Title: The Artifice

Author: join_the_conga

Rating: teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

Characters: Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

Summary: Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can really help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

They were in Herbology when they got the news. Professor Sprout interrupted their "Trellisment of Noxious Vine Plants" lab with the announcement:

"There will, in honor of the Triwizard Tournament, be a Yule Ball held over this Christmas break at Hogwarts."

There was a flurry of quiet excitement. As she continued to elaborate on age groups and the necessity of signing up to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Cedric's friends immediately began whispering.

"Over the hol's? Fey is sure to want me to stay for that—"

"—a ball? Dancing? Someone's sure to embarrass themselves—"

"—wonder who they'll be bringing in for music? I've been listening to the Wireless lately, but there haven't been any announcements as to—"

"Us single men are gonna have to go prowling. What do you say, Ced?"

The conversation seemed to freeze right then. Partially because Sprout resumed her lesson with the utmost disregard for the Yuletide excitement, but he felt the halt was also partially due to their waiting for his response.

"Uh—I guess."

The words had barely left Cedric's mouth before high-fives and mischievous chuckling were offered.

Well damn. You aren't going to become absorbed in this, are you?

Cedric frowned. What do you mean, "absorbed?"

I mean that you aren't going to go round chasing girls only to become distracted and useless.

Tom did not seem particularly open to discussion of dates and dances, it seemed.

Well, Tom, I don't think I have to ask on your opinion of the Yule Ball, now do I?

There is no problem with... companionship, Mr. Diggory. Cedric's insides writhed a bit at the direction this conversation was seemingly headed. It's just that a man has more to focus on than the dotings of the fairer sex. Wouldn't you agree?

Cedric was a bit shocked at Tom's... agedness in this situation. His words bordered on the shy side of sexism, and, though he knew Tom to be capable of uncouth frankness, his turn of phrase raised a bit of uncertainty in Cedric.

Well... Cedric began carefully. I don't plan on becoming enamored over a dance on Christmas, but I thought it would amuse you that I must find a partner as Champion.

Amusing or not, you cannot afford to become enamored. This year must be free of distractions, Cedric. Nothing has ruined more men of history than a dame.

Cedric's frown grew more pronounced.

I'm sorry, Tom. I don't know what time you are from, but in my decade, we refer to women with respect.

But Cedric didn't actually write that. Instead, he replied, Don't become too worried, Tom. I can assure you that I will not become distracted—not after the First Task and the madness surrounding it.

Good.

For a long time, Cedric thought that "Good" was all Tom was going to write.

And have you been researching on your next task?

Cedric was about to point out that he had until late February—

You only have until late February, Cedric. I expect a fully operable plan in place by the end of January. That will leave a solid few weeks of practice for you to perfect your spells—and I'm talking wandwork, pronunciation, even inaudible casting.

But Tom, Cedric interrupted in exasperation. He was getting tired of this constant pushing, though he knew both that it was exactly what he needed and that which he had never before received—

Did you or did you not ask me to coach you? Help you as I saw fit? You think I'm pushing you because my well-being depends upon it?

Cedric was so done. He felt guilt, but with it came the anger and frustration that seemed to be always building. Of course, he wouldn't let it out, he never would. But he was just so stressed, and the more he relied on Tom, the more agitated he seemed to become. There was a release in pouring himself into the diary, but with that release came a consequential... anxiety. Lately, there were moments when that anxiety would flash into hysteria, and Tom would talk him out of his temperament slowly. He found himself coaxed out of more poor attitudes than ever before, and he was questioning whether or not he really even wanted to complete this tournament anymore.

Cedric... You have to know that I want what is best for you. And what I see as best for you is for you to be as prepared and focused as possible.

Tom. I don't feel focused when you pressure me like that. Now, I don't think that I want a distraction... But I could certainly use a break.

Cedric waited, breath held tight in his chest as he allowed Tom to absorb his words. Tom didn't reply, seemingly waiting.

Now... Is there anything else we could possibly talk about that doesn't include the tournament?

There was a pause, and Cedric hoped that Tom would just... back down. Just for now.

Sheeld Magick. How is it coming along?

Cedric let out a breath and a smile.

Thank you, Tom.

"Thank you, Hermione!"

Brown eyes flashed with happiness—maybe a bit of satisfaction at being appreciated?—before she slipped back in the seat across from him and shuffled through her notes once more.

"That book was on loan for the longest time—a Ravenclaw who kept forgetting to return it. I only thought to check on it when you mentioned the obscurity of the dialect—"

"I don't think screeching directly applies to any known dialects, Hermione."

"Well, it's not as if they would make you face anything that cannot be learned about, is it? My reasoning is that, if you face it, you will have been able to educate yourself about it within your surroundings."

