Cedric Diggory's eyes opened instantly when he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. Yet that was nothing new, as Cedric was a light sleeper, and was roused easily by nightly noises or soft conversations. What he could not do, however, was hoist himself out of bed and get a move on with his day.

"Come on, Ced," his father whispered with enthusiasm. "If you don't get moving, then we'll miss the Portkey."

Cedric sat up quickly, a grin spreading infectiously across his face. His eyes lit up with excitement, a sudden memory crashing down on him. "That's right," he said, equally as quiet. "Quidditch World Cup, how could I have forgotten?"

With that, he bounded out of bed, dodging his father and flinging himself at his dresser, rummaging through its contents. "Remember, son," his father said as he left the room. "Dress like a Muggle. We don't want any trouble with the Ministry, do we?"

Cedric roguishly smiled at his father. "Now Dad, why I do something as stupid as that?"

"Hm, should we think about that?" Mr. Diggory replied as he shut the bedroom door quietly behind him. He stood outside of his son's room for a moment, listening as his son gave a great, whooping cheer. He closed his eyes softly, shaking his head, and walked away.

"'Dress Muggle,' he says," Cedric mimicked to himself. He loved his father dearly, but sometimes, he reflected, he says the mostly bluntly obvious things. I'm smarter then he wants to admit, Cedric thought to himself as he pulled out a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt. Before dashing into the bathroom, he cast a quick glance at the small radio alarm beside his bed.

Only two-thirteen, he thought as he turned back to go into the restroom. Good, I should have a little.

He turned on the water in the shower, letting it run hot for a moment before he got in. He adjusted the water, not caring if it got too hot or too cold, but only concentrating on the fact that he was less then a days away from seeing the Irish duke it out against the Bulgarians. He pitched his head back into the water, letting it run down his face. Only a few more hours. Just a few hours. I can wait that long. I can do it, no big deal; it's only until tonight. I can –

"I can't wait for it any longer!" he burst out. Quickly, he covered his mouth, looking around to make sure that no one heard him. Remembering that he was in a shower and that no one would be watching him, he let out a sigh, grabbing the shampoo and lathering it in his hair.

"I can wait," he said quietly. "It's only a few hours, innit?"

Only a few hours…just wait until tonight, Ced.

The rest of his shower was sloppy and rushed. The sooner he got done, he reasoned, the sooner the Cup would come. And the sooner the Cup came….

Then what?

As he toweled his hair dry, he tried to figure out what happened after that. Well, I'll be going back to Hogwarts for seventh year, but I have to wait for nearly a month. I'll get to finish my schoolwork, but that's not much to cheer about. So, what is it that will be worth the Cup ending for?

Maybe there's nothing, and that's just it. Maybe I'm just excited for the Cup, and won't want it to end when the time comes. That may be it. I think it is. I mean, it is Quidditch. But if that's the case, then I'm only setting myself up for a fall, and that's no fun.

Now why on Earth am I even thinking about this?

He slid on his jeans, then his shirt, and finished by running the comb swiftly through his hair. He looked in the mirror, making sure that his part was straight He then opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and removed his toothbrush.

It was possibly the most unprofessional brushing he had ever done, but as he ran down the stairs, he really didn't have much time to care. He made a sharp turn as he entered the kitchen, taking the seat nearest the sink. His parents looked at him in shock as he flung an arm over the back of the chair, leaning unceremoniously to the side.

His mother looked at him over the top of the paper, her face coated in some new, greenish-blue beauty product or another. She raised an eyebrow at him, asking, "Is there a reason that you are up this early?"

Cedric looked at her as though she had sprouted an extra head. "Are you…are you serious, Mum?" he questioned back. He folded his arms on the tabletop, leaning in on her in amazement. "Tell me you're kidding."

His mother imitated him, leaning forwards and setting the newspaper down. "Do you think I'd have forgotten?" she answered, sarcasm in her voice. She leaned back again, covering her face from view with the Editorial section of the paper. "You boys and half the wizards you two pull in here have been talking about it for weeks, months even, and you take me as someone who's about to forget that the Cup is tonight? You are truly your father's son."

His father laughed into his coffee cup, picking up the sports section of the Daily Prophet, scanning the page for news on the Cup. Cedric knew that it was a fake laugh, but was too busy thinking about that night to have cared. "Anything?" Cedric said, turning to his father. He just shook his head in response, and Cedric got up.

"What are you doing?" his mother asked, exchanging pages of the paper with his father.

