Fourth Year
It goes like this:
Cedric Diggory does not know who Hermione Granger is. He is golden, like honey — his smile is sweet and his hair shines bright under the light.
And Hermione? She is none of that. If she were food, she'd be stale chocolate: the shining patina dulled, the taste faded and flat but with a hint of what it could have been. Something decadent, something sweet, something a little bitter.
Too bad nobody likes stale chocolate.
o-O-o
It happens, sometimes, that the golden boy runs into the faded girl in the library, their eyes meeting briefly when one looks up from writing an assignment or as they walk down the same aisle. But his eyes, rich and soft, slide over her like she is just another fixture, and Hermione knows better than to hope that she has actually been seen.
What most people do not know is that Cedric Diggory is not golden. He may be gold outside, that is true, but inside he is hollowed out, an echoing cavern that is full of doubts that he can't voice.
After all, golden boys have it all, and nobody thinks to ask if Cedric is more than the sum of his parts.
So he smiles and he laughs and he draws people to him like flies to honey, all the while wondering what will happen when his facade inevitably breaks and his golden shell falls away.
Will people still like him then?
o-O-o
Cedric almost dies in the graveyard because of the Tournament his father insisted he enter and that his peers predicted he would win.
Cedric almost dies, and when he wakes up in St Mungo's, Cedric doesn't care one whit about being golden any longer.
Fifth Year
August
"I don't understand you any more!" A tearful Cho, who is used to sweet words that amount to nothing.
His lips wrap around words he finds familiar. They are trite, but honest. "I'm sorry. I'm not the person I was when we started dating."
She throws a book at him and storms away, crying.
He ducks and is left feeling relieved. He does not hear the muffled exclamation behind him as the book hits Hermione, who is, as always, sitting in the library. She is such a permanent presence that people no longer notice her.
September
Hermione sees in Cedric what she sees when she looks in the mirror: someone a little bit lost and a little confused. Someone struggling to understand who they are. Someone struggling to understand what they have become.
She thinks of the expression on his face, half-turned in profile, when Cho had hurled the book on Transfigurative principles at him, and thinks, I know this version of Cedric because this version is me.
October
It has become painfully clear that Hermione's fifth year will, somehow, incredibly, be even more dysfunctional than the years prior. The Ministry has made that clear by way of sending that pink-bedecked toad, Dolores Umbridge, and giving her free rein to do as she pleases.
When she learns that Umbridge is the one who proposed the anti-werewolf legislation, and that she had assigned Harry detention with a blood quill (Illegal! Banned! A human rights violation!), and that she thinks practical application of theory is no longer necessary, something in her snaps.
If the school won't teach her, she'll teach the school. All she needs are good professors.
o-O-o
Cedric is at the Astronomy Tower. The silver light of the stars shine down on him as he stares into the rolling darkness ahead of him, the velvet black eating up the Quidditch pitch and Forbidden Forest beyond it.
"You're hard to find these days."
He turns at the statement and sees a girl.
He recognizes her from the Tournament last year from when she came into the tent before the first task and then from when she was in the lake, her hair floating around her like chocolate seaweed, but he remembers her most for the way she burned brightly during the Yule Ball, her spirit shining like fire in the way the light caught her hair and her eyes glittered like topaz.
All that doesn't matter anymore — the Cedric of old liked her brightness, but the Cedric he is now likes the way she clings to the shadows, her face partially obscured and her hair a slight mess with one sock pulled higher than the other and an inkblot on her face.
This girl wouldn't care about popularity or anything of the sort. What she cares about instead, it seems, is Defense Against the Dark Arts.
More specifically, creating an underground club dedicated to teaching it.
"You know he's out there," she says flatly, her gaze unwavering. "And they're leaving us without the ability to defend ourselves — to even know how to defend ourselves. You were one of the best at Defense last year, and we all saw how you did in a real life situation." She means the maze, and — after.
"Between you and Harry," she soldiers on after a slight hesitation, "I think we'd all learn a lot. It would all help keep us safe."
"I'm not a poster boy any longer," he warns her, leaning against his hands as his legs dangle over the edge. "I won't be someone for everyone to rally around as I give some kind of speech. That part of me—" is dead "Well. It's not who I am. Not any more."
She rolls her eyes, taking him aback. "I don't want a figurehead. I want you for your brain. Besides," she adds pragmatically, "we've got Harry for that."
Hm. Granger — Hermione — has just become interesting.
The first interesting thing, he thinks, since he had heard the damned words, "Did you hear about the Tournament?"
Luckily, Hermione doesn't come with the same attendant dangers and pitfalls.
November
Hermione doesn't regret it, though her skin will.
She and Cedric had been caught by the stupid Inquisitorial Squad as they left the Room of Requirement. They had asked what they were doing, suspicion clear on their faces. After all,
"Why would Hufflepuff's Golden Boy be with swotty, spotty Gryffindor Granger?"
Cedric, for all his changes this year, still can't lie to save his life, so Hermione steps up, anxiety making her tongue sharp and her tone mean.
Of course, that results in a detention. A special detention, administered by Dolores Umbridge herself.
I will be polite to my betters.
