Title- Just Stacey
Author- 4give4get
Rated- T
Pairing- CedricxOC
Disclaimer- I own nothing. I do not own Harry Potter (the story) or Cedric Diggory (the character) and Stacey owns me.
Serena- Thanks for waiting, here is chapter twelve! I hope it meets all of your requirements for said chapter!
Life is Never as You Expect It…
The next day, I decide that I'm going to do something other than sit around, daydreaming about Cedric and writing more poems… er, about Cedric. I will do something fun, something interesting. Something I've never done before! I don't really know anyone in London, so this will be a solo mission.
I'm going clubbing, I decide. Why not? I'll be able to get some kicks out of people weirder and even more messed up than myself, feel sneaky, and pass some bloody time. It's a win for everybody, except for the weird, messed up people. But then again, nothing is ever a win for them, poor folks…
I smirk to myself. Wait until I tell Summer and Bethany what I did in the city this Easter! Should I add in something of a smoking hot, mysterious Italian boy who non parla Inglese?
Perhaps not. That would likely be considered OVERKILL. They'll still be interested if I just say that I got shoved to the ground by two girls making out for free drinks and there was a puddle of pee on the floor. Which is sad, really. Where have the standards gone?
Oh well.
When you are bored, bored stiff as I am, even that sounds interesting. I dress in a pair of jeans and wear a dress over them with tennis shoes. It's cute and not slutty. I am so glad for something to finally do, I sing as I close the apartment door and slide down the sticky railing. For a while. Until I fall off and land on the stairs with the audience of some fat guy in a wife-beater, while both he and his dog snarl at me in the same manner.
I split from THAT scene pretty fast, as you can well imagine. Believe it or not, there ARE teen clubs in London.
"Yes," I lie, "I am sixteen."
And the guy at the door is to drunk to say otherwise, although as if fifteen is that much off. One stinking year…
No one is really that strange here. The room is not that big, but there is some kid wearing an awkward backwards baseball cap and trying to sag his pants like too many of the losers you see these days and bobbing his head up and down to the music.
Once, I saw a two dogs mating in the park Gwen used to take me to on her days off. The female dog was on the ground, and the male dog was on top of her doing the vertical hula. Sorry for the description… I know we all know what two dogs mating looks like. But as I look at the DJ and the way he is head bobbing and "dancing" in front of that stereo, I am instantly reminded of that day at the park.
When I am done contemplating that, I look around some more. The small room has brick walls, a bar where refreshments are offered, and very colorful lights blinking and flashing around. Along the edges, people stand and talk with one another, but in the middle… people are well… "dancing."
I am beginning to think that this whole club was there the day I saw those two dogs and was inspired by then enough to create similar dance moves. It was like one big orgy.
But most of the girls there are beautiful. Perfect tan skin, long perfectly wavy hair, and they all probably spent a half an hour putting on their make-up for it is that perfect looking. I am probably the ugliest thing here.
They all wear mini skirts or hip, body-hugging jeans, along with halter-tops, cleavage-tops, ULTRA-cleavage tops, and one girl who isn't even wearing a top but was in her bra.
Maybe I shouldn't have come here…
I turn to leave, the music is so loud you can't even really make out which song it is anyway, and make for the door. A heavy hand is rested on my shoulder.
Oh.
My.
God.
This is going to be like one of those scenes they tell you about in sex-ed, isn't it? Drunkenness, rape, dramatic aftermath… Great, now all of the kids from school are going to learn about MY case now. Well, it's not like my reputation can take much more hits anyway.
I turn around. It is a guy. He is about my age, give or take a few years, and like I amazingly predicted he is very drunk, likely having snuck the alcohol in. Hurray. But he is big too. If he were wearing a tux and playing the piccolo in front in a fancy concert and smelling roses, he would still look menacing, THAT'S how big he is.
But it is worse, since he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, drunk, and trying to drag me over to the corner.
"Excuse me," I huff, "You've made a mistake, I am not who you think I am."
"I don't know you," he agrees, slurring, "But I would like to." His hands move farther up.
"Did you know," I inquire, "That I am really a bloke, myself. Just, um, broadening my horizons—do you like my dress?"
You never know, maybe he'll think I'm a drag-queen.
The Big Idiot does not appear to hear what I said, since he is still dragging me and saying all sorts of pervy things that I am not inclined to repeat, but do feel free to insert them yourself.
