A HOLIDAY FROM EXPECTATIONS

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF A BAD JOKE

In times of old when I was new
And Hogwarts barely started
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted:
United by a common goal,
They had the self-same yearning,
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach!"
The four good friends decided
And never did they dream that they
Might someday be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere As
Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry is purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest."
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name."
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,
And treat them just the same."
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had
A House in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning, just like him,
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,
And taught them all she knew,
Thus the Houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true.
So Hogwarts worked in harmony
For several happy years,
But then discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears.
The Houses that, like pillars four,
Had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other and,
Divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
Must meet an early end,
What with duelling and with fighting
And the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came a morning
When old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here
And you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
Because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfill my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether Sorting
May not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within.
I have told you, I have warned you. . . .
Let the Sorting now begin.

It was the sorting hat that convinced me more than anything else.

I sat still at the sorting ceremony for a long time, not listening to the names of new students or even clapping along with the rest of my house when Slytherin received a new addition. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence with me in recent days. And, god love them, my friends knew to leave me alone. There was a certain solidarity among Slytherins, I think. I did my suffering in solitude. I did most things in solitude these days, actually.

I had no real love or loyalty for my house, to tell the truth. It seemed a silly thing to get worked up about. We were here to learn magic, and that's all I really cared for. My calm disposition didn't allow for getting worked up over much of anything, really. I'd endured many a break-up due to my alleged detached behaviour; many people assumed me frigid and impersonal if they didn't know me well… Incidentally, not many knew me well—perhaps, out of those who attended Hogwarts, my brother, and a few spare members of my own house. It didn't bother me as much as it should, I suppose. I had little in the way of companionship, but it was enough.

Or at least it had been. Now, everything was different.

Because the words of a hat, of all things, bounced around in my head over and over again, and cemented in the final straw. My hands trembled beneath the table and I fought to keep myself composed. Because it was then that I finally acknowledged it. Potter and Dumbledore were right.

I didn't want to believe it. Despite Mum and Dad's warnings against it, I wanted to blame Potter. It would be so much easier. I wanted to be blind, like everyone else, but the words of the sorting hat hit me like a runaway train. Read the signs, it said. And they were there, paraded so nicely, so conveniently, right in front of my face the whole time. For a moment I saw Cedric's ghost staring at me blankly from across the table, face expressionless, nothing like how it was when he was alive. It seemed to accuse me for the longest moment…and then it was gone. Just a figment of my imagination.

Cedric would never resurface as a ghost. He wasn't afraid to die. Our parents didn't raise us that way. If I had any consolation in my brother's untimely demise, it was that he had stepped into Death's arms proudly, without being afraid. But that didn't mean he wouldn't be disappointed with me were he to see me now—blaming his death on others for my own comfort. And what had I done to avenge him?

Nothing. I had done nothing.

I stood in the middle of the ministry woman's speech and walked right for the doors of the great hall without being dismissed. I had been made prefect this year, but I was sure Malfoy could handle the first years. Perhaps he wouldn't be happy about it—he was rarely happy about anything unless someone else was suffering for it, I found—and I likely wouldn't hear the end of it later, but I couldn't be around people right now. I couldn't pretend to be alright any longer this night. Not this night.

In the months since Cedric's death I had been gripped by something the healers at St. Mungo's called an 'Acute Case of Melancholy'—which was really just a fancier way of saying 'well and truly depressed' I think, only, Melancholy gave them something to label me with so my parents might think the hapless healers knew what they were talking about. I could now only stand company in certain controlled doses. I had been dreading the next term at Hogwarts for weeks. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, much less mundane things like school. My brother was dead. And now the reality of that was staring me right in the face, and I just could not be here right now. I needed to get out of this room, away from all these people. I was suffocating—

"Hem, hem, Miss Diggory? Just where do you think you're going?" A sickeningly sweet voice called from the staff table. "It's quite rude to interrupt, you know."

