A/N: I don't own any of this. It is a mixture of the book and the movie, with some characters that have been created by other people. Calvin and Shophie belong to Dracoshipper, and Alec belongs to jennifer williams of HPFF. Thanks to the two of you, without whom, Cedric would be friendless.

Also, thanks to tonksandlupin, also of HPFF, who kindly took up the task of being beta for this chapter, as well as the last two.

Before you begin though, I would like to apologize for two mistakes in the last chapter: One, Cho is not the captain of the Ravenclaw team, it should have been "wanna-be Captain." Two, Cedric shouldn't have used magic to light the fire, as his birthday isn't for another few chapters (something to look forwards to).

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the third installment of Cedric Diggory and the Triwizard Tournament!

"Are you sure you're going to bet something like that, boy?"

Cedric looked at the Ministry wizard with disbelief. "If you think it's such a stupid bet, then why do you care?" he asked in shock. "You're going to win, so you should be happy you're going to make money off stupid kids like me."

The wizened old man laughed. "I like your thinking," he said, ruffling Cedric's hair. "All right, all right, but if you lose, don't come crying to me about it."

"I don't cry to anyone," the gray-eyed boy muttered darkly.

"What did you say, kid?" the man asked, leaning in a bit, money box held close, as though he feared somebody coming to steal it from him.

"N-nothing," Cedric said as he took out his sack of golden coins. "Now I said how much?"

The wizard laughed, looking down at his pad of bets, scanning the list of names for the aforementioned young man. "Ah, right here. 'Cedric Diggory, thirty Galleons on Irish National.' You sure you don't want to change those bets?"

Cedric, however, was all ready counting out gold coins to exchange with the man. "Thirty Galleons it is, then."

The man stared at him with wide eyes, dumbly handing him a scrap of parchment that read both his name and bet. Cedric nodded to the man, who dim-wittedly placed the money into a bag, turned and walked away, yelling, "Anybody want to place a bet on the Champion of the Cup?"

Cedric tucked the slip of paper into his pocket and turned around slowly, a satisfied grin on his face. "That, my good man, is how you place a proper bet," he said to a boy around his age, yet was slightly on the smaller side.

Calvin Malacus stepped around a rather large boulder, hands fidgeting with a small scrap of parchment that obviously came from another gambler.

"Um," Calvin started, but stopped quickly when he realized that he had nothing to actually say.

"It's getting kind of late," Cedric said as he looked around at the bustling crowds, all clamoring around a merchant person of one with who they were going to place stakes. "Why don't you head on back to your place and we'll catch up after the Cup, eh?"

Calvin nodded, shoving his bet in his pocket. "O-okay, Cedric. See you, then."

Once the boy was out of hearing distance and well out of sight, Cedric let out an exaggerated sigh. Sure, the guy's a nice person, he thought exhaustedly, but he's a bit dweeby. I really don't understand why I bother with him sometimes. He's such a hopeless case.

Cedric began to walk back to his campsite slowly. Even though the boy was on a different field entirely, he didn't want to get back quickly, because there was still quite a little time to waste before everyone started to fill into the stadium for the match. He wanted to look around, see how everyone else was celebrating, and maybe even buy some sort of souvenir to bring home to his mother.

He had decided that he was going to support Ireland when he placed his bets on their victory, yet he showed no sign of spirit towards them. Maybe he would stop by a stand and get face paint or a flag. He had to show some sort of recognition for his team, didn't he? Or was that just the deep recesses of his mind trying to give him something to think about?

"Oi, Ced!"

A call made the boy stop in his tracks and look around questioningly. Who was calling him?

A hand was slammed down on his shoulder behind him, making Cedric jump. His breath caught in his throat. He spun around.

"What's wrong, Diggory?" said a dirty-blonde haired boy. "Looks like you've seen a ghost!"

"Just about," Cedric muttered as he inhaled deeply. "Next time, Alec, warn me before you do that."

Alec Wiken smirked at him. "Ah, but that would take the fun out of it."

"For you, maybe. It would at least save me."

"Save you what?"

Cedric stalled for a moment. Why did he say that? It made less sense to him then to any other person on earth, which seemed a bit sad. "Ah, nothing. Say, who are you supporting?

The two boys began walking as Alec replied, "Who else? Bulgaria. They have Krum, remember?"

"I'll give you that; Krum's a decent Seeker and all that, but when it comes down to skill, Ireland outdoes them by a mile."

"Just because they have Lynch?"

"That would be like saying that just because Bulgaria has Krum, they'll win. Sure the Seekers are important to the game, but when you think about it, Chasers are by far more important."

Alec laughed. "Are you insulting yourself?" he asked, turning in amazement to face his friend. "You're a Seeker, remember."

"And you're a Beater. So I'm insulting you as well."

"Point made. But I still say that Bulgaria is going to win. I can tell," he closed his eyes as he said this, "that by the inner aura of this campsite, Krum will catch the Snitch."

Cedric laughed. "I don't think that made any sense at all," he said as they passed a particularly loud and crowded concession stand.