She was always skipping over his little jokes. It was somewhat irritating. Or it would be if her genuine focus wasn't so pleasing to have shared with him. She was a brilliant witch.

"Obscure Languages of Wizarding Europe was the book I was supposed to use as a main reference for one of my History of Magic essays regarding Goblin communications during the second rebellion. It would have been an effective source for a just as effective essay if it weren't for a so-called OWL student whose sense of responsibility and respect toward the library policy were both so lacking that the deadline for the essay passed before the book was returned!"

Cedric blinked.

A scary, brilliant witch...

"That's too bad."

"I know! I mean, really! It would have at least been polite to speak to the other students on the waiting list about the extended need for the text. It's what any decent person would have done!"

"How many people were on the waiting list?"

"Well, I was."

Cedric waited—and then stopped waiting when he saw that the list apparently comprised only of an irate Hermione Granger.

"Oh. Well... shame on that student, I guess."

Hermione looked at Cedric a bit bashfully in realization, which Cedric thought odd considering that only now had she behaved any bit bashfully.

"I've just veered completely off-topic, haven't I?"

That's what she was bashful about?

Cedric smiled, awkwardly charming. "Well, I love to listen?"

She cringed at herself, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry! I just get so preoccupied that—"

"No, no! It's lovely that you're so passionate!"

She frowned. "Ron tells me it's exhausting."

Cedric considered this. He didn't want her feeling badly of herself, not when she seemed so sweet. "Ronald Weasley?" She nodded. "Well, perhaps Ronald isn't the listening type."

Hermione bit at her pink lip again. "You know... it may be hard to believe, but I like to listen too. I don't... just talk all the time, I promise!"

A bit confused, Cedric was quick to assure her. "It would be fine if all you did do was talk all the time, Hermione. You're intelligent and have such an eloquence... it's nice to listen to you... I promise..."

He smiled, and she blushed.

"Thank you," she squeaked. "I just... if you need to talk, I want you to know that I can be quiet long enough. That is, if you're still not feeling comfortable talking with your friends..."

Cedric blinked. "Well, thanks... I mean, I haven't really tried talking with them yet like you want me to..." He could see her disapproval in her pursed forehead. He was quick to explain, "But I guess I'm still coming to terms with everything. It may take a bit. But that's alright?"

He wasn't really certain what "coming to terms" meant, though he did feel it was an apt description.

She leaned in to whisper. Why did she always have to look so genuine when concerned? "Are you still so overwhelmed?"

Cedric's forehead scrunched in consideration, and he let out a deep breath. "I—" he began, stopping to rub his shoulder in nervousness. "I feel... stressed. But, I know I'm supposed to be stressed?"

"Hmm..."

There was a pause, and she looked down, staring at her books but not really seeing—thinking. She bit her lip as she thoughtfully began packing up her books. He studied her, really studied her. Her movements were halted and slow, like she was uncertain of herself, but still done with enough grace that he could tell she was determined. She made quick work of her reference lists, study sheets, and only almost spilled an ink pot twice. She didn't look at him as she began to speak.

"Well, Cedric, I think I know how you feel. And I think I have a... remedy of sorts."

He didn't respond, surprised and waiting.

"We—we go outside to study."

"Oh."

Slowly, he began putting away his own texts. She continued to defend her suggestion.

"I mean, I know we won't be able to cross-reference information with as many textbooks, but we can at least rule out what isn't going to be the mystery language, and that would be quite the proper first step—"

"Well, let's get moving, Hermione."

She looked up at him, startled by how quickly he was ready and how closely he was standing.

"O-okay."

It was a lovely day outside.

And when they came in later, laughing (Cedric, mostly) about how dried up yellow-butter leaves had stuck in Hermione's mane (he called it a mane, but she did not become upset because he obviously did not use the term in malice) when she tried to lay down on the cooling ground near the edge of the Black Lake, their faces were flush from the crispness of the air and the ripeness of their giggles—though Cedric was, most assuredly right now, snickering, the cruel truth of which antagonizing the still tree-haired Miss Granger. They hadn't come exceedingly far with their research, but that wasn't the point of going out. He was honestly shocked by how much Hermione had tread from the task for most of their outing, though most of his surprise came woven with the gratitude that sprung up from realizing that she really only meant to cheer him up. As she told him in one of their (brief) lulls into serious study, "We'll have to do further research in the library, of course. And tomorrow isn't too soon, either, Cedric."

She was so snooty. Rather like Tom.

But then she wasn't. If Cedric had learned anything this year, it was that he could do well with someone telling him what to do. Hermione was bossy, and, while she could be smug with her own intelligence and success, it was the success of others that she relished in most. He could tell that when they talked of Harry, of her complete awe and pride when she explained of the brilliance of his Summoning charm that allowed him to take advantage of his best skill—flight.

He was not a little jealous.