The next day, the inside of her forearm, where the words appear, is still bleeding sluggishly, despite her liberal application of healing paste. She feels a bit faint, but it does not matter. Nobody cares about something menial like a flesh wound.
Cedric grabs her by the upper arm when she's walking through the corridor and pulls her into an unused classroom. "What were you thinking?" he asks, those eyes like smoke staring into hers.
The heat of his hand burns into hers like fire. "Someone had to do it, and you still can't lie, so it had to be me."
His flinch is almost imperceptible, and his grip tightens. "You shouldn't have done that. Not for — not for me."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" he parrots.
She nods. "You've done enough. And besides, the only reason you were there is because of me. I convinced you to—" she stops short, looks around. You never know who is lurking around the corner these days. "Well. You know. And that's the only reason you were with me. And, well—" she shrugs. "I like you, Diggory."
His laugh is joyless. "Not a lot to like these days."
"You're an idiot." Her expression is unimpressed.
"What?"
"You're an idiot," she repeats. "You think there's not a lot to like about you just because you're not the same old Diggory as last year? You're wrong." He looks at her, eyes wide, as she steps forward. "There's a lot to like about you. I don't care if you don't run around like the world is a wonderful place. The world isn't. It hasn't been, and you saw that last year up close and personal. So what if you broke up with Cho? So what if you don't hold court at the Hufflepuff table at meal time and if you aren't as enthusiastic about Quidditch? That doesn't make you any less. You're still worthwhile, even if you're not out in center stage."
"You seem to have a lot of opinions about me," he observes.
She feels herself flush. "I…well. Like I said, I like you."
The words come out a little softer than she intends, and Cedric's eyes widen even further. He releases his grip on her arm and steps back. "Oh."
Oh, indeed.
They don't speak much after that.
o-O-o
Cedric probably shouldn't have dropped Hermione's arm like it was a hot poker. He saw the hurt look in her eyes after she said, softly, I like you, and he moved away like she had Dragon Pox.
In retrospect, she likely didn't mean it that way — had likely meant it as something harmless, but the damage is done. She avoids him, now, slipping through the hallways silently with her book bag that is bursting at the seams, with her clothes neat but her hair wild as her eyes slide over him like he isn't there. Even at DA meetings, she is quiet, preferring to partner with Ginny or Neville or any of the younger Puffs who have joined and need some gentle guidance.
That is something that he realizes too late: that Hermione Granger is, at her core, gentle and kind, especially to those with shadows in their eyes.
He wonders, sometimes, if it's because those shadows match the ones in her own.
December
He misses Hermione.
It's strange to think that he could come to value her presence so much that he actively misses it. After all, he's only known her for a few months, and even in that time he hasn't really spent a lot of time with her.
And yet…he misses her.
He misses the way they spend time in the library, sliding each other judgmental looks over the DADA texts they chose to prepare for DA with. He misses the way she quirks a smile at him in the corridors as they pass each other on the way to class. He misses the way she stands across from him during DA with her legs slightly apart and her gleaming eyes alert.
He frowns as he gathers up his books and looks out the window. It's past dark and he hasn't had dinner. It's a clear night, and he wonders if he could grab some food and take it up to the Astronomy Tower, where he has taken to spending a lot of time. The quiet night and the stars always make something tight within him relax.
"Master Cedric!" Gogo cries out in welcome as Cedric comes into the kitchens, hurrying toward him. "What can Gogo do? Is Master Cedric hungry?"
"Hello Gogo," Cedric says. "I wanted to know if you had some leftovers from dinner. I got a little caught up in the library."
Gogo nods, his huge ears perked up as he springs into action. The other house elves help him, and in short order a small basket with a thermos is thrust toward him. "Christmas food!" Gogo tells him, his yellow eyes bright. "The feast was tonight."
Cedric thinks there's not a lot of Christmas spirit in the air, not with the oppressive air around the castle and the pinched looks most students wear. But the holidays are what people make of it, and it appears the elves are determined to spread Christmas cheer.
The smell of the food is good enough to make his mouth water, and his lips tilt up despite himself.
"It smells delicious," he tells Gogo in complete honesty and shakes the thermos. "What's inside?"
"Hot chocolate!" The look on Gogo's face is best described as gleeful. "We knows that Master Cedric likes hot chocolate."
Startled and not a little bit touched, Cedric thanks Gogo and all the elves. As he treks up the staircases, mindful to keep to the shadows so as to avoid the night patrols, he wonders if the elves have also noticed what his favourite foods are.
Unfortunately, the Tower is already occupied when he gets there, a couple from Ravenclaw snogging under the night sky.
Disappointed, he turns to go back to the Hufflepuff common room when inspiration strikes him. The Room of Requirement is only one floor and two corridors away, and he isn't ready to go back yet.
Thankfully, the way is clear and he paces in front of the door as Hermione showed him, thinking I need a comfortable place. I need a comfortable place. I need a comfortable place.
The door slowly morphs into a rich walnut, and he opens it and slips in.
Hermione is there.
He stops short at the sight of her huddled before a fireplace, her arms resting on her knees as she stares into the flames.
A comfortable place seems to include Hermione Granger. He quirks a brow at the Room and pats the wall in thanks.