"Getting breakfast," the boy replied. He went over to the cupboard and took out the bread, putting it in the toaster and waiting.

"Bet you can't wait until you're able to magick it," his father said, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Then you won't have to wait so long and go through those bloody Muggle processes all the time.

Cedric shrugged. "Aw, I dunno," he said. "I guess it's just going to end up being a habit by the time it comes around. But I bet I'll get used to it eventually. Being able to use magic and all, I mean." He grabbed a napkin just as the toast popped out.

Taking his breakfast to his seat at the table should have been easier then it was. At that moment, Fidget, their small black dog, decided to wake up and run right across Cedric's path to his chair. While this was going on, his father stood, paper still at hand, and went to the coffee machine. As Cedric dodged the dog, he ran into his dad, made him drop his cup, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Somehow, the toast remained unharmed.

"Uh," the gray-eyed boy said as he scrambled to his feet, "sorry about that, Dad." He set his toast down on the table as his father drew his wand, muttering, "Reparo."

Mr. Diggory bent at the waist to pick up his cup. "No harm done," he said to his son. "Thank God for magic, hm? What would we do without it? I can't stand the thought of having to live like a Muggle!"

"Dad," Cedric groaned, taking his spot at the table. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It's just that Muggles have to do everything the hard way, and you sort of start to feel bad for them. I'm not making a big deal about it or anything."

Cedric crammed the toast down his throat as his parents stared at him adoringly. "Right berks, the two of you can be," he muttered under his breath. Bits of crumb stuck to his lips, and he brushed them away.

"Hey, Dad," he said, looking at his father, "when exactly are we leaving for the Portkey? And where are we going?"

Mr. Diggory looked at his pocket watch, then at Cedric. "About ten minutes. I believe the place is called Stoatshed Hill. It's about a four hour's walk from here, so you better get ready."

Cedric smiled, nodding, and jumped up to go up to his room. When he got there, he grabbed a small carrying bag, filling it with random items. He tossed in a hairbrush, another pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, his toothbrush, and several other objects he was sure that he wouldn't use but knew that if it came to it, he would have them there.

"Cedric!" Mrs. Diggory called from below. "Your father is leaving - now! Are you ready?"

If he's leaving now, why does it matter if I'm ready or not? He thought quizzically, but abandoned the thought and replied, "Yeah, just let me pull on my shoes."

He went to his dresser, kicking his shoes out from beneath a sock. He slid them on, snatched his bag, and dashed down the stairs.

His mother and father stood at the doorway, exchanging their goodbyes. Cedric took a jacket from the coat rack, slipped into it, and gave his mother a hug. "You be careful, boys," she scolded as she planted a firm kiss on her son's head. She stepped back, holding him by the shoulders and looking at his from arm's length. "Oh, you're so grown up. My little Cedric isn't all that little anymore, is he?"

Cedric smiled softly. "Mum," he said. "We'll be back tomorrow. Don't act like we're dying or something."

Mrs. Diggory's eyes glistened with tears. "I know," she whispered, voice cracking. "It's just…I'm worried something will happen."

"Don't worry, kid," her husband cooed. He gave her a hug, opening the door. "We'll be back by noon tomorrow, trust me." He and Cedric stepped outside.

"See you, Mum," Cedric said, waving, a grin gracing his features.

"Goodbye boys!" she called as they distanced themselves form the house. "Enjoy yourselves! You best come back to me in one piece, the both of you!"

"We will," Mr. Diggory shouted back. The two broke into a slow jog up a hill, waving behind them. "Women," the older man said with exhaustion. "They can be so stubborn, can't they? Especially it they're your wife. But you wouldn't know that, would you?"

"I should hope not," the younger answered.

"Someday you will."

"Someday, yes, but not for a while. There's too much to do while I'm young, and Quidditch is just one of the few things."

Mr. Diggory looked at him as they slowed their pace. "You really are obsessed, aren't you?" he asked, smirking at him.

Cedric let out a barking laugh. "If that's what you want to call it. But I really don't think that's it. I just…don't know, really. I guess it's just that…. It's Quidditch! What's not to like about it?"

Shaking his head, his father put his hands in his pocket. "Obsessed is jut what you are," he concluded, and continued on his way to Stoatshed Hill.

The remainder of their journey was spent in silence, pants from the men as they ran, whistles when things grew too quiet for them, and an occasional laugh at a pair of birds flying with no general idea of what they were doing.

