fic: No Greatness In Myself for analytically
Title: No Greatness In Myself
Author: emiime
Giftee: analytically
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3144
Characters/Pairing: Cedric/Harry
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: The quote at the beginning of this piece is from Neal Cassady. Much gratitude is due to my beta, M.
Summary: It wasn’t that he lacked self-confidence. Not at all. It was just that he liked his life very much just the way it was.
I see no greatness in myself. I'm a simple-minded, child-like, insipid sort of moronic and kind of awkward-feeling adolescent.
Cedric Diggory didn’t think there was anything extraordinary about himself or the things that he did. In fact, he generally acted without thinking, and luckily for those around him, his instincts led him almost unerringly towards good results. He didn’t exactly spend all his spare time rescuing kittens from tree branches, but he might as well have for all the praise and attention that constantly came his way.
Cedric knew he wasn’t the smartest student at Hogwarts, nor was he the best looking or the bravest or the strongest or even the best Quidditch player. He did all right in classes and he did a little more than all right with girls, and he was fine with all of it. Cedric had no desire to be the best at everything-or at anything, really. It wasn’t that he lacked self-confidence. Not at all. It was just that he liked his life very much just the way it was.
So when it came time that students were allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric was hesitant despite the encouragement from his housemates.
“Just think of it, Ced,” encouraged Zacharias Smith that evening in the Hufflepuff Common Room, “Everyone’s going to expect a Gryffindor to be the Hogwarts champion, right? But it’s got to be you. You’re the best one for it.”
Amy Stout poked him with her elbow and added, “You’re one of the smartest people in our year, and you’re braver than half of Gryffindor combined, anyway.”
“And you fly like a madman!” shouted Zacharias, throwing his arms in the air.
Cedric felt a blush begin staining his cheeks with pink, which only worsened with Amy’s next words of encouragement.
“Besides,” she murmured, “We want a nice-looking champion, anyway! Come on, Ced, you’d be in all the papers! Think of it!”
“Eternal glory’s not really my thing, mates,” said Cedric, and he returned to plugging away at his Potions essay.
But the idea stayed in the back of his mind all day and it grew and it grew and it wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Eternal glory,” he said softly to himself, lying in bed that night.
“Eternal glory,” me mouthed to his mirror reflection in the morning.
“Eternal glory,” he repeated, writing his name neatly on a scrap of parchment.
Cedric stared at his inked name there on the parchment, his ticket to everything he’d never wanted. After a moment, he folded it and shoved it deep inside the pocket of his robes.
Cedric made his way to the Great Hall, picking up quite a following along the way. He really had only meant to go and see who else was entering, but the crowd of Hufflepuffs that had sprung up around him was certain he had other plans. Abuzz with excitement, they slapped his back and cheered and laughed as they all entered the Great Hall. Only Cedric was silent.
He knew he couldn’t let his friends down, not after they’d pleaded with him for days and had now assembled a veritable yellow-and-black army to witness his entrance into the Tournament. If there was one reason Cedric had been sorted into Hufflepuff above all other houses, it was because of his intense loyalty. He loved his friends, all of them, and he’d be damned if he was going to disappoint a single one.
Cedric stood motionless outside the eerie glow of Dumbledore’s Age Line, fingering the scrap of parchment he had stuffed deep into his pocket. He stared intently at the Goblet for a moment, not in fear of what might come, but in awe. Dumbledore had said that anyone who entered his name into the Goblet should be certain that he or she was absolutely prepared to participate, and Cedric was, but he knew he wouldn’t be chosen for the Tournament.
The honour wouldn’t go to him. Cedric was a perfectly ordinary Hufflepuff. But he was doing what needed to be done. For his friends, for his house, for his father and his mother.
For himself.
When he realised this, he stepped confidently over the Age Line and deftly flicked his name into the Goblet. The flames burst brightly into the air and his parchment was gone. The Hufflepuffs sent up a loud cheer. Forget “eternal glory,” Cedric realized. This was it. Right now. There couldn’t be a better feeling than this.