I turned slowly at the sound of my name, as if in a dream, to look over my shoulder at the squat, pretentiously dressed toad-woman blankly. She looked vaguely familiar and I remembered that I may have met her at the ministry while shadowing my father's job position during the summer. It had been a diverting distraction. I loved magical creatures; sometimes I thought I related more to animals than I did to people. Those creatures classified as Beings I found most fascinating. I remember I'd been extremely jealous of my brother when he'd gone to meet the mer-people in the black lake last year…

The entire hall was staring at me with varying expressions of curiosity and intrigue…all except for one. Emerald green eyes locked with mine for the shortest of moments, yet they conveyed more than any mouth could possibly speak. They were cautious, those eyes. They held mine tentatively, and I found myself wondering just what exactly those eyes had seen. I wanted to see through them to the other side—morbidly curious—to witness what they had witnessed. I wanted to know what it was like to see it happen—to watch a limp body fall bonelessly to the ground—a face, once animated and alive, go still and blank—watch the light fade—through his eyes.

Then, as if burned, the boy tore his gaze from mine and stared down at the table in front of him.

"Miss Diggory? Miss Diggory, I must insist that you return to your seat at once—"

Dumbledore murmured something to the woman inaudibly and her cheeks went slightly pink in barely concealed outrage. But she said no more as I turned silently and exited the hall without so much as a whisper left in my wake. Professor Snape stared after me with hard eyes. There would be words later—of that, there was no doubt in my mind. Then again, it was a rather well known fact that Professor Snape was a bit of a pushover when it came to Slytherins. Or perhaps pushover was the wrong word… It seemed a little too undignified. Although I wasn't even bothering to be inconspicuous. I had a feeling he'd be more miffed over that than the real offense.

But somehow, at that moment, none of it mattered. I had a feeling I was experiencing a minor mental breakdown. The world and its rules could go eat dung for all I cared. I didn't even want to be here. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to talk to anyone, much less listen to them. I couldn't be bothered to respect anyone's delicate sense of propriety. And deep down, I knew this was selfish of me. I knew I shared this world with over seven-billion other people, and that it didn't revolve around me.

But I didn't care.

So what if I was selfish? I'd never been selfish in my entire life before now—I figured I deserved a bit of a…a holiday. Yes. A holiday from expectations. That sounded just lovely. I think I'd earned it. And if anyone else had a problem with that, I don't believe I would be responsible for my own actions henceforth. It was an oddly…freeing thought. For the first time since I'd seen my brother's dead body, it was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Oh, I was still miserable, volatile, and bitter as sour punch, but the thought of freedom made me almost giddy. I felt like I could do anything. Anything I wanted. Consequences be damned.

I'd been heading for the dungeons, but I suddenly didn't feel quite like going to the common room. It would soon be filled with people anyway, and people were what I wanted to avoid at the moment. Sure it wasn't exactly permitted for students to wander around on the first night back, but I was a prefect now, wasn't I? We were supposed to patrol the halls for a certain number of hours after curfew. I didn't think anyone would mind if I started a bit early. Perhaps it'd come off as due diligence, honestly, I didn't care what anyone else thought.

I'd been wandering around for about ten minutes, debating on whether or not to make the long trek up to the astronomy tower. I always found it peaceful up there at night. I liked astronomy classes, even though you had to get up in the middle of the night for them. Stargazing was a favourite hobby of mine, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought about how long it had been since I really enjoyed something. How long had it been since I had last stood still and simply looked up at the stars? Surely not since all this madness had begun… Nothing ever changed up there. Even if everything went to hell down here, you could always count on the stars to stay the same…

In fact, I reflected with a hush of bitterness, it seemed like there had been something going wrong at this school every year, ever since my very first year. I almost wished my parents had sent Cedric and I to some place like Durmstrang instead. We'd both be better off for it. Here, it was always something. Trolls, mysterious stones, a basilisk of all things, dementors, werewolves… And usually—not always—but usually, it was a fairly safe bet to assume it had something to do with Potter. He was a bit of a running joke in Slytherin. (Mainly perpetuated by Malfoy—the useless busybody sure knew how to hold a grudge, I'd give him that. I was sorry I'd ever gone out with him). Then again, now-a-days, Potter was a bit of a running joke everywhere. Him and Dumbledore.

I think I might just have to revaluate that…

It was clear to me now that people were walking around with blinders on. Not to mention I had some fairly circumstantial evidence against the fact that Potter was an attention mongering whore, like everyone was carrying on about in The Prophet. Just thinking about it actually managed to stir something like rage in my chest. Not to mention, if everything Dumbledore said at the end of last term was really to be believed, even as The Prophet and Minister Fudge so vehemently denied it…

I stopped walking, a terrible realization freezing me in my tracks—I think I even stopped breathing.