After a long moment of intense quiet, coupled with stumbles and tripping in occasional rabbit holes or thick grass, the twosome emerged from behind a dense forest of shrubbery. A large hill greeted their view, pitch-black sky outlining the deep green of the ground. "This is it, I assume," Cedric said, voice heavy with weariness. "Stoatshed Hill." His dad nodded in assent. "Let's go then."

They began their long climb up the knoll, staggering once every while. Just as they reached the top of it, the sky began to weaken from inky blackness to an intense blue. Cedric glanced at his watch, rubbing his hands briskly together. "Bit cold when we're up here, isn't it?" his father asked, coming up behind him.

"Just a…a bit," he agreed.

"Well, let's get looking then."

"What am I supposed to be looking for again?"

"A boot, I believe."

"A boot? Why a boot?" Cedric began searching behind low bushes, pushing side leaves and stray branches. When he found nothing, he looked around a cluster of rocks, peering intently between the nooks for any sign of footwear. It made no sense to him as to why it couldn't be something a bit more obvious.

"Well," Mr. Diggory began to clarify, "if a Muggle were to find it, they would think that it was just some mislaid trash, but to those who know what they're looking for, it's obviously a Portkey. So I guess they made it so in order to keep Muggles from finding it, most specifically when it was be activated, or about to be." He stood up straight, stretching his back, hands on his waist. "It's our ticket to the World Cup. Imagine the problems that could happed if a Muggle found out."

Cedric smiled. Well that makes sense, I guess.

They busied themselves once again with their task, attempting to uncover the hiding spot of the Portkey. As soon as Cedric finished lifting, moving, and replacing a worthless rock, he let out a defeated sigh. Once more, he glanced at his watch. "If we don't find it soon, then we'll miss it," he groaned, anxiety claiming his voice.

Mr. Diggory closed his eyes. "Sounds like their coming. If we don't find it, the others will help us look for it."

"Others?" Cedric's face gave off the impression of severe confusion. "Who else is using the Portkey?"

"Just a friend of mine from work and his son's friends. I believe you know them."

"I didn't know that other Wizarding families lived around here."

"There's one that's not coming, and another that's all ready there, but don't worry about it," his father said as he leaned against the trunk of a tree, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why don't you go looking a bit further down there? I don't think we've looked there yet."

Cedric nodded and took off. What could be here that I can't see from the top of the hill? He thought foolishly as he began to strut down the sloping ground. There's nowhere here to hide anything.

He turned and started scaling the hill again when a shout broke through the air. "Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Cedric dashed up to his father, glancing briefly out to see a group of people coming up the hill in their direction. "Ced," his father said when he reached him, "the boot is up there in the tree, for some unknown reason. You care to go up and grab it for me?"

"Sure," Cedric agreed. One of his favorite pastimes was climbing trees. He was very good at it, even when there were no footholds in the bark to hoist him up. But the tree had branches sticking out at odd angles and various places, and getting up the tree was easy. He got to the Portkey within seconds, jumping out of the tree just as the additional guests arrived. He set the boot down on the ground as he landed, standing up straightly.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said a tall, balding man.

There were several others around him, all of which Cedric recognized. There were the Weasley twins, Fred and George, their brother Ron, their sister Ginny, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. So this man must be Arthur Weasley, Cedric concluded.

Mr. Weasley continued, "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

"Hi," the boy said, looking at each of them in turn.

Everyone greeted him and his father except for Fred and George, who nodded in salutations. It took Cedric a moment to realize why they were stingy. Probably still mad about losing last year. I apologized, didn't I?

"Long walk, Arthur?" his father asked, snapping Cedric out of his reverie.

"Not too bad," the man replied. "We live just on the other side of the village. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still…not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons – and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…." He paused, taking in the six companions of Mr. Weasley. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh, no, only the redheads." He took a moment to introduce the other two.

"Merlin's beard," Mr. Diggory gasped when Harry was introduced. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Er – yeah," Harry answered, shuffling a foot back and forth on the ground, stirring dust.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," he informed the black-haired boy. "Told me all about playing against you last year…. I said to him, I said, 'Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will…. You beat Harry Potter!'"