Late that night, soaking in the prefect’s bath, Cedric was still stunned at what he’d done. He reminded himself that it really didn’t mean anything, that it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t chosen, because he was already the pride of Hufflepuff just for trying.
But if he was chosen…
And (dared he think it?) if he won…
When a Hufflepuff is presented with promises of greatness and glory and fans and publicity, and he thinks about all those things for a very long time, he eventually realizes that it is not only he who gains those things. Cedric knew that his family, his friends, and his house would share in all of it. Hufflepuffs were not featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet regularly. That was reserved for people like Harry Potter with unwitting Gryffindor bravery in the face of impossible terrors. No, Hufflepuffs were more often relegated to the recipe columns, the household hints page, and short paragraphs in the obituaries.
Cedric would do it. He had to, if only for that. He’d not only be the Hogwarts Champion, but the Triwizard Champion as well.
Satisfied and exhausted, Cedric smiled to himself and began to drain the tub. As he stepped out and began to towel off, he heard an unmistakable giggle coming from one of the taps. Cedric quickly wrapped his towel tightly around his waist.
“Hello, Myrtle.”
The silvery, translucent figure of a girl emerged from the tap and drifted in front of Cedric, reaching a ghostly finger towards his bare chest. Unnerved by Myrtle’s chilling touch, Cedric shivered and stepped away, making pretence of gathering his belongings so as not to upset the ghost’s delicate sensibilities.
“Hellooooo, Cedric,” cooed Myrtle, peering at him through her thick glasses, “I heard someone saying you entered the Triwizard Tournament. Is it true?”
“It’s true,” replied Cedric, wishing she would leave him alone to dress in privacy.
“Ooh. You’ll get in, Cedric, and you’ll win. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah? And what makes you so sure of it, Myrtle?”
“Oh, Cedric! Don’t be so modest!” Myrtle flew quickly in a circle around Cedric, and he had the distinct feeling that she ogled his behind as she did so. “You’re the best-looking boy in the whole school, you know,” she continued, “And very smart. And…friendly, besides.”
Cedric shook his head and chuckled. “Now I know you’re having me on, Myrtle. Anyway,” he said, in a rushed attempt to change the subject, “Where’d you hear I entered the Tournament? Who said it?”
“Oh, everyone’s talking about it, Cedric,” purred Myrtle, “Talking about all the students who entered. But Harry Potter was the one I heard speaking of you. You know, I think he rather fancies you, the way he goes on and on about Cedric, Cedric, Cedric Diggory.”
Cedric snorted and shook his head again. He didn’t mean to appear derisive, but really, this ghost was just too much sometimes.
“You don’t believe me?” asked Myrtle incredulously, her voice rising.
Cedric only shrugged and shook his head. Myrtle wailed and made a head-spinningly fast loop around the bathroom ceiling.
“I used to fancy you, Cedric Diggory! But now I can see that you’re the same as all the rest of them!” Myrtle punctuated her complaint with another high-pitched wail before shooting suddenly back up the tap from which she’d come.
Cedric laughed to himself as he dressed. Harry Potter, skinny and fourteen and a boy besides, fancy him? It was laughable, really, and even if it hadn’t been, Cedric was so far down on the Kinsey Scale that he made even Professor Snape look as queer as a three-Sickle coin.
Although he knew that Myrtle had only said that about Harry Potter to get a reaction from him, Cedric couldn’t help but study the boy whenever he got the chance. Because if it was true, he thought, would that really be so bad? It wasn’t as if Cedric would be forced to reciprocate the feelings or even acknowledge their existence. But there was also the simple fact that it felt nice to be liked, to be admired for who you were, if that really was the case.
For Cedric knew there really was nothing exceptional about himself for Harry to like, really, and so he must (if he did, Cedric reminded himself) like Cedric’s whole self.
And that wasn’t a bad feeling, really.