Alec shrugged, his small green eyes darting around to look at all the goods that were being sold. He veered away from Cedric when he saw an oversized Bulgarian banner on sale. Cedric joined him at the side of a large trolley not a moment later, and both were looking at a wide assortment of objects.

There were flags and banners that played the national anthem of their teams whenever they were waved; walking models of the players from each team; a wide assortment of clothing bearing the teams' emblems; and little rosettes that, when pushed, squealed out the names of various players.

Cedric's smile expanded as he watched a miniature Firebolt as it zoomed around, apparently unaware of what it was doing. He laughed as it flew straight into a boxed figurine of Krum, fell to the table, and then started soaring again.

Alec looked at him as though he was mental, and perhaps, Cedric realized, maybe he was. It didn't really bother him much. What was life without a little insanity, he reasoned with no one in particular.

Alec picked up an oversized flag bearing the Bulgarian logo on it and draped it around himself. "What do you think?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders forwards and back foolishly.

"I think," said a rather irate sales wizard, "that you should set it down unless you intend on buying it."

Cedric and Alec looked at each other for a moment, snickering as the boy put the cloth back. Instead, he picked up a red banner and bought it.

"You getting anything, Ced?"

"Mm, I don't know yet," he replied unsurely. "If I want something, I'll come back later."

"All right," Alec replied, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "Don't blame me if everything's sold out though." He lifted up the flag again, only to be caught by the same wizard, who scowled, yelling at him to leave the area.

Alec turned, laughing manically. "What's with the old geezer?" he wheezed between chortles of laughter. "'Put that down now,' he says!" Once more, he collapsed into laughter as Cedric walked along beside him, snickering as well, as crazy smile lightening his face.

"Right mental, he was," muttered Alec as they reached the Diggorys campground thirty minutes and six impressions later. It had started to become boring, in Cedric's opinion, but he wasn't going to bother with informing his friend unless he was going to go crazy due to poor imitations.

Cedric's father was standing outside the tent, peering up at a dark cloud. When he saw the boys approaching, he called, "You two don't think the weather will turn bad tonight, do you?"

Cedric looked up, squinting past the bright rays of the sun to see one, sole cloud, heavy and gloomy looking. "No, I doubt it," he said, resisting the urge to be sarcastic. It was, after all, only one cloud. Nothing to be worried about, and yet, here was his dad, peering at it as though it were a letter from the messengers of the underworld.

Alec leaned in towards Cedric, whispering, "Good luck with him." Straightening himself, he turned. "I'm going to head on back to my place," he declared. "I'll see you all later, then?"

Cedric turned to him, mouthing the words, "Thanks, you git," then waving, replacing his scowl with a look of fake cheer.

"Well, Ced," his father said as he came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like it's just you and me for the next few hour or so, then it's off to the Cup!"

Cedric held up his pointer fingers, twirling them in the air. "Woo," he said dully. "I love waiting. Mm. A whole two hours of it."

"And then some!" his father added joyously.

"And then some," Cedric echoed monotonously.

"Now come on in, Ced." His father waved a hand at him as he held back the flap to the tent. "We're going to eat, relax, then head to the stadium so we can get our seats early."

"Roger," Cedric said, a tint of sarcasm in his voice, and entered the tent.

"For the hundredth time, Dad, no!"

"Oh, really, then?" His father sent him a sly look from across the table. "Then how do you plan on getting around?"

Cedric was quickly getting agitated, longing more then ever to up and leave the tent, but there was something holding him to his spot. "Dad," he said calmly, trying once more as he set down his fork, "I do not want to learn to Apparate."

"Well why not?"

"Because from what everyone tells me, it gets you sick for the first few months, and I honestly don't want to be throwing up every time I do it. There are other ways of getting around, you know."

"Such as?" His father waved his spoon around in distracting little circles.

"Like…." Cedric stalled, watching the progression of the silverware, blinking when he realized he was being diverted from their conversation. He tried again. "Like flying and Floo powder. They work well, too."

"I'll give you that they work fine, but is that what you're going to settle for? Just fine? Boy, you're a Diggory, Diggorys don't settle for fine, they settle for the best!"

Cedric stood up, walking to the small sink. "Whatever, Dad," he muttered. He wanted to finish by saying, There's no point in arguing with you – you never win, but he didn't, thinking ahead to the better of the two choices.

There came a popping noise from just outside the tent, making Cedric jump slightly, breath catching in his throat as he dropped his plate into the silver basin with a clatter. Mr. Diggory stood and walked to the entrance, peering around the cloth flap to see who or what it was that had caused the disturbance.

"Oh, hello there, Ludo!" his voice came happily.

A rather heavily set looking man walked into the ten, uninvited though he was, tucking his thumbs into his pants pockets. He smiled exaggeratedly around at the inside of the tent before taking Cedric in. He peered at the boy up and down, turning to Mr. Diggory and saying, "So this is your boy? Cedric, wasn't it?"

"The very one," said his father as he walked over to him, swinging his arm around his shoulders. "The one that beat Harry Potter in Quidditch! I said to him, just this morning, actually, that it'll be something to tell his kids and their kids, and it'll go down in history!"