Just then, as if summoned, none other than famous Potter himself skidded out from a passage hidden behind a tapestry right in front of me. He halted when he caught sight of me—or perhaps it was my slowly crumpling face that made him stop. After all, I wasn't in the practice of making faces for any particular reason what-so-ever. (Parkinson had often told me my default expression looked as if I were about to fall asleep). Potter stared at me, and I stared back (the oddest pressure welled up behind my eyes), and then I remembered I still wasn't breathing.

I took in a careful (oddly shuddery) breath before staring hopelessly at the puzzled boy in front of me who seemed reluctant to move for whatever reason, and I whispered in a hollow tone, "…He's going to kill us all, isn't he?"

And then the unthinkable happened.

I started crying.

Yes, right there in the middle of the corridor—in front of Potter of all people.

I hadn't cried in years—not even last term when Potter showed up on the quidditch pitch dragging my brother's dead body with him. He looked completely bewildered, and I couldn't blame him. He wasn't the only one. But then he seemed to catch on to what I'd said, and his face took on some sort of dark comprehension. He approached then, slowly, cautiously, as if nearing some kind of dangerous wild animal. He reached out and patted my shoulder awkwardly. I covered my face in humiliation, shaking with sobs I desperately tried to suppress.

But the truth was, I was terrified.

Lord Voldemort was alive and looking for blood.

He killed my brother.

Damn right I was going to cry.

And Potter—Potter, of all people—seemed to be the only one who understood how truly awful everything was.

"You know," I kept saying hysterically. "You know, and—and"—I choked on another sob—"and none of them are listening!" Potter looked over his shoulder nervously as the voices of students heading to their dormitories from the start of term feast drew nearer, and he began to lead me away from them rather uncomfortably. I wouldn't want to be seen with me like this either, honestly—especially if I happened to be Potter, of all people. But my legs were unsteady in the overpowering sense of dread that gripped me like a vice—my whole body was shaking—and I stumbled into him, clinging to his form for balance.

Remarkably, instead of shoving me away in utter disdain, he steadied me delicately and drew me further away from the sounds of voices and footsteps…almost as if he knew I wouldn't want to be seen in this state. Who knew Potter, of all people, could actually be considerate? I felt bad, honestly. I knew from my brother's experience with his melodramatic girlfriend, Cho, that those of the male persuasion did not handle weepy females well. And Potter, though he seemed alarmed by my outburst, was taking it rather better than most, I thought.

It was only when I realized that he was leading me in the general direction of the hospital wing that I reigned myself in and gathered half my wits about me again. I desperately tried to compose myself, and stopped him. "No, please—I don't" —I swallowed thickly— "I don't want anyone else to see me like this… I don't need a calming potion from Madam Pomfrey—I'll settle down—I just—" I broke off, and admitted impulsively, "I just wanted to see the stars… I was—I was heading for the astronomy tower when…when I thought of…" I mentally wrestled down another torrent of hysterics, shuddering heavily instead.

Potter looked towards the tower staircase, then back at me rather doubtfully.

"…Are you sure you can make it that far?"

I looked at him determinedly and nodded.

Still looking somewhat uncertain, he asked, "…Do you want me to come with you?"

I stared at him with a bit of hesitation, but after a moment, I gave him another firm nod.

"If it's not too much of a bother…" I told him reticently, eyeing the oddly small space between us then looking up at him a bit bashfully. "That would be awfully decent of you…"

"Wouldn't want anybody calling me 'indecent' on top of a 'liar,' would I?" he joked rather unsuccessfully, and tried to smile—but failed miserably.