"Hey, Hermione."
At the sound of his voice, she half-turns to look over her shoulder, startled. Her hair glows in the light of the fire, streaks of honeys and ambers and even reds shining. Her face is wan, though, her eyes shimmering with tears.
"Cedric," she replies, her voice unsteady. "What are you doing here?"
Wordlessly, he hefts the basket. "Dinner?"
She wipes the sleeve of her jumper under her nose and sniffles. A little nasally, she replies, "I'm not particularly hungry."
"Hot chocolate, then?" He lifts the thermos, hoping to entice her.
Hermione tilts her head, thinking. "I suppose I could have some," she says at last.
"Excellent." He comes up beside her, the heat of the fire warming his left side as he faces her and sinks to the ground before folding his legs underneath him.
When he opens the basket, his heart warms and his stomach growls. The house elves did know what he preferred, and judging by Hermione's gasp as he unloaded the food, she also liked some of the same.
He slides her a glance. "You sure you don't want some?"
"Well…" she hesitates. "I guess I could."
He pushes some food over her way on a napkin and they both tuck in. It's only after he's on his third portion of Yorkshire pudding that he sits back and looks at her.
It's hard to be vulnerable, given how much he has always held everything inside, but he licks his lips and takes the plunge.
"I've missed you."
Those topaz eyes of hers, so expressive and telling, widen and then narrow. "You sure have a funny way of showing that," she says tartly.
His shoulders hunch in. "I…I didn't handle things well."
"I'm not even sure what I did wrong," she says, her tone low. Her eyes flick away and then back to his. "And then you wouldn't even look at me, and you wouldn't practice with me in DA, and you wouldn't smile at me in the hallways."
Cedric feels lower than a toe rag. He has been so immersed in himself and his own feelings that he hasn't realized the way he is coming across. For the first time, he wonders who else he has hurt by turning inward, and he feels the stirrings of remorse.
"Everything just feels so big," he admits. "I don't think I've handled anything gracefully, to be honest. All my life, people have looked up to me as some kind of paragon, like I'm the perfect role model. It's a lot to live up to, especially when I'm not near perfect. And after the maze — well. When I woke up, I felt…relieved, somehow. I almost died, and when I woke up, I felt like I didn't need to try to be that person any more. I could be…me. Even if I wasn't quite sure who that person was."
Hermione looks thoughtful. Her response is measured and slow, like she is thinking out loud. "I think you'll find that your true friends will still like you, regardless of if you're super Cedric or not. Haven't they tried talking to you?"
They have. Hayden, in particular, has doggedly kept up with him, sitting next to him at the table for meals and in Transfiguration, his constant commentary a sure thing. And Edward, too, has made it a point to ask him to do Quidditch drills in the evening and runs in the morning just like they have for years. It has been Cedric who has put himself out of reach, worried that those he values will no longer find value in him now that he has stripped off his golden veneer.
"I am the worst sort of wizard." It is his turn to stare into the fire disconsolately.
There is a soft touch on his arm. He looks over at Hermione. "You've been through a lot, Cedric. We all have. You have to deal with it however you can. Merlin knows I'm doing my best, and it certainly isn't enough." Her voices catches on the last, and her eyes grow suspiciously shiny.
He thinks of how she was sitting when he came in, her posture defeated, her cheeks splotchy. She was obviously crying, and he realizes that he doesn't know very much about her aside from the fact that she is loyal and kind and brave and true.
Impulsively, he reaches for her, one of his hands coming to sweep away a few errant locks of hair from her forehead as the other cradles her cheek. "Hermione Granger," he tells her, his voice soft, "having been part of one of your more ingenuous plans, I can say with perfect sincerity that your best is certainly nothing to turn your nose up at."
Her cheeks go pink at that, and her flush spreads across the bridge of her nose as he moves closer, the heat of her body making his mouth dry. "Aside from that," he swallows, his heart suddenly in his throat, "I like you just as you are."
Faintly, she asks, "You do?"
He nods. "I've missed you." He stares into her eyes. They glow like honey in the sun. "I like you."
Slowly, so that she has time to pull away, he brushes a kiss over first one cheek and then the other. Her eyes flutter shut just as he brushes one over her nose, lingering for a moment before he finally presses his mouth to hers.
"You taste like chocolate," she says some time later, her tone dreamy.
In response, he brushes a kiss to her hair. They are standing pressed together, in the facsimile of a dance, his hand loosely gripping her waist as the other cards through her hair. She has tucked her head in the crook of his neck, her breath warming the hollow of his throat.
He has never felt calmer and more centered in his life than he does in this moment, tucked away in the shadows in a room that doesn't exist with a girl he never noticed before this year.
How lucky he is, he thinks. How lucky he is to have found her as he tried to find himself.
The shadowed golden boy and the golden shadowed girl. What a perfect pairing.
Happy holidays to you and yours :)
I've always had a soft spot for Cedric, and I'm glad to have finally written something about him that I can share with you all. This was a very new style of writing for me and a departure from what I am comfortable with. That being said, I hope you enjoyed.
Reviews are a gift for me, and I would appreciate any feedback!