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Crescent Diggory is a simple person, really. She's not problematic (most of the time) and she follows the rules (on a good day). Okay, so she might cause a little trouble from time to time, but still, Crescent is a good person and doesn't like chaos in her life. Which is why, when she enters her fifth year and learns about the Triwizard Tournament, she prays for a quick death.

Worse than that, though, is the Yule Ball that they were supposedly having. Now, Crescent has to figure out a way to ask Fred Weasley to go with her without making herself look like a fool—all whilst worrying about her brother and her upcoming O.W.L.s.

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𝐬𝐚𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝚊𝚜 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲

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𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝚊𝚜  𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐥 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

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𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝚊𝚜 𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲

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𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝚊𝚜 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

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𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝚊𝚜 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

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𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧 𝚊𝚜 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

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𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝚊𝚜 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧

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disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or franchise. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I only own my original characters and that is all.

author's note: this is being cross-posted for various reasons, but mainly because i don't trust the downhill spiral of wattpad and want a more secure place for the book. it's being edited and republished, almost completed and will be published as I edit them. i hope you enjoy cress's journey as this is one of my favorite to write so i hope you enjoy it as well <3 

Chapter Text

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

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❝I just don't understand what the big deal in asking someone to the ball is. I asked Cho just fine and she accepted.❞

❝Oh my — for Helga's sake, Ced, please just shut the fuck up.❞

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𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚

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𝐢. 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙠𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

𝐢𝐢. 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙, 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 & 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨

𝐢𝐯. 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚, 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐯. 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝙤𝙝 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐯𝐢. 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣', 𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎

𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮

𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙖 𝙡𝙖 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙖, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢

𝐢𝐱. 𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝐱. 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝐱𝐢. 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣

