Shelter From the Storm

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: After the ill-fated quidditch game against Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory surprises her. As a friendship builds between them, Rose's life is enriched and impacted in ways she'd not expected. A storm is brewing over Great Britain, however, and there's no telling who - or what - will remain in the fallout. OOC. Eventual CD/fem!HP. Prisoner of Azkaban AU.

Rating: T for language, mild violence, references to character death, and general teenage shenanigans.

Author: tlyxor1.

Part One: The Dementors of Azkaban

Chapter One: The Hospital Wing

Rose wakes in the Hogwarts infirmary. It's an uncomfortably familiar experience, brought about by too many quidditch injuries, too many in-class accidents, too many near-death experiences - among other things - and her first response is to sigh, resigned and long-suffering.

Her second response is to take in her surroundings - sterile walls, starched linens, omnipresent stench of antiseptic, occupied bedside - and it's to the latter that Rose's attention turns. In her experience, an occupied bedside generally means something important, and Dumbledore or Dobby or someone else entirely, she's learned to listen to those who believe it necessary to guard her convalescent form.

Having said that, Rose doesn't expect Cedric Diggory. That is, Cedric Diggory: Hogwarts Heartthrob, Hufflepuff Seeker, Prefect, and likely, future Head Boy.

Rose stares. She has never spoken to this boy, never exchanged anything but polite nods and awkward pre and post-game handshakes with him, and his presence is puzzling. Bewildering. A little bit awkward, actually, because she's in an infirmary-issue nightgown, and under that, a pair of knickers and nothing else. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even left Rose the dignity of her bra - not that she has much to hide in that regard - and Rose pulls her blanket higher up her torso, self-conscious.

Naturally, the movement catches Diggory's attention, and he turns to face her, and the force of his focus on Rose is - well - staggering.

Rose knows the Hufflepuff is attractive. She and the chasers had gushed about him often enough, have spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time watching him, have (hypocritically) rolled their eyes at and generally disdained the girls who giggle and swoon and flutter their eyelashes at him at every turn. But, Merlin, the full extent of the fifth year's attention solely on her?

Be still her beating heart.

Rose suddenly has a newfound respect for all of the girls able to maintain a conversation with this outrageously attractive human being, with his tousled hair and pewter eyes and mud-flecked cheekbones.

Under normal circumstances, she's not sure she'd be able to manage it.

Fortunately for Rose, however, these aren't normal circumstances. SHe's in a hospital bed, for one, in a fairly vulnerable position, and in the company of a boy she only knows by reputation, and Rose is young, but she's not an idiot. Her wand holster, secure on her forearm, is therefore a welcome comfort.

Even considering all of the worst case scenarios, however, the only thing that kickstarts Rose's conversational faculties is the glint of gold she catches from the corner of her eye. The snitch - clasped securely in one of Diggory's long-fingered hands - gleams in the light of the setting sun that shines through the tall infirmary windows, and a particular hollowness settles somewhere inside Rose's chest.

"You lot won, then?"

Rose can't muster up any semblance of good cheer, and she can't even blame it all on the dementors. If the frown on Diggory's face is anything to go by, however, neither can he. With the rain and wind and generally horrendous conditions, it had been an awful game, made worse by the dementors, and frankly, Rose feels a little cheated.

She's never been good at losing.

"I wanted a rematch," Cedric answers. His voice is quiet, in deference to the fact that they are in the infirmary, and curiously hoarse. "Madam Hooch wouldn't hear of it."

"How very Hufflepuff of you."

Cedric blinks, nonplused. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No. I guess… I thought you were here to brag, honestly."

"That's…" Diggory shakes his head, baffled or offended or both. Rose isn't sure, and she doesn't spend a lot of time wondering about it. "We're not all twats like Malfoy."

The Gryffindor laughs despite herself. "I'll give you that, Diggory. He's a special brand of wanker."