On the day the Triwizard Champions were selected, Cedric was calm. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but it wasn’t up to him. He’d done all he could, and he thought he might be worthy, but everything was up to the Goblet now. And Cedric so trusted the magic of the Goblet that he remained serene, letting out only the smallest of surprised noises when he was announced as the Hogwarts Champion.
Cedric stood awkwardly in the Trophy Room with the Champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. None of the three spoke. Fleur Delacour, prettier than any flower Cedric had ever seen, gazed at the trophy cases, surreptitiously checking her appearance in the shining glass. Viktor Krum, whom Cedric had admired from afar at the Quidditch World Cup, stood solid and motionless and proud near the centre of the room. As for Cedric himself, he was still calm, but anticipation was building inside him. What could possibly be taking the judges so long?
Then, in a flurry of movement and sound, they burst into the room, accompanied by a very frightened looking younger boy.
Harry Potter.
Harry caught Cedric’s gaze for only a moment before the judges were upon him, pummelling him with questions, overlapping each other, and backing young Harry into a corner.
Cedric had no idea what was happening, and from the looks of things, neither did anyone else in the room. Finally, Dumbledore’s shout put a halt to the clamour and he asked Harry, calmly yet forcefully, if Harry had entered his own name into the Goblet of Fire. When it became clear that the boy hadn’t, Cedric was torn between his loyalty to his house (Hufflepuff deserved this) and his empathy for the frightened, confused young boy standing in front of him. Anything else that Cedric knew or suspected about the boy was driven out of his mind as he put himself into Harry’s shoes.
He cast a sympathetic look the boy’s way but it was lost on Harry, who wasn’t looking at anyone. He looked terrified, and Cedric didn’t blame him. After all, Cedric himself had been fully prepared to compete if the Goblet chose him, even if he hadn’t entirely expected it. Harry, on the other hand, had no choice. He hadn’t entered his name, but he was still bound by the same agreement that bound Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor. It would be a terrifying position to be stuck in, but at the same time, it seemed to be one of those things that always happened to Harry Potter.
~~~
Before the first task, Cedric was nervous. And after Harry informed him what the First Task would entail, he became even more unsettled. Cedric didn’t have a clue what to do with a dragon. Though he had a few vague ideas of thing she might try, he wasn’t at all sure of himself or his performance. He only hoped against hope that he wouldn’t disgrace his family or his house. As long as he didn’t score too poorly or make an arse of himself compared to the other Champions, Cedric would be satisfied, even if he got last place in the Tournament.
As the four Champions stood in their tent, minutes away from facing their dragons, Cedric allowed his eyes to wander. Victor looked confident and Fleur looked frosty. Harry looked uneasy, and Cedric felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for him. He really hadn’t thought much about the younger boy since the night the Champions were chosen. But now, confronted with Harry right there, looking small and scared and determined, he remembered two things. The first was the way he’d felt whilst standing in the Trophy Room after the Champions were announced. Harry was about to get a first-hand look at what a magical contract could do, and he didn’t seem to be looking forward to it. Cedric’s second thought was that Harry had told him about the dragons, and Cedric appreciated that. After all, it was a very Hufflepuff thing to do.
~~~
Before the Second Task, as Cedric approached Harry to tell him about the egg, he was unaccountably a bit unsettled. And as he caught up to Harry, he felt his pulse accelerate slightly. For some reason, the tiny rush of adrenaline he felt as he caught up to Harry reminded him of Myrtle’s words about Harry fancying him. And even though he was dating Cho, Cedric found that he really didn’t mind quite so much.
Harry’s face was so serious as Cedric explained the secret of the egg, and he was clearly paying rapt attention. And then he smiled. It wasn’t the fake smile he’d used for the press or the regular smile he used with his friends. This smile was different somehow. It was genuine and pure, and Cedric wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt his cheeks flush just a little. He thought he mightn’t mind so much if Harry decided to smile at him again just like that. As he turned to go back to his pretty girlfriend, he couldn’t help looking back at the boy he’d just left. Harry flashed him another quick smile, and Cedric found himself grinning back as he thought that it might not be so bad to have someone who admired him the way Harry clearly did.