"And the transfiguration you performed, Cedric—beautiful! I could tell how proud McGonagall was. And Dumbledore. It was amazing, and I hope you can rely on your talent in that for the rest of the tournament.

Red and fumbling, he thanked her for her generous speculation.

But she didn't brag, boast, or bore. She was constantly praising someone. And he was lucky to hear her breakdown, analyze each player's strategy and strengths—even if he might try to use it to trump Potter later. He wasn't one for reading people, not in the least. He just knew how to be pleasant to them, get them to respond well. He guessed that maybe a bit of reading did have to go into charm, but most of it was unconscious. There was no deliberate mental extension occurring for the most part.

Hermione, on the other hand, was exceptionally deliberate. She detailed every inch of every competitor's dealings with the dragon to him—including his own. She didn't even hold back in explanation of Harry's! He figured out, later on, that she expected him to be fair with the information—or rather, that she never guessed he would try to use it underhandedly. Perhaps she put a good amount of trust in him. But he wondered if maybe she just expected everyone to behave as kindly as she would, even if behaving as such wouldn't draw the greatest benefits for them.

Cedric had never thought himself particularly deceptive—prided himself in his honesty, actually—so this realization was especially tender, and he respected her so much more as a young witch because of it.

As said before—Hermione Granger was really something.

They parted when they reached the entrance to the Great Hall for supper, promises made to look into their own textbooks overnight and to readdress the second challenge the next morning—Sunday.

As they began to separate, Cedric heard her sniffle. Blast! A cold from staying out too long.

"Next time we study—if we go outside—you should wear warmer clothes! You're going to get sick if you don't eat something warm tonight."

Hermione turned and smiled sweetly. "Yes, yes, Cedric, I'll take care of myself. I told you—you only do the minimal worrying."

"Ah, but you said I did the minimal worrying for myself. But it's you this matter concerns here. Therefore, you focus on what I say, and, as the proper friend does, I do get to do the worrying."

She scrunched her nose in mock irritation. "Oh, very well, Diggory. You can worry about my stuffed-up nose if you want to."

He leaned in, smiling. "Well, I do. So there."

She huffed, only half seriously. "Well, fine. I'll go eat soup like a good witch, then," she said, turning to walk to the Gryffindor table.

"Do that!" he called after her. "Oh, and there are still leaves in your hair!"

A few people turned to see what Cedric Diggory could be shouting about, though he was mostly ignored in the flurry of mealtime in the Great Hall. He still snickered when she blushed and rushed away, hands twitching but staying by her sides until she sat down. Immediately, her fingers found her hair. Not immediately did they find the few leaves left, however.

Cedric began his way toward his own house table, yellow-tied, smiling people calling after him to sit down. He passed by Cho Chang and her friend, Mary something, as they were getting up to leave.

"Hello, Cedric," she half-sang. Every sentence she spoke was just a bit musical, her inflections always rising and falling just within a single word. It was interesting to listen to her talk, though one time he had the misfortune of deeply discussing professional Quidditch teams, resulting in him verbally sparring with an opponent whose voice in diplomatic passion was just a bit too intense to feel comfortable with—she sounded much more incensed than the topic of sport allowed, in his opinion. Or she could've just overreacted. Still, they were good friends—even if she was a Tornadoes fan with deep convictions.

"Hello Cho. Hello." He nodded at Cho's friend, unsure of her name so unwilling to botch it.

"Marietta," she offered, and Cedric mentally prided himself in being close.

"Marietta, right." He nodded and offered his hand. After the short greeting, the three of them silenced, though Cedric could feel his stomach turning in hunger.

Awkwardly, he said, "Well, I'm going to sit down to eat now. Hope you two had lovely meals. I might see you later."

He began to edge around when Cho began to say goodbye. She stopped, though, and spoke as though she had just remembered something. "Oh, Cedric! My mother sent me those Chinese dragon sticks that you liked so much. I don't have any right now, but try to catch up with me later, and I'll give you some."

Oh, he loved exotic candies. The cherry dragon sticks were his favorite: sticky, sweet, and the taste clung to his tongue for hours, just a bit of spice infiltrating his mouth. His teeth always felt a bit thicker with sugar afterwards, but he just couldn't help himself most of the time.

"Sounds great, Cho! But I think I have to eat a real meal first. Catch up with you some time, then."

She nodded, smiling, and departed with Marietta. When he finally sat down, Will and Rob turned to him expectantly. Addernine was sitting across from them, but Ben was far off, down the table with his (rather demanding) girlfriend, Fey, and her group of friends.

"Well?" Rob asked when Cedric did nothing but fill his plate.

"No. No, we're not going through this again."

Yes, he certainly liked Cho. But like that? No. They knew this, yet they continued to—pun unintended—badger him about it for some time now, insisting that he was dull to not try and take the pretty Chinese thing out on a date.

