A/N: This is basically a semi-length opinion of what I think Cedric Diggory felt. One of the slights I felt while reading the Harry Potter series was that some characters were introduced simply for the sake of plot line (no offense at all; just a cynical person's view :P) and Cedric was one of them. All that we knew about him was that he was practically the "embodiment of perfection"...but did we ever really consider how Cedric might have felt about this? He apparently wasn't arrogant, either, so was there at all anything bad about him? It certainly didn't seem that way. How did he feel about it? Basically, this is my badly-written take on what he might have felt about the constant expectation.
Colours burst from wands. Chaos ensued. Cheers were directed at him in everything from loud screeches of his name to encouraging praise. His father gazed at him proudly, as ever, from his seat at the front of the stands. His eyes lingered on his father for a moment, as Amos Diggory simply gifted him a confident smile, as though certain Cedric would not only win, but somehow let Potter create an ignominy of himself, make Krum look like the idiot people assumed he was, and Fleur simply a helpless, little girl; albeit beautiful.
Cedric tried to put on his assuring smile, the one that people mistook for confidence (and possibly arrogance) rather than a man acting in need for those around him. On this day, his false poise and grace felt wrong and artificial, as though putting on the final act in a show. Of course, this was the cruel truth; he was nothing more than a prized animal at a county fair stuck behind the bars; everyone else watching eagerly for the zoo act to go wrong.
They wouldn't have to wait long, Cedric mused to himself bitterly; the pressure building up as the judges entered the vicinity. Then again, when wasn't the pressure building up? Had there ever been a time when he did not have any pressure at all placed on his shoulders?
Of course not, Cedric thought as he glanced warily at the Weasley twins chatting with their friend, the one who commentated for all the Quidditch games. They had been accepting bets for the outcome, Cedric knew, and witches aplenty were emptying their pockets on his name. Merlin forbid he lose, and taint the name of not only himself, his family, and his friends, but the entirety of Hufflepuff, the school (as many did not believe Potter a 'true' champion), and now, the several people betting on him – including adults. Some people just aren't meant to be free…to be happy…
Happiness. Cedric almost laughed at the emotion. Or was it more of a thought; a mere whisper in his head? It had never been a substance defined to him; he had at best read of it or witnessed it amongst his friends. Perhaps there were a few joyful moments here and there, but not now; or not much this year, at the very least. It was quite humorous, the perceptions people claimed to have on views of happiness. Why shouldn't Cedric be happy? He was (as much as he hated to admit it, for fear of arrogance) attractive, along with an intelligent, kind, and gentlemanly personality. He was Quidditch captain; only one to have defeated Harry Potter in the entirety of his Quidditch career (though admittedly through unfair means, Cedric continued to argue despite his father's claims). He was a prefect; and "quite obviously a shoo-in for Head Boy" next year, according to all his house-mates. All the girls in the school would fall at his feet and worship him like a Greek god if asked by him. What wasn't wrong with him?
If only they knew. Inside was an unsure boy, rather than the confident, successful, young man everyone else saw. Who were his friends, really? Did the girls throw themselves at him because of his looks or reputation? Why was all the pressure placed on him, of all people, when several others had equal chance of success and a reputation to rival his? Why did people have such high expectations of him, when his chance of failure was just as high, if not higher, than the average wizard or witch?
Too bloody perfect, is what he was. His friends often laughed as they teasingly called him this and several other exaggerated words to display to him their views on his life. If this was perfect, Cedric wanted nothing more than to embrace the flaws and imperfection that everyone but him seemingly possessed. He couldn't help his looks, or even his character and attitude. It was how he was brought up, not only by his parents, but his friends, and society in general. They were all the same: they expected more from him, more than he could bring himself to exude. Of course, he loved his parents and friends, but they didn't seem to understand. They encouraged him and supported him, but they didn't give him what he really needed: comprehension. Some form, even the simplest, that told him they understood how he was feeling. They understood the resent he held for himself, the longing to be anyone else, the constant expectation weighing on him to be perfect and not make a single bloody mistake.