"He's not even the worst of them," Cedric replies grimly, "But never mind that. I came to apologise. By the time I realised you were falling, I'd already caught the snitch, and I was too far to reach you. If I'd known…"

Diggory shakes his head, his expression pulled into an unhappy, self-recriminating grimace. He's apparently spent his time since game's end in a pit of reproof and self-flagellation, and Rose's bitterness slips away like sand between her fingers.

"You don't need to apologise, Diggory. None of it is your fault."

Rose speaks, and she means what she says - mostly, anyway - but her attention is taken up by what Diggory could possibly mean by 'the worst of them', and she doesn't like the conclusions that her mind leads her to. Draco Malfoy is a petty nuisance, a spoiled brat who has never known hardship, whose spent his life being told how much of a special snowflake he is because of his name, his blood, his heritage. Ultimately, though, he is an insignificant, juvenile prat who will eventually be made to grow up or shut up, and therefore, he is certainly not anything worth worrying about.

Rose can't imagine any other spoiled little wankers would be any more of a concern than Malfoy, so why, then, does Diggory look so grim?

"I still feel guilty, though."

"Apology accepted, then."

"Thanks. For humouring me, if nothing else."

"I understand a guilty conscience," Rose explains, but she has no desire to delve into that quagmire, and so she changes the subject, "Do you know what happened with my broom?"

Cedric winces, and Rose's heart sinks. The Hufflepuff's expression is enough to tell her that the fate of her Nimbus 2000 won't be pleasant to hear, and Merlin, but she loves that broom.

"It flew into the Whomping Willow. I'm sorry."

Before Rose can do something embarrassing - like burst into tears - Madam Pomfrey appears on the other side of Rose's bed. She unceremoniously thrusts a block of chocolate into her patient's hands, picks up a rant Rose is sure she's already missed half of - about the dangers of quidditch, the idiocy of dementors at Hogwarts, about Rose's plan to see Madam Pomfrey grey by the time Rose leaves school - and the familiarity is a welcome reprieve from the complete upheaval that is Diggory, his continued presence by her bedside, and the bad news he brings with him.

Madam Pomfrey eventually loses some steam, and sets to work examining Rose with sharp, abrupt flicks of her wand. She's evidently agitated, and Rose stays silent, unwilling to further incur the Matron's wrath.

Meanwhile, Diggory moves from his seat, stands silently by the window and stares intently at the scenery beyond. The apocalyptic weather from earlier that day has cleared, has left in it's wake a beautiful sunset over the rain-soaked, rolling hills around Hogwarts, and Rose wonders how long the pleasant weather will last.

She wonders, also, why Diggory doesn't just leave. She doesn't ask him, however. Not yet.

"Was it just dementor exposure, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Wonder of wonders, yes, it was just dementor exposure this time. Dumbledore had the good sense to slow your fall before you hit the ground."

"Lucky me." Rose smiles half-heartedly. SHe's still upset about her broom, but beyond that, the thought of being indebted to Dumbledore doesn't sit well with her. In fact, Rose is fairly certain that she'd prefer to be indebted to Snape, or the Giant Squid, or anyone else on the planet, really. Excepting Voldemort, that is.

No need to say any of that out loud, however. Madam Pomfrey already knows, and Rose can't be sure there isn't anyone else listening. There are no portraits in the infirmary, but the entirety of Hogwarts is Dumbledore's domain, and Rose is entirely prepared to believe that even the walls have ears.

All of that aside, however, there is also Diggory to consider.

Diggory, an acquaintance - if that - and one whose ideals remain unknown. Diggory, who has foregone what is sure to be an uproarious house party to sit by her bedside, to wait for her to wake up, just to apologise for something that isn't even his fault. Diggory, who has done all he set out to do, and who still hasn't left.

Why on Earth has he stayed?

"Lucky you," Madam Pomfrey agrees, and informs Rose, "You'll have to stay overnight. I want to make sure there aren't any lingering effects from the dementors."

"Will do, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you for taking care of me."