~~~
The night before the Final Task, Cedric ran into Harry alone in a corridor just outside the library. The two boys regarded each other silently and solemnly for a long moment until Cedric finally spoke.
“Tomorrow,” he said flatly, watching for any sign of emotion in Harry’s green eyes.
“Yes,” replied Harry in just as flat a tone. The two stood close together in the hallway, neither really knowing what to say. Cedric had a thousand things he wanted to say-‘Good Luck, May the best wizard win, Fuck Durmstrang, Fuck Beauxbatons, Fuck this whole Tournament, eh, Harry?’-but something about the way Harry looked at him pushed all those things out of his mind.
Cedric nodded fraternally and made to pass Harry, for he really needed to get a good night’s sleep to condition himself for the Final Task, and it was late enough as it was.
But Harry, ever the Gryffindor, brash and bold, put a hand on Cedric’s sleeve, and that light, simple touch stopped Cedric dead in his tracks. Moaning Myrtle’s words echoed back to Cedric all these months later. I think he rather fancies you…
Cedric raised his eyebrows at Harry, who stepped forward, a little closer than was strictly necessary. Cedric felt Harry’s hand grow tighter around his arm, and as uncomfortable as that was, he didn’t pull away.
“Cedric-“
…the way he goes on and on about Cedric, Cedric, Cedric Diggory…
“Harry, I don’t-“
“It’s not-“
“I really don’t-“
Neither boy could finish a sentence, so it was a lucky thing for each of them that the other kept attempting to begin one. Cedric wasn’t sure what was happening. He didn’t know why he was standing alone in a corridor with Harry Potter-his opponent, for Merlin’s sake, in the Tournament that was to end tomorrow-letting the boy tighten his thin fingers around his own wrist.
Cedric was seventeen, and he was Hogwarts Champion, and he was perfectly happy with his life just the way it was.
But if Harry did fancy him…
And (dared he think it?) if he might possibly fancy Harry, too, even the tiniest bit…
Cedric bit his lip and exhaled hard. Harry hadn’t let go of his arm and was now moving one finger ever so slightly against the rough wool of Cedric’s robes. The more troubling part, in Cedric’s mind, was that he hadn’t wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp and gone straight to his dormitory and to bed.
“Cedric, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Cedric only nodded, afraid words might fail him if he opened his mouth.
“I mean, maybe not ask, but maybe just-“ Harry stopped short, pausing only a moment, then stood tall and leaned in close to Cedric’s face. And he kissed him.
Cedric tensed. The kiss was light and unpractised and one-sided. After a moment, Harry stepped back, looking anywhere but at Cedric.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, “I just thought-I mean, I know you and Cho, but I-“
All the compassion and pity and solidarity Cedric had felt for Harry over the course of the Tournament suddenly pushed at him from inside, and he leaned back down to the younger boy, stopping his words with a real kiss. It wasn’t passionate and it wasn’t loving, but it was real and there was something behind it. Cedric only wished he knew what it was.
He stepped back and regarded the shocked boy in front of him, and he realized that there was a reason for everything that had happened thus far. But he couldn’t dwell on it now. There was still the Final Task to accomplish, and it wouldn’t do to attempt it with a mind clouded with doubt.
“Listen, it’s okay,” he said to Harry, who looked anything but all right. “We’ll sort this out after the Tournament. After tomorrow. Things’ll be all right, I promise.”
Cedric took Harry’s smaller hand in his own, and it didn’t feel that different from Cho’s.
“I know how you feel. Someone told me, and I think it might be all right. But we’ve got to finish tomorrow first, all right?”
Harry smiled hesitantly and nodded.
“Eternal glory tomorrow, Harry,” promised Cedric, “for someone.”
But Cedric never found his glory. And they never sorted it out. And despite Cedric’s promise, things were not really ever all right again.