But they wouldn't, and they couldn't. They would simply turn their heads to the side and stare at him confusedly, because what did he mean? He couldn't resent himself, not with all this accomplishment. Who else could he want to be, when he was already the practical embodiment of perfection? What expectation did he think he possessed. No, of course, there was no expectation, simply him being "himself". Who else was he? He didn't have to worry about making mistakes or expectation, because he was so natural about it. When would perfection itself make a mistake? Was it possible? No, it wasn't; because on the off chance that he did make a mistake, they'd laugh it off. Stop fooling around, they'd say.
This was exactly the sentiment that had Cedric troubled throughout the year. With the beginning of the tournament, he had felt something terrible settle in the bottom of his stomach when it was announced. He had, of course, already known about it due to his father's influence, and was already encouraged to participate. Cedric had rather unenthusiastically mentioned he'd think about it, which from his father's expression seemed a less than satisfactory response. He had, after that, tried to twist his facial features to resemble something similar to eagerness, which may or may not have worked, seeing that his father had left the room without comment; something that Amos Diggory only did once satisfied.
In the Great Hall, it was worse than in his home. Quite literally, all heads at the Hufflepuff table turned to him, along with many of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws he had befriended over the years. They looked at him with what else, but expectancy? The expectant quality was so ingrained onto the faces of everyone he saw that he assumed it was all their expressions would ever show when their heads turned in his direction.
Eventually, the expectancy caught up with him more than ever before. This was his only chance for Hufflepuff, his friends would say. Eternal glory. And all you need to do is win.
Alas, if only it were that simple. He had, evidently, given in when he saw the pleading, expectant faces of his house-mates. Hufflepuffs were loyal, so Cedric had to remain loyal to his House by doing this for them. Hufflepuffs were kind, so would this not be an act of kindness to end the presumptions toward a group of ostensible pushovers? Hufflepuffs were fair, and it was only fair for Cedric to finally equalize Hufflepuff with all the other Houses. And he had listened; for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps it was to end it all. Perhaps he'd thought winning this would earn Hufflepuff the glory it so deserved, and he could rest peacefully. Perhaps he deluded himself into the belief that he would be seen as a person who did it all, rather than a name with no substance. Perhaps the struggle would show everyone that he was in fact, imperfect. But it didn't. He had listened, like the conformist he promised himself he'd never be.
And of course the Goblet had to spew out his name. Who else could be so worthy of eternal glory but Cedric Diggory, the embodiment of perfection, Cedric thought derisively. It had also released the name of Harry Potter, Cedric recalled gratefully, now. At the time, he was confused, and a bit upset. How could it have brought back Potter's name? Potter didn't have the pressure, and was in fact suspected of cheating, yet he was still thought of in a bright manner. He was the Boy Who Lived, after all. You would think Potter would understand expectation, but he didn't. Cedric noticed from Potter's first year that trouble seemed to follow him. People constantly expected lesser of him, due to his parentlessness and dark past; and this persuaded Cedric to think on the other hand. It was just as awful, he decided, to have no one believe in him. Though Potter did have his friends, Granger and Weasley, with their unwavering friendship and loyalty that Cedric envied. That was the true way to live, Cedric thought. Ups and downs that convinced people you were just as human, the gratifying moments when you shocked people with your success, the constant of friendship, and moments where you didn't have to put on a show.
But Cedric's show was constant, for he was not Potter. The first task came and went quickly enough, Cedric being ridiculously grateful to Potter for his tip-off about dragons. Only because of that was Cedric able to succeed, and for this, he rather foolishly half-wished he was not tipped off about them. He'd remember the pain of the burns, and realize how stupid a thought it was; because was freedom worth death? Of course not, how could you enjoy it?
