festered for two days more because Harry seemed to be going out of his way to evade Cedric -- which only cemented Cedric's paranoid suspicions in his own head.

You're making a mountain out of a mole hill, Regulus in the diary told him.

Well, what would you think?  He's a better Seeker than I am.

I'd think that, better Seeker or not, we all have off days.  I can recall several games where I performed less well than I could have.  I had other things on my mind, and once, I was simply ill.  I should have let my reserve take my place, but I didn't.  We lost.

He wasn't ill.  And now he won't even talk to me.

Erm -- did you consider embarrassment as a reason?  Learn to tell a real conspiracy from a false one, Cedric.

Annoyed, Cedric put the diary away.

He'd planned to use the duelling club as a chance to confront Harry, but wound up with a surprise.  All the younger students were back, along with a furious Umbridge -- but Moody just waved a stack of parchment at her.  "Parental waivers," he said, stumping past where she stood in the Great Hall doorway.  "You can go and argue with their parents, Dolores."

Joining Scott, Roger, Angelina, Lee and the twins, he caught Lee saying, "I told you Moody had something up his sleeve."

Some students were notably absent, however -- the Slytherins, but they arrived shortly.  Cedric shared a knowing look with Scott and Roger.  Umbridge had surely sent them 'to keep an eye on things', but Moody turned them back.  "I'll need parental waivers, kids.  Headmistress banned all underage wizards, so I'm afraid you'll have to have a parental waiver to participate."

Draco appeared furious, and behind Cedric, Roger whispered, "Hoisted on her own petard!"

Montague, however, pushed past Draco.  "We're of age.  The seventh years."  Head Boy Pucey was behind him.

"You're also behind since you haven't bothered coming for the last, oh, month."

"So?"  Montague shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.

Moody's eyebrow went up.  "Very well."  He gestured towards Roger, Cedric and Angelina.  "Go and join your fellow captains."  And that was most definitely a smirk on Moody's face.

"Brilliant," Angelina muttered, cracking her knuckles.  "Opportunity for revenge for every time Slytherin's cheated on the Pitch."

"That's not fair," Cedric told her but she just gaped at him.

"Who cares if it's fair?" Roger agreed with her.  "Fair isn't in Montague's vocabulary."

The three of them made Montague's evening at practice interesting, and the Slytherin Captain left with bruises on his hip and backside from being blasted across the room more than once.  Unfortunately, Cedric was so busy, Harry slunk out before Cedric could catch him.

Late returning to the dormitory, Cedric found Scott already seated at his desk, scribbling away on a parchment -- which was odd, as Scott notoriously avoided homework until the last possible moment (and still pulled high marks).  To see him working so industriously struck Cedric as out of character and he bent to read over Scott's shoulder.  "History of Magic?  I thought you were planning to do Grindelwald, not goblin rebellions?"

Scott appeared to be trying to cover up the essay.  "I am.  I just . . . the rebellions tie into his views, you know."

Cedric frowned.  "Well, tangentially."  He leaned over to look at the essay more closely, which Scott was even more obviously trying to cover up.  "That's not yours," Cedric said, realisation dawning.  "What are you doing, Scott?  Who's this for?  You know -- "

"It's mine," Ed said, from the other side of the room.  "I, erm, sort of needed some help.  Scott's helping."

"Scott's writing your damn essay for you!  That's not 'helping'!  It's cheating!" Cedric said.

"Shhh!"  Ed walked over to close the door.

"I'm keeping him from failing," Scott replied.  "Do you want him on your team or not?"

"I want him on my team honestly!" Cedric practically roared.

"We knew you'd react like that," Scott said, rolling his eyes.  "And I did tutor him, you know."

"You could both be expelled if you're caught!"

"It's Binns, Cedric.  He's not likely to notice.  We're taking a little more care with Flitwick and Burbage."

"You idiots!"  Cedric couldn't decide if he were more angry or more scared or more disappointed.  Rounding on Ed, he asked, "Aren't you the least bit ashamed?"

Ed blushed, but his lips were tight.  "Not really.  Ced, Quidditch is what I do.  It's the only real skill I've got."  Ed looked almost desperate for Cedric to understand.  "You -- you're clever.  Everybody knows that when you get out of school, you'll be able to get whatever job you want.  But me . . . Quidditch is it, mate.  I've got to get scouted in order to get an offer, and I can't if I'm not playing.  That means I've got to pass my classes."

Hands on hips, Cedric sighed.  "It'll be even harder for you to get scouted if you're expelled."

"I'm putting in plenty of spelling and grammar errors," Scott said, "so it sounds like him."

Cedric snorted; trust Scott to think of that.  "What if Binns actually asks him about the goblin rebellions?"  Scott only shrugged and Cedric turned to Ed.  "Tell me what you know about it."

"Er, they were these rebellions.  Involving goblins.  It was a long time ago.  The goblins run Gringotts now."

Almost, Cedric burst out laughing.  "Yeah, Ed -- the name sort of gives that away.  Can you explain how running Gringotts was a result of the rebellions?"  Ed just shook his head, and Cedric glanced over at Scott.  "I thought you said you tutored him."

"I did.  And, ah, that's why I'm writing his essay."'

Cedric turned back to Ed, who appeared half embarrassed, half confused.  "Look," Cedric began, "the Goblin Rebellions had to do with objections the Goblins had to restrictions put on them by the wizarding community . . . "  For the next half-hour, Cedric tried to pound information about goblins into Ed's head, but by the end, he understood why Scott had given up and was just writing his essay.  But hopefully, if Binns asked questions, Ed wouldn't sound utterly clueless.  "Should Binns ask why you knew something in the homework that you can't remember if he quizzes you, say it's because you looked it up in your books to get the details correct, right?"

"Right," Ed agreed.

Cedric wasn't the least happy about the whole situation.  Part of him believed there were things any moderately educated person ought to know, and one shouldn't get acceptable marks in school if one didn't earn it.  Yet nothing was ever that simple.  Ed was -- if Cedric were truly honest -- slow.  He had common sense, and diligence, but he was below average intellectually.  By contrast, he was an exceptional athlete, and a good person.  He wasn't failing because he didn't try.  Should his one chance for a real career that could pay his bills as an adult be jeopardized because he did poorly academically?  Yet, was it fair for him to receive passing marks because Scott wrote his essays?  If Dumbledore were still Headmaster, Ed wouldn't be in danger of getting kicked off the Hufflepuff team; Dumbledore had understood that sometimes being fair meant weighing cases individually.  But Dumbledore was dead.

That, in turn, reminded Cedric they hadn't done much lately in their search for Dumbledore's portrait, so the following evening after dinner, he went off on his own, trying random cupboards and storage rooms in the basement and dungeon, even if he were fairly certain they'd been previously searched.  Lit wand in hand, he was coming up the stairs near the kitchens when he found Harry exiting the main kitchen door, face stiff and hard.  And if Cedric had been looking for a chance to talk to him, he didn't think this the best time to quiz him about Saturday's game.  "Harry?  You all right?"

Spinning, Harry burst out, "Umbridge fired Dobby!"

Baffled, Cedric tilted his head.  "Who's Dobby?"

"A house-elf.  He's helped me loads of times.  He's the one who made your birthday crumble too.  And she fired him!  For no reason!  Well, her reason is that house-elves shouldn't get paid.  It's unnatural.  They might get uppity.  Hermione's S.P.E.W. is starting to make more sense."

Cedric was now thoroughly confused.  "Dobby was getting paid?  Why was Dobby getting paid?"

"Well, he's free.  He's got to earn a living somehow.  Dumbledore hired him here at Hogwarts."

Both Cedric's eyebrows went up.  "A free house-elf, and getting paid?  That is a bit . . . unusual."  He decided not to ask about this 'S.P.E.W.'

"There's a bit of a story behind it," Harry said, then launched into an explanation -- somewhat convoluted, but Cedric got the gist of it.  Defending a mistreated elf sounded like the sort of thing Harry would do.

"You've a bit of a soft spot for hard-luck cases, don't you?" Cedric asked.  "Is that why you let me catch the Snitch last Saturday?"

Harry went suddenly white, and looked everywhere but at Cedric.  "I didn't let you.  You beat me to it, fair and square."

"Harry, we were both right on top of it.  How could you not catch it, unless you did it on purpose?  What, did your glasses fog up?"

Harry was blushing.  Even in the dim corridor torchlight, Cedric could tell.  "Actually, uh, my glasses were the problem.  Not fogging, but they, er, slipped."

Astonished by that reply, Cedric just blinked for a moment, then felt his lips thin.  "That was a joke, Harry."  Cedric took two steps backward.  "You won't even give me an honest answer.  Do you think I'm stupid?  You were wearing an elastic band to secure them; I did notice."  His voice was rising.  "I didn't need to win from . . . from pity, you know."

"Pity?" Harry asked, looking less embarrassed and more annoyed.  "What makes you think it was pity?"

"Because nothing else makes sense!  You've got a professional quality broom while my model's practically archaic.  We can't afford better.  Or maybe it's because you think I needed to win to feel like a proper man."