Cedric buried his hands in his pockets, taking his turn at shoveling dirt with the toe of his shoe. He wouldn't look up, knowing that the twins would be glowering at mere mention of the game, but said rather embarrassedly, "Harry fell off his broom, Dad. I told you…it was an accident…."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" He gave Cedric a hearty clap on the back, causing the boy to lurch forwards. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman…but the best man won, I'm sure Harry's say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

Cedric flushed a deep red, covering his face by keeping it bowed low. You're not making this any better, Dad, he thought angrily. No chance now of having a decent conversation with them, especially the twins. Great.

Mr. Weasley seemed to notice the awkwardness and direction the small talk was heading, and quickly intervened. "Must be nearly time," he said quickly, nearly tripping over his own words. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No," he replied, "the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets. There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

So those are the other wizards here, Cedric realized.

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said, pulling out a pocket watch similar to that of Mr. Diggory's. "Yes, it's a minute off…. We'd better get ready."

Cedric leaned over to pick up the boot, holding it at arm's length. He waited patiently as Mr. Weasley explained to Harry and Hermione what they should do.

It didn't faze Cedric that they were all gathered around a boot, but as he looked at the uncertain face of Harry, it dawned on him how queer it must have been for him. Harry looked up and caught Cedric's eye. The brown-haired boy smiled at him bleakly, casting a dim light of reassurance. Yes, this most definitely must look weird.

He turned his face to see each person separately. Mr. Weasley and his dad, both looking down at their watches expectantly; Ron shoving at Fred, who shoved back; George, knocking into Fred to give the push more 'oomph'; Ginny, watching the antics of her brothers; Hermione, who looked slightly nervous; and Harry.

He would have to face him again this year; only this time, it would be a fair fight. There would be no dementors there to cause a reason for distraction for Harry; hopefully, there would be no rain, and only ideal gaming conditions; and most importantly, it would be a test of skill against skill, a chance to prove to his dad that maybe he wasn't the best player.

In a way, he found himself hoping that Harry would beat him.

The soft mumbling of Mr. Weasley, as well as the sudden quieting of the Weasley boys, interrupted his thoughts. "Three…." The countdown began. "Two…one…."

There was a sudden jerking feeling in the back of Cedric's neck. It seemed as though he were caught on a fishing line and was being reeled in mercilessly. He felt the bodies of those around him banging into him, shoulder against shoulder, elbows poking sides. After a moment of floating through the air by means of an unseen hook, he yanked at his hand, relieving it from its grip on the shoe.

Then came the feeling of floating. It happened the last several times he had used a Portkey. Before, when he was inexperienced, he would fall roughly to the ground, limbs tangled in each others' bags and clothing, usually resulting in uncomfortable feelings. But once he had gotten used to it, he was able to control the way his body moved even though he was hooked by some invisible force.

He guided himself to land on his feet, the tugging feeling suddenly being eliminated. He smirked as he saw that he was the only of the children to have managed to stay on his feet. He made as if to help the others up, but stopped as a voice broke the silence, calling, "Seven past five from Stoatshed!"

The group collected themselves, turning to see two wizards. "Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley said to one of them.

"Hello there, Arthur," the man said. He gave off the effect that he hadn't slept in what must have been days, even though it wasn't all that likely.

"You set, Ced?" His father bent over to ask him as Mr. Weasley took care of talking with Basil. "Excited?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I can't wait!"

" - Called Mr. Roberts. Diggory…second field…ask for Mr. Payne."

Mr. Diggory nodded in thanks, guiding Cedric off with the others. They walked for a moment together, until they reached a fork in their path.

"See you lot tonight, then," Mr. Weasley said to the Diggorys.

"Right." Cedric's father took Mr. Weasley's hand, giving it a firm shake. "Nice to see you lot. See you!"

With that, the two parties separated into their respective groups.

"Do you not like them?" Mr. Diggory asked, looking at Cedric, hardness in his eyes.

"N-no," the boy stuttered. "It's that…I don't think that they quite like me."

"Nonsense, boy, everyone likes you. You're a Diggory, finest of them all, perhaps. Everyone likes a Diggory: what's not to like about them?"

Cedric groaned. Maybe that's what there was to not like. There was that small seed of self-centered conceitedness that ran through his blood. Maybe it just a trait that came in his father, or just in his father's blood, though that would mean that it ran also through him, and that's just what Cedric did not want. Either way, it was there, and it was the obstacle to many good things.

Sure, Cedric was popular among the Hufflepuffs, but that was because he was the hero of the house. Everyone looked up to him, whether it was academically, or in his Quidditch skills, or in some less former way. Cedric was the role model for the students.

But yet….

What if that was the small seed of evil in him that was telling him that?