2.
"It's amazing, innit Harry?"

Colin has been talking incessantly ever since he pulled me from Snape's potions class. We walk down the stairs, making sure to pay attention as they move and shift. He's so exuberant that it's almost annoying. But still, he manages to make me smile as he goes on and on about 'champions' and 'tourneys'.

"—you being picked and all. Shame that you couldn't compete, though."

"Yeah, real shame that," I say, trying to ease off the sarcasm. Apparently, I did a poor job of it. As we walk down the first-floor East Corridor towards rooms that are primarily used by the upper classes, I see out of the corner of my eye watching me. He stops walking.

I turn to face Colin and I'm immediately taken by how cute he is. I've never really paid much attention to him, before. He was much too... boisterous for me when he arrived during my second year. He calmed down last year, but he was still always so excitable. Mind you, he hasn't changed much; he still goes on and on about photography and other Muggle things. I rather enjoy his rants sometimes. Although I was raised by Muggles like Colin, I never had the opportunity to watch much telly or play on computers or any of the sort. But there's something about him now that I've never seen before.

His hair is a shag of fluffy blonde curls. They seem to float in the air even when there's no breeze. His soft, brown eyes are always so big, almost cartoonish, as if he was trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. When he blinks, his lashes jaunt out, dark and prominent. He sucks on his bottom lip a lot and I find myself wanting to suck on it, too. They're always so red and wet. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was a girl. He was certainly angelic... corruptible, even.

"What?" I ask Colin, finally becoming nervous at our stillness.

Colin blinks, shakes his head, and walks past me.

"Nothing," he says, leading me to the door of a classroom.

Now, my nervousness has turned into slight discomfort. "So, what are we doing, exactly?" I ask.

He takes out his wand from his back pocket. It catches on the bottom of his shirt and I see a flash of the soft, milky skin of his lower back. Fuck, if he's not beautiful then I don't know the meaning of the word!

Colin taps on door knob three times and swishes his wand over it. I hear a 'click' and the door opens. We step into a fairly small classroom. Most of the tables have been stacked along with wall opposite from us, except for three which were lined up end-to-end. There were still chairs scattered throughout the room, which I'm sure is the reason why Colin and I are here.

"We're to set up the room for the Champions' photographs," Colin answers.

"Oh! Will you be taking the pictures, then?"

"Pft! No. Someone from 'The Daily Prophet', I reckon," he answers.

There's a large ladder as tall as the room, a hefty bag in the corner next to the stacked tables, and large metal contraptions with panels on the end with oddly-shaped light bulbs lying on the floor behind them. Colin walks over to the bag, signalling me to follow. He pulls out what must be a large, folded banner from the bag and hands it to me.

"We need to hang the school banners behind the Champions' table," he says, pointing to the three tables at the head of the room. "Chauncey or Fawcett will be here to help in a moment. You know the sticking charm, yeah?"

I nod.

Sara Fawcett, a fifth-year Ravenclaw with long, curly black hair, walks in the room.

"Hullo, Colin. Hey, Harry!" she says with a wave of her hand.

"Hey, Sara," Colin says, handing her a folded banner with a smile. "Looks like your beard finally fell off, yeah?"

"Oh, hush," she pouts. She rubs her chin and winks at Harry. "Can't blame a girl for trying, yeah? Oh, Harry. Cho says 'hello', by the way."

I must have blushed or something because she simply walks past me and giggles.

While Sara and Colin move the ladder behind the table, I begin to move the chairs still scattered in the room to the back wall, next to the door. Once they are all stacked, I cast a spell that covers them in a soft, velvet tarp – the same material that now covers the Champions' table.

Soon, each school's banner is draped from the ceiling behind each chair where the Champion will be sitting and Colin has already filled the room with the proper fluorescent lighting needed for magical photography. It's quite the sight watching Colin 'work his magic' with the lights. He's never satisfied with it. He'll angle one light, walk to the centre of the room, look around, grimace, then walk to another light and re-angle that. He'll repeat the process until he's re-angled each light a half-a-dozen times. It's the only time I've ever seen Colin not talking and smiling.