Author: emiime
Giftee: analytically
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3144
Characters/Pairing: Cedric/Harry
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: The quote at the beginning of this piece is from Neal Cassady. Much gratitude is due to my beta, M.
Summary: It wasn’t that he lacked self-confidence. Not at all. It was just that he liked his life very much just the way it was.
I see no greatness in myself. I'm a simple-minded, child-like, insipid sort of moronic and kind of awkward-feeling adolescent.
Cedric Diggory didn’t think there was anything extraordinary about himself or the things that he did. In fact, he generally acted without thinking, and luckily for those around him, his instincts led him almost unerringly towards good results. He didn’t exactly spend all his spare time rescuing kittens from tree branches, but he might as well have for all the praise and attention that constantly came his way.
Cedric knew he wasn’t the smartest student at Hogwarts, nor was he the best looking or the bravest or the strongest or even the best Quidditch player. He did all right in classes and he did a little more than all right with girls, and he was fine with all of it. Cedric had no desire to be the best at everything-or at anything, really. It wasn’t that he lacked self-confidence. Not at all. It was just that he liked his life very much just the way it was.
So when it came time that students were allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric was hesitant despite the encouragement from his housemates.
“Just think of it, Ced,” encouraged Zacharias Smith that evening in the Hufflepuff Common Room, “Everyone’s going to expect a Gryffindor to be the Hogwarts champion, right? But it’s got to be you. You’re the best one for it.”
Amy Stout poked him with her elbow and added, “You’re one of the smartest people in our year, and you’re braver than half of Gryffindor combined, anyway.”
“And you fly like a madman!” shouted Zacharias, throwing his arms in the air.
Cedric felt a blush begin staining his cheeks with pink, which only worsened with Amy’s next words of encouragement.
“Besides,” she murmured, “We want a nice-looking champion, anyway! Come on, Ced, you’d be in all the papers! Think of it!”
“Eternal glory’s not really my thing, mates,” said Cedric, and he returned to plugging away at his Potions essay.
But the idea stayed in the back of his mind all day and it grew and it grew and it wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Eternal glory,” he said softly to himself, lying in bed that night.
“Eternal glory,” me mouthed to his mirror reflection in the morning.
“Eternal glory,” he repeated, writing his name neatly on a scrap of parchment.
Cedric stared at his inked name there on the parchment, his ticket to everything he’d never wanted. After a moment, he folded it and shoved it deep inside the pocket of his robes.
Cedric made his way to the Great Hall, picking up quite a following along the way. He really had only meant to go and see who else was entering, but the crowd of Hufflepuffs that had sprung up around him was certain he had other plans. Abuzz with excitement, they slapped his back and cheered and laughed as they all entered the Great Hall. Only Cedric was silent.
He knew he couldn’t let his friends down, not after they’d pleaded with him for days and had now assembled a veritable yellow-and-black army to witness his entrance into the Tournament. If there was one reason Cedric had been sorted into Hufflepuff above all other houses, it was because of his intense loyalty. He loved his friends, all of them, and he’d be damned if he was going to disappoint a single one.
Cedric stood motionless outside the eerie glow of Dumbledore’s Age Line, fingering the scrap of parchment he had stuffed deep into his pocket. He stared intently at the Goblet for a moment, not in fear of what might come, but in awe. Dumbledore had said that anyone who entered his name into the Goblet should be certain that he or she was absolutely prepared to participate, and Cedric was, but he knew he wouldn’t be chosen for the Tournament.
The honour wouldn’t go to him. Cedric was a perfectly ordinary Hufflepuff. But he was doing what needed to be done. For his friends, for his house, for his father and his mother.
For himself.
When he realised this, he stepped confidently over the Age Line and deftly flicked his name into the Goblet. The flames burst brightly into the air and his parchment was gone. The Hufflepuffs sent up a loud cheer. Forget “eternal glory,” Cedric realized. This was it. Right now. There couldn’t be a better feeling than this.