Ludo Bagman's eyes grew as he surveyed the Seeker further. "Oh, really?" he said in shock. "I just talked with young Mr. Potter. Great kid, he is. Can only imagine his skills. He may be a fine Seeker some day if half the rumors are true – playing right on the very team that I did!"

Mr. Diggory's face deepened in color, but Bagman didn't seem to have noticed. "That's going to be my son, actually. Quite a genius on a broom!"

Cedric found a sudden fascination with his shoelaces and carefully began to study them. Not again, he thought bitterly. I don't want to be publicized!

Bagman nodded in approval to the boy. "You yourself wouldn't be all too bad on a team either, but, hey, that's not what I came here to tell you lot! Amos, we're going to start ushering in people for the match, so I was wondering if you would help with that. Eh?"

Mr. Diggory acquiesced, saying, "Of course, Ludo, where do you want me to stand?"

"Mm, come with me and I'll get you set up."

Mr. Diggory looked back at his son before he left the tent. "You coming with me, Ced, or you going to stay here for a while?"

Cedric hesitated, weighing the choices studiously. If he stayed at the tent, what exactly would he be able to do for the next hour that kept him busy? But if he went with his father, the chances were great that he would become an exhibit, proudly entitled: The Boy Who Beat Harry Potter. He closed his eyes for a moment, but snapped them open almost instantly when an image of him standing in a cage with a sign sticking out of the ground in front of him reading, "The Boy Who Won" flashed through his mind.

Yet maybe he would be able to skip out on the humiliation, and just head right to the stands to get his seat. That would be perfect. It was all that he wanted.

"I'm coming," he said, almost tripping over his own words.

The two older men watched him curiously as he barged between them, walking hastily out of the tent in the direction of the stadium. They shrugged at each other, and then followed.

"This is him! The one who beat Harry Potter! I say to him, I say, that's going to be some tale to tell the kids in the next generation, given that they know who Potter is."

I knew this would happen, Cedric scolded himself. I told myself that if I went I would be a circus animal to him. I knew it would happen, I swear I knew it!

Then why did I come?

The stadium's shadow loomed over them. In the distance, the arena shone brightly with thousands of lamps, illuminating the land and trees around it for acres. The loud rumble of thousands of fans came from that direction, even though the match was still an hour away.

This is amazing, Cedric thought as a grin spread across his face, allowing him to drown out the talk of his father and the Ministry wizard that walked slowly behind him. This is just…incredible! I…can't believe that I'm actually here, at the Quidditch World Cup, the first one held here in ages! And I'm here; I'm actually, really, truly here! This is –

He jerked forwards as his father thumped him hard on the back. He flailed his elbows, trying in vain to pull his hands out of his pockets and keep his balance all at once. He managed to steady himself, turning to glare with determined anger at his dad.

"Is that so?" asked the wizard who had been talking with Mr. Diggory. "Hm, young man? Is it true?"

Cedric looked from the wizened old wizard to his father, question and perplexity in his eyes, clearly screaming, 'What am I supposed to tell him?"

But he didn't have to worry, because Mr. Diggory quickly, yet confidently, said, "Well of course it's true! He's a Diggory! It's just the natural skill, is all. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the next Viktor Krum!"

I'm not Bulgarian, Cedric thought, scowling as he turned around and continued walking. I don't much like Krum, anyway. Too showy.

Or is it just that I'm envious?

Cedric paused, realizing how deep and reflective his thoughts had been that day. What did it mean? Was there a reason?

No, he scolded, you're doing it again. No more deep thoughts! Enjoy yourself!

He looked down at his shoes as he walked, making his way slowly but surely, trying to drown out the conversations of his father's. The first Ministry wizard had left, and in his place came a steady stream of others. Of course, he heard the drone of their words, and whispers of sentences, but nothing fully registered with him. He focused, above all else, on reaching the stadium: on the cheers of fans, the players waiting for the match to begin, and the bubbles of excitement that were steadily rising within him.

Finally, after what seemed to take longer then anything else he had ever waited for, they arrived.

An enormous grin spread across his face, eyes widening in amazement, as he looked up at the pitch, towering above him, casting them into darkness within its long shadow. The roar of the crowds all ready inside were nearly deafening, and it only made him happier to know that his voice would soon combine with the others.

"Beautiful," his father shouted, the words coming out as nothing more then a whisper. But it didn't matter to Cedric; if he no longer heard anything, he wouldn't have minded it one bit.

He turned to look at his father, expression alone relaying his message: "Please, don't make me stay out here! Let me go in there, please, Dad?"

A laugh came to Mr. Diggory's lips, and he nodded. Cedric waited for a moment, smile expanding even further, not saying anything. His father understood, and gave him a nudge on the shoulder, telling him that he would be in soon and to be careful.

Cedric nodded, turning to run and join the line awaiting entrance.

I'm finally here, he thought blissfully, about to enter the arena for the Quidditch World Cup. I'm not waiting any longer. I've done that long enough.

And besides, it's Quidditch!