Which is better than you could say for me, because I didn't even make the attempt… There was just nothing to smile about in this situation. We both knew it. So at least we were honest with each other. And that was a lot better than most people were these days…

Faithful to his word, Potter took my arm and let me lean on him all the way up to the top of the astronomy tower. I'd never been so emotionally distraught before. It left me feeling inexplicably exhausted. I remembered why I hadn't cried in years. It was awful. I felt as if someone had just stuck my head in a toilette and flushed. Really, whoever designed the human body with this dreadful function ought to have a boot shoved up his—

As soon as I could see the sky it was as if all my worries drifted away. The crippling weight was removed from my shoulders and I felt like I could breathe again. I finally let go of poor Potter, glided out towards the ramparts, and did just that. Inhale, exhale. The night air was crisp and fresh, a gentle breeze blowing tumbles of strawberry blond back from my face. It revitalized me. And then I finally looked up at the stars…and smiled.

"They're still there."

Potter, startled out of whatever reverie he'd been in, tore his eyes away from my face and focused on the sky. Puzzled, he asked, "Were you expecting them to go somewhere?"

"The entire world is falling apart, Potter," I breathed, exponentially more at peace now that I was looking at something familiar, even if my words indicated quite the opposite. "Read the signs, it said. Next thing you know, the stars will be blinking out…the moon will fall out of the sky too, the sun will stop shining…then we'll be all alone in the dark, and everything that is good in this world will die." I paused grimly as the words sunk in. "I'd like to savour these moments while I still can, thanks…"

"That's depressing… It's like you've already given up," he observed with a slight accusing edge to his voice, moving to join me at the wall.

Slowly, I looked away from the glittering heavens to scrutinize him. He was looking out across the grounds towards the darkened hut of the groundskeeper, a frown marring his features. His hair had gotten longer since I'd last seen him, and was unkempt as ever. (It would make Mum frown). His eyes looked bruised from what appeared to be lack of sleep. (This would make Mum frown too). He seemed to have filled out some over the summer though, his sharp cheekbones showing a distinct absence of the baby fat I vaguely remembered him having in the past. It was strange to discover that at some point in time, Potter had actually become...attractive. I found it was oddly unsettling that I hadn't noticed. Then again, I've never really been that observant of faces that weren't mine to begin with…

He turned and caught me staring then. I held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"He's really back…isn't he?" I felt the need to ask after a moment of silence between us. "You saw him come back."

He stared at me grimly before looking back out across the grounds and simply said, "Yeah. I did."

I felt another surge of that awful hysteria build up inside me, and I stifled it again with another shudder. Potter looked at me with some concern, bracing himself as if he were expecting me to burst out crying again. Thankfully, it didn't happen.

Though my voice did shake a little when I affirmed, "You watched my brother die."

"…Yeah," he said quietly. "I did."

There were a dozen questions I could have asked—Was he in pain? Did he suffer? Did he scream? Was he afraid?—and twenty-thousand more zoomed through my tortured thoughts.

Instead, in a trembling, pitifully forlorn voice which was nothing at all like myself, all I could ask was, "Why did it have to be him?"

Potter went really quiet. Really quiet. And then he admitted, "Sometimes…I wish it was me."

"Sometimes I wish it was you too," I admitted in return, with only a little guilt. Idly, I looked down towards the ground, so far down. Frowning, I thought aloud, "This is probably not the best place to be having this conversation…"

We looked at each other, the same thoughts passing through both our minds, and then I let out a rather unladylike snort. We both burst into laughter. It wasn't even funny. It was actually the farthest away from funny you could possibly get. It was an entirely inappropriate thing to be laughing about, and we shouldn't be doing it. But then, there we were—a Gryffindor pariah and a Slytherin with a dead brother, howling over the prospect of hurling ourselves off the astronomy tower.

It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

We also both excelled at things we shouldn't be doing.

I suppose that's where it all started.

So, this is another one of my horrible ideas.

Let's enjoy it while it lasts...

Ceris Diggory is an interesting character to write because I've never really written an even-tempered character before. Not that she was exactly even-tempered in this chapter. And probably not in several others either. It takes a lot to move her, you could say. In this case, realizing Voldemort is actually back? I'd say just about anyone would panic. Ceris also has a seldom wakened temper...which we will see rear its ugly head sometime in the near future.

I think Dolores Umbridge can make just about anyone want to strangle her, honestly.

Please let me know your thoughts on this. Opinions matter to me.

(Oh, and I suppose I should put a disclaimer before I forget.

!Disclaimer! Not mine!

There. I disclaimer-ed.

FYI: This is going to be the last time I put a disclaimer in this story. You all should know the drill by now.)