Harry's mouth was open, his expression dumbfounded.  "What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, I did.  And you're bloody mental."  Chin lifting stubbornly, Harry went on, "I did not 'let' you win -- and certainly not from some pity I don't even feel.  You're the 'popular' one around here, not me, and you're back on top now.  Why would I pity you?  Everybody wants to be your friend.  You don't need me or my pity."

And Cedric really resented Harry bringing up his social status.  "I thought you were the one real friend I had."  He was so angry he was shaking.  "As for my 'popularity', you know how little that means.  I trusted you to like me."

And spinning on his heel, he stalked past the kitchen down the corridor to the door to the Hufflepuff common room.

He was miserable that whole weekend and the week to follow, yet he hid it well, having long practise in concealing personal grief and sorrow.  A consummate actor.  Even his denmates noticed nothing amiss.  Scott, Peter and Ed had regarded his friendship with Harry Potter as a temporary by-product of the Tournament anyway, so when he stopped talking to Harry, they didn't register it as significant.  Life went on, and he told himself it was easier if he kept a bit apart -- refrained from investing emotionally.  Mates and acquaintances were enough; he hardly lacked for people to talk to.  As Harry had so helpfully pointed out, he was popular.

The one person disinclined to let him revert to bad-old habits was Hermione.  She reminded him that he'd promised to help research for the trial, and he was loathe to go back on a promise.  "As long as Harry's not there," he qualified.

She rolled her eyes.  "Boys.  You're flouncing, the both of you.  It's sort of pathetic, you know."

"It's sort of none of your business."

She dropped it, but stubbornly continued to talk to him as if he were a real person, not an idol, Quidditch hero, or the popular boy.  He was secretly relieved, and sought out her company sometimes.  On the Saturday afternoon before Sirius's Monday appeal, they took a break from combing the library to walk down to the greenhouses.  "So what is it like to be gay?" she asked, rather out of the blue.

Cedric blinked twice and glanced over at her.  "What sort of question is that?"

She looked up the path instead of at him.  "Just . . . you know . . . curious.  It's my great fault, I fear -- being curious."

"Or virtue," he replied.  "What's it like to be straight?"

She considered for a moment, then shrugged.  "Perceived as normal -- so I never think about it."

He smiled faintly, unsurprised she'd recognise that.  "And I can't seem to avoid thinking about it even if I'd like to."

"How terribly frustrating."

"Quite."

She snaked her arm through his companionably, her face turned up to the aquamarine autumn sky above.  "Shall we compare notes?"

"Compare notes?"

"On boys."

He laughed.  "I don't know; should we?"  Talking to her about being gay was different than talking to Viktor -- or Harry.  No undercurrents.  Perhaps that's why he found that girls made good friends: Luna, once Cho, now Hermione.  With Cho, things had turned complicated, which was largely his fault, although her attraction might always have been there and he'd just been too blind to see.  But with Hermione, he didn't worry; she had Viktor.  It could be friendship and only that.

"What do you find attractive in a boy?  Or man, I suppose?" she asked.

"Do you mean in personality, or . . . looks?"

"Both.  But let's start with looks.  What makes you look twice?"

"Nice eyes," Cedric said without much hesitation.  "Kind eyes, not just, you know, pretty.  Long hands; I notice hands.  Er -- nice skin?  No spots.  That makes me sound shallow, doesn't it?  Yes, I fear it does.  Most people our age have a few spots.  I shouldn't be so picky."

She was laughing.  "I expect there's something we're all picky about, and you have very nice skin yourself, so it's not as if you're being hypocritical.  But that was all very proper and polite, Cedric.  What else do you look at?"

"Are you asking me to be vulgar, Miss Granger?"  He raised both eyebrows.

"Maybe a bit.  I admit I like a fellow with, er, a nice chest.  All . . . muscley."

Throwing back his head, he laughed aloud.  This was definitely not any sort of conversation he'd ever had before.  "The back," he replied.  "I won't complain if a bloke's got a fit chest, but the back is what I notice."

"Not backside?  No derriere?" she asked, reaching over with her free hand to poke him in the tummy.

He flinched.  "No.  And mind your manners, missy.  I'll have you know I meant exactly what I said: the back.  As in the torso between the shoulders and derriere."  Not that he'd never looked at a boy's arse before, but he wasn't about to admit as much right now.  And it really was the whole package for him -- how the arch of shoulder blades curved into the spine, then flared out into a round bottom.  There was a lovely poetry in a man seen from behind.  "What else do you look at?  It's still your turn."

"Eyes -- like you.  Intelligent eyes.  A nice chest -- dark hair and fair skin.  I've always been fond of the contrast.  And -- don't laugh -- I sort of . . . admire . . . big noses."

Despite her admonition, he burst out laughing and couldn't resist asking, "Like Professor Snape?"

Her mouth dropped open and she whacked him in the chest.  Hard.  "Are you mad?  Professor Snape is, is . . . he's a teacher!"

"Ah, denial!  A sure sign it's true."

"Cedric!  He's a teacher!  And you know I fancy Viktor!"  She seemed torn between indignation, amusement, and furious abnegation.  He couldn't quite wipe the smirk off his face.  "Professor Snape is . . . well, er, a bit . . . greasy," she went on.  "Brilliant of course, but not exactly fair to Harry, or to Gryffindor.  Or, um, to me.  And I prefer somebody with a better sense of hygiene.  I suppose it's like your dislike of spots."

He shook his head.  "It's all right.  I was just taking the mickey out of you.  Of course I know how you feel about Viktor.  And now that we've been suitably shallow, what else do you notice that's not skin deep?"

"Intelligence," she said instantly, as instantly as he'd said 'kind eyes' earlier.  "Not just rattling off things like I do" -- her cheeks were pink again but she seemed to be resisting the urge to blush -- "not book tricks and cleverness, but real intelligence.  Wisdom.  Compassion.  Perhaps a certain . . . independence -- not caring what people think of you."

Cedric suppressed his grin.  With her flushed skin and wild hair and doe-dark eyes, he could see why Viktor might fancy her.  Certainly she was quite besotted with Viktor.  It was sweet, really.  "Don't undersell yourself, Hermione," he told her.  "You're more than just clever.  You know how to apply it -- that's important."  He patted the back of her hand where it rested still on his arm and decided to risk a compliment.  "Viktor's fortunate to have you -- and he knows it, I think."

She crossed her eyes and pursed her lips.  "You're silly.  And a flatterer."

"Not at all.  Entirely truthful."

"What about you?" she asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.  "What non-physical traits attract you?"

"Self-confidence, I think."  He paused, considering.  "Maybe because I've never had a lot of it myself.  Loyalty.  Kindness.  Concern about the welfare of others.  Somebody who'll do the right thing regardless of what it costs him."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look sly.  "Are you describing what attracts you?  Or describing Harry?"

Cedric's own blush was instantaneous and as hot as fire.  "Harry's not exactly on my list of favourite people at the moment, so I don't think I'd be describing him."

She stopped dead to study him, wiping hair out of her face blown there by the wind.  "I don't suppose it's occurred to you to ask why he couldn't catch a Snitch that flew right under his nose?"

"He did it on purpose, of course."

"Why would he do that?"

"Pity."

"Oh, Cedric -- please.  Pity for what?"

He frowned and ground his teeth.  "What do you think?"

"I'm asking you.  Personally, I can't even guess."

His frown hardened.  "Because I'm gay.  Or because I have a bad broom that can't even compete with his."

Hermione let out a sound of frustrated disgust.  "That is -- pardon me -- the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  And I know you're not an idiot, Cedric Diggory.  Think, would you?  Harry may have money in the wizarding world, but growing up, everything he had was a hand-me-down from that disgusting cousin of his.  He thinks the Burrow is just about the best place on earth, and if he doesn't pity Ron, why on earth would he pity you?  Furthermore" -- she poked his chest with her forefinger -- "as I recall, it was Harry telling you not to be ashamed for being gay.  Why would he feel sorry for you about it?  I know Harry -- have known him five years now -- and if he does you a kindness, he does it upfront, not concealed.  Harry's very 'what you see is what you get', for good or ill.  He'd never deliberately lose just to make you feel better."

"What other reason would he have for losing then?" Cedric asked.  "And that's what happened, Hermione.  I didn't win.  He lost."

"Maybe he was looking at something besides the Snitch -- somebody besides the Snitch?"

He stared down at her, suddenly unable to get enough breath.  Something fluttered under his rib-cage like petals unfurling.  He didn't want to believe her, couldn't believe her.  "Oh, well done!  Tease me about it, why don't you?"

"No, Cedric."  Her face was solemn and she slipped her arm out of his.  "I wouldn't tease about this.  Harry didn't let you catch that Snitch.  He missed it because he was looking elsewhere.  He told me that himself right after the match; he felt really quite ridiculous, you know -- utterly humiliated.  He just didn't tell me what he was looking at -- that took me a while to figure out."  She tilted her head.  "Don't let it take you that long, right?"

Giving him a last, tenuous smile, she patted his arm, turned and headed back across the castle lawn.

Notes:  The lovely manipulation of Cedric talking to Hermione was made by Ginger001.

9. Trial


Email Minisinoo

RETURN TO Crush menu
RETURN TO The Medicine Wheel