Then, it was time for the Yule Ball. Gaggles of girls traipsed after him, hoping for even a fraction of Cedric's attention. Cedric, though polite, paid them no mind. He didn't want anyone who merely looked at him and saw looks, fame, and fortune. Eventually, he found someone sufficient: Cho Chang. She was a pretty face, but also much more than that. She was intelligent on top of her beauty, and she seemed friendly enough. She did not stare after him like several other girls, though she was definitely interested. The difference was her interest in his personality rather than looks, which Cedric figured was the best he could get.
So, he asked her to the ball, hoping for some reprieve, if any. He enjoyed the night immensely, her beauty more radiant than ever. She talked to him all evening about matters he could hold up a conversation with instead of unnecessary gossip and talk of the tournament, for which Cedric was extremely grateful.
He took an immense liking to her, as she was someone who was substance as well as aesthetics, and did not question him. It must have been apparent, as she was his treasure during the second task. She was, after all, something he would sorely miss; seeing that it was rare to find someone who he felt so comfortable with.
But something still felt off; with the several events leading up to this date. She, while not like everyone else, still failed to understand expectation. He'd felt comfortable enough to open up about it, and instead of consoling him in the way he'd thought she would (with a few kisses and statements remarking the inevitable irrelevance of assumptions society could make of you), she'd laughed it off. Like everyone else. Said he was perfect anyway, so they couldn't help it. Flashed him a smile, kissed him on the cheek, and ran off. He was left there, frozen in shock not from her kiss (though it never failed to make him nervous) but from the utter redundancy of her reaction echoed by all else. And he felt that familiar swooping in his stomach, not of nervousness, but disappointment. And while the pretense of their relationship was clearly written on the lines, his true sentiments remained strictly between them and he grew slightly less comfortable. Cho may or may not have noticed, but the inevitable remained inevitable. They were growing apart. They didn't understand each other, or more so, no one understood his sentiments.
And here he was today. Now. Everything clearly written in front of him, but seen as some form of cryptic ancient runes to everyone else. But really, you couldn't blame them. Their eyes are open to what is in front of them, but not within, he mused wryly when the judges stood up to announce the beginning of the competition. He glanced back at the ominous maze, where Potter, Krum, and Fleur stood uncertainly at the entrance, same as him. Finally, the judges called out the phrase that was the beginning of determining his identity and his future; and more importantly, the glory…for everyone else.
"Potter and Diggory will enter first, followed by Krum, and finally, Delacour. And now, let the Final Task commence!"
Cedric walked to the beginning, and gave the crowd a brief nod. He fought the urge to laugh when he thought once again of the expressions on everyone's faces, no matter what the outcome turned out to be. If he lost, the expressions would be almost comical; he could almost picture disbelief begetting shock begetting fury begetting uncertainty begetting…the loss of expectancy. This almost made him want to lose, but he knew better than to upset the societal ladder. What could possibly be more important, anyway? If he won, things would be practically no different. He might prove his place in society, and his responsibility might finally be shirked. Would it be enough? Wasn't he already enough? Would the act of winning bring peace?
Clearly, Cedric did not hide his laugh well as girls sighed at his confidence and boys, more specifically his own house-mates, seemed assured as he seemingly did. With that, he entered the maze with Potter, nodding at him briefly before they split paths.
The TriWizard Cup was visible in the distance. Potter had just saved him from the suffocating strangle of the vines and roots, and earlier from Krum and the Cruciatus Curse. He felt miserable, ungrateful, and shameful at his earlier actions. He had collided with Potter earlier, only to race desperately against an underage boy who had now saved him twice instead of going after glory like he needed it.
"Some game, huh?" Cedric said quietly, if to alleviate the tension of the situation.
"Some game," Harry agreed.
There was another brief pause. Cedric spoke again, feeling the need to say or do something to get rid of this awful silence. "You know, for a moment there, I thought you were going to let it get me."
Of course, he had to choose something that would only cause and incline in already awkward feelings. Harry didn't seem to mind, simply replying honestly. "For a moment there, so did I."