Madam Pomfrey smiles, briefly squeezes one of Rose's hands, and bustles off to locations unknown. She leaves them with the stern directive that Rose needs her rest, and the teens watch her go in silence.

The quiet is broken by Diggory. He clears his throat, apparently awkward, and shuffles back to the seat he'd vacated with a sheepish smile for Rose, who is propped up against the headboard by a stack of pillows behind her back.

"Rumour has it Dumbledore's been arguing with Minister Fudge for hours."

"About the dementors?"

Diggory nods his confirmation. "He was apoplectic after you fell. The magic was just… It was just rolling off him. I've never felt anything like it."

"Well, here's hoping he can get rid of them," Rose says, but she's not about to hold her breath. She's learned that life is generally less disappointing when one has no expectations.

Apparently, her skepticism is obvious.

"You don't think he'll manage it?"

"Honestly, no, I don't."

Over the last two years, Dumbledore has proven ineffective at ensuring the safety of his students - Snape, a possessed teacher, a basilisk, and then some - and Rose isn't about to sit around waiting for him to provide a salvation that won't come. Rather, given that the dementors have proven themselves untrustworthy, Rose is going to have to discover her own means of protecting herself from them, and for all she cares, Dumbledore can continue sitting around, being useless.

"I guess it's wishful thinking," Diggory concedes, but he doesn't pursue the subject further. Rather, he asks about her wellbeing, and Rose is nonplused by his concern. The guilt, perhaps?.

"I'm fine." The pervasive cold has faded some, courtesy of the chocolate, and the memories dredged up by the dementors seem far away. She'll surely have nightmares later, but that's future Rose's problem. "I'll live. What about you?"

"I'm all right. Madam Pomfrey loaded me up with hot chocolate when I got here, and they didn't really go after me, anyway."

"That's good."

Their conversation idles then, Rose's thoughts on the dementors, Diggory unsure of what to say, and the Hufflepuff shifts in his seat, floundering.

Somehow, Rose and her friends' scrutiny of the Hufflepuff had not shown them how awkward he is with other people.

His admirers would probably swoon at how endearing it is.

Before Diggory can come up with something else to say, Madam Pomfrey returns with two dinner trays floating in front of her. The meal is simple fare - a bowl of chicken and vegetable stew, a roll of bread, a glass of water - but the chocolate hasn't done much by way of sating her appetite, and Rose is oddly famished. She therefore accepts the offered tray gratefully, Diggory does the same, and they both eat with relish.

"This is good," Diggory says, "I don't ever get anything so nice."

"Perks of being a regular, I guess."

Diggory looks like he can't decide if he ought to laugh or not. "I'll take your word for it."

They spend the rest of their meal speaking of inconsequential things - classes, friends, trash talking the Slytherin quidditch team - and it's fine. Pleasant, even, and Rose almost regrets it when both of their bowls are empty.

"I'd better go," Diggory says, "I'm glad you're all right, Potter. I'm sorry, again, about the game."

"Thanks for visiting, and it's fine. Enjoy your victory while you can. Next time, I'll win."

Diggory laughs, gathers up their bowls, glasses, and trays, and parries, "We'll see about that."

Then he's gone, with a flash of a charming smile and a very brief wave, and Rose is alone, feeling giddy, and wearing a smile she can't suppress for the life of her. She'd just spent a meal with one of the most attractive boys in school, discovered that he's genuine, and kind, and funny, and despite herself, she'd enjoyed it.

In fact, a part of Rose wants to see Diggory again, to talk and laugh and commiserate over games against Slytherin, maybe make a new friend in the process. She hasn't got many of those - friends, that is - and Diggory seems like he'd be a good friend to have.

Rose, as she settles in to sleep in the otherwise empty infirmary, knows better than to get her hopes up.

She can dream, though.

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Rewritten: March 18th - 22nd 2020.

-!- -#-

AUthor's Note: A rewrite, because I recently read the original, and I find it leaves a great deal of room for improvement. Hope you enjoy it. Otherwise, stay calm, stay safe, and be kind to each other. Until next time, -t.