Late that night, soaking in the prefect’s bath, Cedric was still stunned at what he’d done. He reminded himself that it really didn’t mean anything, that it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t chosen, because he was already the pride of Hufflepuff just for trying.
But if he was chosen…
And (dared he think it?) if he won…
When a Hufflepuff is presented with promises of greatness and glory and fans and publicity, and he thinks about all those things for a very long time, he eventually realizes that it is not only he who gains those things. Cedric knew that his family, his friends, and his house would share in all of it. Hufflepuffs were not featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet regularly. That was reserved for people like Harry Potter with unwitting Gryffindor bravery in the face of impossible terrors. No, Hufflepuffs were more often relegated to the recipe columns, the household hints page, and short paragraphs in the obituaries.
Cedric would do it. He had to, if only for that. He’d not only be the Hogwarts Champion, but the Triwizard Champion as well.
Satisfied and exhausted, Cedric smiled to himself and began to drain the tub. As he stepped out and began to towel off, he heard an unmistakable giggle coming from one of the taps. Cedric quickly wrapped his towel tightly around his waist.
“Hello, Myrtle.”
The silvery, translucent figure of a girl emerged from the tap and drifted in front of Cedric, reaching a ghostly finger towards his bare chest. Unnerved by Myrtle’s chilling touch, Cedric shivered and stepped away, making pretence of gathering his belongings so as not to upset the ghost’s delicate sensibilities.
“Hellooooo, Cedric,” cooed Myrtle, peering at him through her thick glasses, “I heard someone saying you entered the Triwizard Tournament. Is it true?”
“It’s true,” replied Cedric, wishing she would leave him alone to dress in privacy.
“Ooh. You’ll get in, Cedric, and you’ll win. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah? And what makes you so sure of it, Myrtle?”
“Oh, Cedric! Don’t be so modest!” Myrtle flew quickly in a circle around Cedric, and he had the distinct feeling that she ogled his behind as she did so. “You’re the best-looking boy in the whole school, you know,” she continued, “And very smart. And…friendly, besides.”
Cedric shook his head and chuckled. “Now I know you’re having me on, Myrtle. Anyway,” he said, in a rushed attempt to change the subject, “Where’d you hear I entered the Tournament? Who said it?”
“Oh, everyone’s talking about it, Cedric,” purred Myrtle, “Talking about all the students who entered. But Harry Potter was the one I heard speaking of you. You know, I think he rather fancies you, the way he goes on and on about Cedric, Cedric, Cedric Diggory.”
Cedric snorted and shook his head again. He didn’t mean to appear derisive, but really, this ghost was just too much sometimes.
“You don’t believe me?” asked Myrtle incredulously, her voice rising.
Cedric only shrugged and shook his head. Myrtle wailed and made a head-spinningly fast loop around the bathroom ceiling.
“I used to fancy you, Cedric Diggory! But now I can see that you’re the same as all the rest of them!” Myrtle punctuated her complaint with another high-pitched wail before shooting suddenly back up the tap from which she’d come.
Cedric laughed to himself as he dressed. Harry Potter, skinny and fourteen and a boy besides, fancy him? It was laughable, really, and even if it hadn’t been, Cedric was so far down on the Kinsey Scale that he made even Professor Snape look as queer as a three-Sickle coin.
Although he knew that Myrtle had only said that about Harry Potter to get a reaction from him, Cedric couldn’t help but study the boy whenever he got the chance. Because if it was true, he thought, would that really be so bad? It wasn’t as if Cedric would be forced to reciprocate the feelings or even acknowledge their existence. But there was also the simple fact that it felt nice to be liked, to be admired for who you were, if that really was the case.
For Cedric knew there really was nothing exceptional about himself for Harry to like, really, and so he must (if he did, Cedric reminded himself) like Cedric’s whole self.
And that wasn’t a bad feeling, really.