When it comes to photography, Colin is all business. He's even sexier when he's like this.

Snapped out of my daydream by the sound of Ludo Bagman's booming laugh, I watch him walk in with a witch wearing wine-red robes firmly latched to his arm. Curiously tight ringlets of blonde hair fall down around her face, accentuating her too-tight-jaw. Her green-rimmed glasses match her two-inch coloured nails that seem far more like talons. She's followed by a paunchy man holding a camera much like the one Colin usually carries around. His eyes dart around, surveying the room in its entirety.

"Harry," Bagman's smile widens as he leads the witch to me. He places a hand on my shoulder as he introduces her to me. "This is Rita Skeeter. One of the best journalists 'The Prophet' has to offer."

"Oh, Ludo," she says, batting her eyes, "You say the kindest things."

She looks me up and down, eyes narrowed, before extending her hand for me to take.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she says. I don't know if she's talking about her or me, but I take her hand and give it a polite squeeze.

"Real shame you didn't get to compete, Harry, after going through all the trouble of sneaking your name into the Goblet."

"Oh, I didn't put my name in," I say. I assume that she's simply misinformed, an honest mistake, really. But when her mouth purses to the side and an eyebrow arches, I realize that she doesn't believe me.

"Oh, of course you didn't," she adds, with a wink. "No fear, Harry. My readers love a rebel, especially one with a death wish." She looks me up and down before continuing, "Even if he gets caught."

Before I can defend myself, I hear the shuffling of feet from outside. Viktor walks in, sullen and surly with a slight scowl on his face. He's followed by Cedric and Fleur, who looks happier than I've seen her since she's arrived.

"Rita is going to do a small article on the Champions. You know, promotions and all?"

Rita turns to glances over to Viktor and then Cedric. "Well, I doubt it'll be... 'small'," she says with a venereal leer. Her eyes follow Viktor as he walks over to the corner. I wonder why Cedric looks put off when Viktor's chooses a more solitary location to sulk and walks to the far corner. He looks like he wanted to follow, but Fleur draws his attention back to her. Merlin, it's annoying to see her laugh, tossing her long hair about. Does she have to touch his arm so much? And what's going on between Viktor and Cedric?

"Competition, Harry," Colin whispers behind me.

"What!"

"Oh, nothing," he quickly adds with a smile as he walks over to the man with the camera.

I should have known, really. Colin's a photographer. He spends all his extra time looking at the world and taking everything in. He can probably read me like an open book. Or maybe I'm just that transparent? I think I'm blushing, slightly; just in case, I try and pull the reigns on my emotions.

Rita pulls an acid-green quill and some parchment from her crocodile-skinned bag. I gawk when I see the quill and scroll float above her hand. The quill starts dancing around on the paper, seemingly of its own volition. I realize shortly that it's writing what she's saying, everything that she's saying. Even when she's silent, the quill continues to move. I wonder if it can follow her thoughts, as well?

"Ok, now," she announces to the room, "time for the interviews. Cedric, I'd like to start with you, if you please? Lovely." She stretches an arm to him, an offering he can't refuse.

Cedric excuses himself from Fleur – who promptly heads over to talk to Bagman, but refrains from touching him much – and walks closer to Rita. I look to see Rita staring at me with squinted, beady eyes. Had she caught me watching Cedric?

"Hrmmm... interesting," she says. I cringe when I realize her magic quill is whipping across the parchment faster than I'd seen before. She turns to face Cedric, linking her arm with his.

"Well, Cedric. How does it feel to be chosen as a champion?"

"I... I feel honoured, of course," he answers humbly.

"Oh, of course," she says with a knowing smile, "especially considering the Diggory name isn't exactly synonymous with ... glory, right dear?"

Cedric becomes visibly nervous. His hands clench and unclench anxiously.

"Wh—what do you mean?"

"Well," Rita looks around with a self-satisfied look on her face that I find repugnant. "You are quite poor, after all. I'm sure a thousand galleons would certainly help pay off some of your father's... indiscretions."