"Just one Hogsmeade trip, mate. That's all you'd have to do. And if it doesn't work out, well—"

"It's not like we're telling you to snog her or be her boyfriend or something. Just a date, and you might be seeing things a bit more clearly." So both Rob and Will would harass him before he even got to his roast, would they?

"Oh, let the man eat, would ya? He's got plenty of options just now."

Not exactly what he wanted them talking about, but at least it would be a bit different.

"Oh, shut up, Addie! It was just last week that you were going on about how you were certain she was gonna ask him."

Ugh. He tired of this already, and it hadn't been even five minutes.

"Listen," he said, inordinately displeased with his first word of choice as it was exactly what he told Hermione they wouldn't do when he needed them most. They were his greatest, closest friends, but... "I don't want to get involved with Cho. Or anyone for that matter. I need..."

This year must be free of distractions, Cedric.

Tom's words flashed behind his eyes. He could almost hear Tom whispering in his ear about the follies of dating during the tournament.

Shaking his head, he repeated, "I cannot afford to become enamored. This year must be free of distractions."It was odd how... detached and not himself he felt when he made those statements.

There was a bit of silence at his strangely serious words about a subject the group tended to only jest about when at their worst.

To break the silence, Will offered, "Oh, so you'd become enamored with her. So that's why you're too pansy to date her."

They laughed, the jovial atmosphere returning. Cedric shook his head with a smile he didn't feel covering up an irritation that he very well could, growing stronger and blacker, oh so slowly, every day.

The only time the irritation seemed to go away lately was when he had just been out of doors with Hermione, laughing and being cold in the North English fall. Or when he was with Tom. His friends, the ones he normally relied on for everything turning about in his head, only added to his aggravation, fueled this internal compression of bad that he never even knew he had so much so that his chest felt expanded but his insides still tight. He just wasn't... comfortable being anymore. Or rather, he was wondering just how comfortable he had been before this tournament mess. He'd never had so much support yet feel so outcast before. A lot of the time now, he wanted to be alone, with Tom and the diary translating thoughts between them. Tom was sometimes so hard to speak with... but when he was the only one he felt he could speak with, really open up and pour out his soul,what was Cedric to do?

But he stilled smiled, unsmiling, for his friends. Making them happy. And feeling, while not absolutely miserable, just so damned distant that he didn't know what he could do to be himself again.

He finished his supper, half-listening to them talk, to him and around him, feeling just a bit ashamed about how much he resented being there with his closest friends who didn't even know. It was shocking how quickly his light-heartedness had escaped him in just the few meters from the hall's entrance to his spot at the table. He looked over his shoulder, contemplating his short travel and wondering if he'd see a happier Cedric standing by the doors and laughing. Hopefully, this "other Cedric" would beckon him over and they could be one.

Not so. He sighed. "Hey—I'm going back to the dorms. I think I'm going up early tonight. Gonna work on some... tournament stuff."

They all smiled and wished him luck. He felt a bit guilty about their support, but then noticed that none of them offered to help in any way. So he didn't feel too guilty.

He did retire early. And when his fellow sixth-years came up to sleep, his curtains were drawn and his books haphazardly tossed across his desk. If anyone had looked inside the yellow draping, however, they would have seen a black leather diary tucked under a sleep-heavy arm. It was open, pressed directly over a supine young man's heart.

Cedric's brow furrowed in dream.

A.N. So, a new term (my first, actually) of college is underway. I decided to just go ahead and write last night, and this is what poured out. Updates are certainly going to be unpredictable, I fear... Hopefully not so irregular that it scares people off, but... And I've debated on what my updates were going to approximately run, too. I've tried for each part to be over 3,500 words, but I feel that I'm writing... a lot... for not so much. This story will end up being novel-length, I'm certain of it (I'm almost half-way there, and nothing's really happened yet), but I don't know if the updates will be as long as they've been in the past.

Admittedly, I also see reviews as fuel, and for 20,000 words to garner six of them?... Yeah, it doesn't do a whole lot for my writing mojo. I appreciate every review I've gotten as each is kind-hearted, encouraging, and written with such detail and appreciation that I really feel that each is genuine. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me thus far, there is no way that I don't depend on you for the motivation to write... But could it hurt to receive a little more love? This may sound shitty, but I've seen crappier one-shots with tens more comments than The Artifice has attained. I'm not asking for world peace, people, just a little love for a college student who does this in her own free time. And, honestly? The reviews make me want to write. And the lack of them? Well, that doesn't...

So, from here on out, probably shorter updates (I say probably because it is quite easy for me to get carried away...) with (hopefully) a little more love in the reviews department. And, is it shitty if I'm half updating more but shorter chapters because that's what seems to get more attention?... Oh well. : )

Thanks much! REVIEW! I could do with a little more love. XD