On the day the Triwizard Champions were selected, Cedric was calm. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but it wasn’t up to him. He’d done all he could, and he thought he might be worthy, but everything was up to the Goblet now. And Cedric so trusted the magic of the Goblet that he remained serene, letting out only the smallest of surprised noises when he was announced as the Hogwarts Champion.
Cedric stood awkwardly in the Trophy Room with the Champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. None of the three spoke. Fleur Delacour, prettier than any flower Cedric had ever seen, gazed at the trophy cases, surreptitiously checking her appearance in the shining glass. Viktor Krum, whom Cedric had admired from afar at the Quidditch World Cup, stood solid and motionless and proud near the centre of the room. As for Cedric himself, he was still calm, but anticipation was building inside him. What could possibly be taking the judges so long?
Then, in a flurry of movement and sound, they burst into the room, accompanied by a very frightened looking younger boy.
Harry Potter.
Harry caught Cedric’s gaze for only a moment before the judges were upon him, pummelling him with questions, overlapping each other, and backing young Harry into a corner.
Cedric had no idea what was happening, and from the looks of things, neither did anyone else in the room. Finally, Dumbledore’s shout put a halt to the clamour and he asked Harry, calmly yet forcefully, if Harry had entered his own name into the Goblet of Fire. When it became clear that the boy hadn’t, Cedric was torn between his loyalty to his house (Hufflepuff deserved this) and his empathy for the frightened, confused young boy standing in front of him. Anything else that Cedric knew or suspected about the boy was driven out of his mind as he put himself into Harry’s shoes.
He cast a sympathetic look the boy’s way but it was lost on Harry, who wasn’t looking at anyone. He looked terrified, and Cedric didn’t blame him. After all, Cedric himself had been fully prepared to compete if the Goblet chose him, even if he hadn’t entirely expected it. Harry, on the other hand, had no choice. He hadn’t entered his name, but he was still bound by the same agreement that bound Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor. It would be a terrifying position to be stuck in, but at the same time, it seemed to be one of those things that always happened to Harry Potter.
~~~
Before the first task, Cedric was nervous. And after Harry informed him what the First Task would entail, he became even more unsettled. Cedric didn’t have a clue what to do with a dragon. Though he had a few vague ideas of thing she might try, he wasn’t at all sure of himself or his performance. He only hoped against hope that he wouldn’t disgrace his family or his house. As long as he didn’t score too poorly or make an arse of himself compared to the other Champions, Cedric would be satisfied, even if he got last place in the Tournament.
As the four Champions stood in their tent, minutes away from facing their dragons, Cedric allowed his eyes to wander. Victor looked confident and Fleur looked frosty. Harry looked uneasy, and Cedric felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for him. He really hadn’t thought much about the younger boy since the night the Champions were chosen. But now, confronted with Harry right there, looking small and scared and determined, he remembered two things. The first was the way he’d felt whilst standing in the Trophy Room after the Champions were announced. Harry was about to get a first-hand look at what a magical contract could do, and he didn’t seem to be looking forward to it. Cedric’s second thought was that Harry had told him about the dragons, and Cedric appreciated that. After all, it was a very Hufflepuff thing to do.
~~~
Before the Second Task, as Cedric approached Harry to tell him about the egg, he was unaccountably a bit unsettled. And as he caught up to Harry, he felt his pulse accelerate slightly. For some reason, the tiny rush of adrenaline he felt as he caught up to Harry reminded him of Myrtle’s words about Harry fancying him. And even though he was dating Cho, Cedric found that he really didn’t mind quite so much.
Harry’s face was so serious as Cedric explained the secret of the egg, and he was clearly paying rapt attention. And then he smiled. It wasn’t the fake smile he’d used for the press or the regular smile he used with his friends. This smile was different somehow. It was genuine and pure, and Cedric wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt his cheeks flush just a little. He thought he mightn’t mind so much if Harry decided to smile at him again just like that. As he turned to go back to his pretty girlfriend, he couldn’t help looking back at the boy he’d just left. Harry flashed him another quick smile, and Cedric found himself grinning back as he thought that it might not be so bad to have someone who admired him the way Harry clearly did.