"Love to stay and chat," I try again, "But my mother just got cancer, my little sister ran away, my house is on fire, I've got herpes," I rack my brain for more, "And my cat got ran over by a Goodwill truck."
My wonderful lies and proof of wit is tragically wasted on this Idiot.
I have a very, good, loud scream, and I clear my throat, preparing to use it. I shove off of the Big Idiot and let it all out. Unfortunately, it's a lot wimpier than I anticipated and those who DO hear it, don't really care.
Great.
I kick him once. Hard. I have about two seconds of time and I don't waste it. Un-athletic Stacey is pretty determined at the moment and I run faster than I ever have in all fifteen years of my existence. I even seem graceful. I slip through throngs of people and before you could say "Yummy Scrumtoes" I am out the front door, catapulting myself into the street. Without realizing I'm doing it, of course.
A pair of headlights is coming right at me, and I stand myself back up, frozen. In the middle of the street. The driver slams on the brakes and you can hear the screeching of the rubber tires on the pavement. The car swerves and finally comes to a stop, inches from my body.
I let out the breath I was holding the whole time.
I am alive.
I am alive.
I am alive.
I will never be able to leave the security of my house again after this night. Now I know how people become paranoid and end up like afraid of the sun or something. I feel like I'll collapse from relief of it all. I don't even mind when the driver angrily flings the door open and stomps out of the car towards me.
I am alive.
The driver is Cedric Diggory.
My eyes pop out like a cartoon's would and I stagger backwards. But there he is, plain as day, in the flesh, the face I daydream about 24/7. He is stepping out of the car and coming over here. What's he doing here, anyway?
I realize in the nick of time, that I never actually asked him where he lived, so for all I know it COULD be London. Great. Why does Cedric have to see me running about the city like a lunatice and throwing myself in front of cars? I stomp my foot angrily, angry at the world for it's cruelty. It's utter cruelty.
THERE IS NO GOD.
If there were, I would be a gorgeous, tall girl looking cool and sexy doing something else, I don't know what, but not standing in the street like this, staring. Anything besides this. This looks good, doesn't it? (insert sarcasm.)
"Well you see," I say, "I am really Stacey's crazy, lunatic twin sister out to destroy her image. Well, I got to go and ruin someone else's night in the name of making life hard for her, bye!"
Cedric does not look amused. He does not look like he believes me, either. He takes a quick look around and then rolls his eyes.
"Get in the car, Stacey," he says curtly.
"Right."
I climb in the shotgun seat and he gets back in the driver's seat. As he drives off, I study his profile, his gaze on the road. He is a perfection, as always. As I take more notice of him, the effect of being in his presence is eminent. I love him…
He seems kind of edgy, like he was in some kind of argument earlier. I decide to ask about it.
"What happened? You're angry." I inform him.
"Is it that obvious?" he seems stressed now, and pushes back his light brown hair with one hand.
"Yes."
"I guess it's just been sort of a rough week so far," is all he is inclined to say.
"I'm sorry," I'm at a loss of anything else to say. I don't have the liberty to get picky and choosy with words like some people do. SIGH.
"Don't be. Where do you live?"
"Turn here. You never said you lived here in London," I say.
"Not directly in the city," he corrects me.
"Turn left," I instruct.
"What were you doing there?" Cedric asks, and I cringe. Confession time.
"Bored, I guess. I've learned my lesson and I'm not going back or anything, don't worry," I quickly say.
His gray eyes flick over to me but then back to the road. As I watch him continue driving down the street, I realize that he's a slower, careful driver. Unlike most boys his age who usually have zero qualms about stepping on the gas. His big hands grip the steering wheel.
"Next block," I choke out.
"Here?" he questions, his eyes bore straight into mine and I get the feeling that makes you want to run and throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or just sink into ecstasy.
"Yeah," I open the car door and prepare to leave, but I am suddenly stopped short, "Do you want to come in?"
It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Well, it was the courteous thing to do anyway since he did give me a ride home. He smirked and pulled the keys out of the ignition, "Definitely."
So together we walk up about three flights of stairs before Cedric asks about how many more there are supposed to be. I answer honestly—nine. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. And then grabs my hand.
He.
Grabs.
My.
HAND.