For some unfathomable reason, Cedric's spirit lifted at the honesty at which the boy…no, man, spoke. If anything, he was the boy. What was he but another who would go along with the general consensus, the majority? Another to give into expectations? Potter was the complete antithesis; someone who rose against preconceptions and changed them to fit his true character; a characteristic Cedric realised just then, and envied greatly.
The cup sat between them; glittering dangerously and powerfully.
"Take it," Harry said.
Cedric's jaw dropped. What was wrong with this boy? How could someone be so…selfless? He didn't want the glory, Cedric realized by discerning his miserable expression. He just wanted out of this tournament; out of the poor excuse of a year he had. Guilt crept into Cedric's system. Of course, Cedric had attempted to help Potter with the second task, attempting to cryptically tell him the answer (but of course, sounded like the idiot he was). But this was beyond generosity. It was almost as though Potter…understood. The pressure he was facing. And was allowing him to take the trophy representative of his own freedom. He had the chance now. He could do it. He could end the expectations everyone had of him; he could satisfy everyone and start on a fresh slate for tomorrow. He could try to be happy.
But he couldn't. And he wouldn't He'd argued with Potter over it for a while, until the suggestion came that they take it together. And the relief Cedric felt was overwhelming. Here he was, alleviating the stress and the pressure and the expectations, while not acting like a sanctimonious, glorified Greek god. Here he was, understood by someone who was in the exact opposite situation. Someone who finally seemed truly selfless; and seemed to understand his need for this to happen yet not oppose him completely. And Cedric could not be more grateful.
They placed their hands on the trophy after a countdown, and ended up in…
A graveyard. Cedric was deeply bewildered. The cup was…a Portkey? He voiced his concerns, but Potter seemed too panicked to listen. He was in fact telling Cedric to move out of the way, to get back to the cup.
Frowning, Cedric turned and tried to get Potter to corroborate with his theory that this was an extension of the competition. Maybe the Tournament didn't allow two winners, or something of the like.
But then, everything happened at once. And the ominous feel of the tournament came back at him at full force. A crash was heard, and a cold, harsh voice that almost made Cedric shiver whispered the last words Cedric would ever hear.
"Kill the spare!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Cedric felt the green flash rather than the spell associated with it at first. Time seemed to slow, and noise was quieted to utter silence in that moment. Relativity did not exist. A muddled comprehension of sorts made its way to his brain.
He barely had time to close his eyes, or even think what would be his final thoughts. It didn't matter, in any case. Cedric knew enough to realize you can shut your eyes to things you don't want to see, but you can't shut your heart to things you don't want to feel.
At least this will end the expectations. They won't look at me like that anymore. They'll see an imperfect boy sprawled on the ground created by society.
And while he was only able to put together these few thoughts before the flash of painless, welcoming green enveloped his body, his body burst with suppressed emotion at the climax. Guilt, blame, stress, pressure, and self-doubt left, to be replaced with a dark welcome and uncertain peace; for the expectation was gone. Instead of darkening vision, he saw colours and heard beautiful noises, more so than the stands back at the Quidditch Pitch. In that moment, he was worth no more or no less than the common beggar on the street, because he had succumbed to the peace we are all privy to. He was understood by this darkness; different than Potter's understanding. That was one of which he'd observed from the outside, but this darkness crawled into Cedric's depths; grabbed hold of every insecurity and self-doubt and released it. And the crux of it? They would realize it, too.
A man may plant a tree for a number of reasons. Perhaps he simply likes trees. Perhaps he wants shelter under its strong branches and welcoming shade. Perhaps he will place the seed in the soil and allow it to flourish by itself for years. Perhaps he will build it up, only to burn it for his own selfish use. Or perhaps he will twist it, manipulate it into its own gnarled creation; a bent twig leading to a complete change in structure. For Cedric had never felt more accurate in his descriptions. As the twig is bent, so will the tree grow.