~~~
The night before the Final Task, Cedric ran into Harry alone in a corridor just outside the library. The two boys regarded each other silently and solemnly for a long moment until Cedric finally spoke.
“Tomorrow,” he said flatly, watching for any sign of emotion in Harry’s green eyes.
“Yes,” replied Harry in just as flat a tone. The two stood close together in the hallway, neither really knowing what to say. Cedric had a thousand things he wanted to say-‘Good Luck, May the best wizard win, Fuck Durmstrang, Fuck Beauxbatons, Fuck this whole Tournament, eh, Harry?’-but something about the way Harry looked at him pushed all those things out of his mind.
Cedric nodded fraternally and made to pass Harry, for he really needed to get a good night’s sleep to condition himself for the Final Task, and it was late enough as it was.
But Harry, ever the Gryffindor, brash and bold, put a hand on Cedric’s sleeve, and that light, simple touch stopped Cedric dead in his tracks. Moaning Myrtle’s words echoed back to Cedric all these months later. I think he rather fancies you…
Cedric raised his eyebrows at Harry, who stepped forward, a little closer than was strictly necessary. Cedric felt Harry’s hand grow tighter around his arm, and as uncomfortable as that was, he didn’t pull away.
“Cedric-“
…the way he goes on and on about Cedric, Cedric, Cedric Diggory…
“Harry, I don’t-“
“It’s not-“
“I really don’t-“
Neither boy could finish a sentence, so it was a lucky thing for each of them that the other kept attempting to begin one. Cedric wasn’t sure what was happening. He didn’t know why he was standing alone in a corridor with Harry Potter-his opponent, for Merlin’s sake, in the Tournament that was to end tomorrow-letting the boy tighten his thin fingers around his own wrist.
Cedric was seventeen, and he was Hogwarts Champion, and he was perfectly happy with his life just the way it was.
But if Harry did fancy him…
And (dared he think it?) if he might possibly fancy Harry, too, even the tiniest bit…
Cedric bit his lip and exhaled hard. Harry hadn’t let go of his arm and was now moving one finger ever so slightly against the rough wool of Cedric’s robes. The more troubling part, in Cedric’s mind, was that he hadn’t wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp and gone straight to his dormitory and to bed.
“Cedric, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Cedric only nodded, afraid words might fail him if he opened his mouth.
“I mean, maybe not ask, but maybe just-“ Harry stopped short, pausing only a moment, then stood tall and leaned in close to Cedric’s face. And he kissed him.
Cedric tensed. The kiss was light and unpractised and one-sided. After a moment, Harry stepped back, looking anywhere but at Cedric.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, “I just thought-I mean, I know you and Cho, but I-“
All the compassion and pity and solidarity Cedric had felt for Harry over the course of the Tournament suddenly pushed at him from inside, and he leaned back down to the younger boy, stopping his words with a real kiss. It wasn’t passionate and it wasn’t loving, but it was real and there was something behind it. Cedric only wished he knew what it was.
He stepped back and regarded the shocked boy in front of him, and he realized that there was a reason for everything that had happened thus far. But he couldn’t dwell on it now. There was still the Final Task to accomplish, and it wouldn’t do to attempt it with a mind clouded with doubt.
“Listen, it’s okay,” he said to Harry, who looked anything but all right. “We’ll sort this out after the Tournament. After tomorrow. Things’ll be all right, I promise.”
Cedric took Harry’s smaller hand in his own, and it didn’t feel that different from Cho’s.
“I know how you feel. Someone told me, and I think it might be all right. But we’ve got to finish tomorrow first, all right?”
Harry smiled hesitantly and nodded.
“Eternal glory tomorrow, Harry,” promised Cedric, “for someone.”
But Cedric never found his glory. And they never sorted it out. And despite Cedric’s promise, things were not really ever all right again.