Imagine what that must have been for me. I feel like I am turned inside out and then back again and my stomach does back flips and my eyes grow like balloons the size of the whole of England and feel like they'd just make my head explode.
And then we aren't on the third-floor landing of the stair well anymore, but I feel like I am being forced though a tight, airless tube. Only for about a half a second, because with a pop we are suddenly standing on the fourteenth floor.
I am breathing heavily, contemplating what had happened. I look over at Cedric who just smiles. What?
"Side-along apparation," he explains to me and then his smile dies away, "Sorry if I surprised you." He looks really guilty now. Like he did something wrong. I quickly shake my head.
"It's absolutely fine," I assure him, "Better than walking the whole way up."
He doesn't look very convinced but nods nonetheless. I smile (though it does little) and lead him down the hallway to our front door. I unlock it and push it open, "Welcome to my humble abode."
"And I do mean humble," I say quickly as he enters, I after him.
Cedric looks around. Cracked walls, smallness, whatever else is all there is to see. And suddenly, I can't believe it. After YEARS of crushing on him, Cedric is now standing in my living room. The juxtaposition of him and the background of this scene is odd all on its own.
"You want to sit?" I ask, and he sits next to me on the futon.
"Not what I expected," is all he says for the present.
"It never is," I remind him, "Life never is. My mum's a waitress. She was a witch—at one point anyway."
"Was?" Cedric questions, now utterly interested.
I turn around on the futon and push open the window behind it, sticking my head out into the breezy night sky. Cedric follows suit. It feels nice, just sort of propped up on my elbows on the window, watching the moving lights on the street and the still ones coming from the other buildings with Cedric. I see the lights of an airplane in the sky.
"Gwen was a witch," I repeat, "Her parents were from a wizarding family, you know. And she was a witch. She attended Hogwarts like any other witch too. But you know how they say that the magic chooses you?"
"Yes?"
"Well, when she finished in her seventh and last year… the magic sort of unchose her. Does that make sense?"
"I think so," Cedric said slowly, I could tell he was thinking hard. He was thinking hard, deep, and slow thoughts.
"Well, she is, I guess, a squib now by loose terms and it's not like graduating Hogwarts does you much good in the muggle world. That's why she's a waitress," I continue.
"And your dad? If you don't mind telling me…" Cedric begins, but I cut him off with a slight wave of my hand.
"I don't mind. I didn't even know him. He was just one of Gwen's boyfriends along the way who left before she found out she was going to have me. He was just some muggle," I've known my own history my whole life, but someone it has more clarity when I confess it all to him. The words suddenly seem less complicated, or something.
I continue to gaze out into the night, but then realize that Cedric isn't looking out the window but looking at me. I turn to face him also.
"Why is your favorite color black?" his voice is barely over a whisper and I didn't realize it before, but we are leaning closer to each other.
I point to my eyes, "Gwen has green eyes, I have black ones—which leaves me the one thing I know about my dad."
He suddenly pulls back and looks at me sternly, "Stacey, you don't even know him and he was totally full of shit from what I've heard just now. You owe him nothing."
The thing is—he is right. I've known that for a while now, but I really couldn't help myself. I just wanted to be able to say, "Hey, Dad…" But I couldn't, unlike most kids. I did a good job at pretending that didn't bother me.
"You're right," I whisper.
"Pick a new favorite color," Cedric instructed me, "One that has nothing whatsoever to do with eyes."
"How about purple?" I suggest.
"Why purple?"
"I don't know—it's a nice color."
"Better," Cedric agrees and we both turn to looking out the window again.
"And you?" I ask.
"What about me?"
"What's your family like?"
"Oh—normal, I guess. What you'd expect," he answers.
I feel suddenly so sleepy now I can hardly finish a thought. I yawn, feeling the breeze blowing back my bangs, "Cedric—life is never what you expect."
"Stacey…" I hear him whisper in my ear, so softly it tickled.
I heard him get up and open the front door, closing it behind him. I fall down on the futon and in the seconds before I fall asleep—
Life is never what you expect.
End Chapter
Serena- Sorry it took a while to update. I was visiting California. If anyone here lives in the San Francisco area, I am so jealous of you. It's amazing!
But I'm back here in the Midwest and hating it.
But I DO also have access to my computer now so I can continue writing and updating, HURRAY! Please review!