"I—I..."

Cedric begins to look around the room, hoping no one can hear them. Fortunately, it seems I'm the only one eavesdropping, even though I'm trying to look busy as I sweep the floor. I hope no one notices that I've been sweeping the same spot for the past 5 minutes.

Rita Skeeter leans into to Cedric. Her writing utensils swing closer, as well. Now, there's a ravenous expression on her face, like a kid in a candy store or a fox in the hen house.

"I mean," She continues, "I bet it is rough trying to live up to your father's expectations, especially when he's living vicariously through his only son. I mean, what if you fail? I'm sure he's counting on you to be quite successful in life... considering he's all-but squandered the money left your mother by her parents, yeah?"

She flutters her eyelashes in mock-innocence. Cedric pulls away from her, his eyes blinking faster and more frequent than usual.

"And your dear mother," she adds with a tut, "never been the express-my-love sort, has she?" With those words, she reaches for her bag, pulling out a worn letter and unfolding it. Theatrically, she clears her throat and reads from the letter in a sardonic sing-song voice.

"What was it? 'It has come to our attention that your grades are abhorrent'... Oh, strong words. And what were you, then...? Eleven?" Another tut before she continues, "And what else? Oh, yes. 'Your father and I do not have the money to waste on an education that you care little for'... My, my."

I see Cedric's jaw muscles shifting. "Where did you get that?" he asks through gritted teeth. His sudden raised voice grabs the attention of Viktor, then Ludo.

"Ah, ah. A good journalist never reveals her sources."

Cedric grabs at the letter, but Rita jerks it beyond his reach.

"Now, now, Cedric. Manners."

Her smile becomes deadly as she continues to read, this time loud enough for everyone to hear, "'Should you wish to return home, we could find a suitable position for you on the farmlands or perhaps at a Potions Brewery where you could become a journeyman and learn a trade that may be of some use to the Wizarding world.'"

"Stop it!" I finally yell, my anger taking over. If I had wanted to be sly about it, I failed miserably. The room is now dead silent and all eyes are on the three of us. Cedric seems to notice me for the first time. His eyes widen and I swear he's on the verge of tears. Strangely, that makes him all the more wonderful to look at: on the brink of breaking. Human.

It startles Rita, who turns a narrowed eye to my direction. From behind, Cedric manages to snatch the letter from her hand and storm out of the room, jerking his arm from Bagman when he tries to stop him.

Viktor's normal scowl turns to a disgusted sneer and even Fleur looks put out by Rita's display. The magic quill continues to scribble furiously on the parchment. Rita seems satiated, walking to the Champion's table as she talks to her quill.

Bagman places a hand on my shoulder – again – and lets out a deep breath.

"Give him a few minutes to cool off, lad," he says to me. "But we'll soon need to go collect him when Ollivander arrives."

"Sir?" I ask, wondering more why he'd think me the best candidate to fetch Cedric rather than why Ollivander is coming. As should be expected, however, he doesn't pick up on it.

"Oh, for the wand weighing, my boy. Got to check all of the champions' wands and make sure they are in full working order." With a wink and a smile, Bagman heads towards the photographer, who is busy showing a delighted Colin the intricacies of his camera.

I start to think about what Rita said, trying to piece together the bits of what I heard into one continuous understanding of Cedric's history. Was he poor? Or was it simply something she exaggerated to rile him? Did his father gamble away their money? Did his mother really write that horrible letter? Is that why Cedric excelled at almost everything he did: the pressure?

I always thought Cedric had it easy. After all, he was the prettiest of students -- more handsome even than Oliver, who I had always thought was the cutest boy at Hogwarts. He was almost as smart as Hermione, especially in Charms. He was always the only student she'd go to if she had a question about the subject. And I know he's in Arithmancy, a devotion of magic that isn't for average thinkers. He had loads of friends and admirers, especially teachers. Rumour has it even Snape thought Cedric an 'adequate' student (high praise from him).

It all combined to make him untouchable and unattainable. But this new information, depressing though it was, made him more... human.

Have-able.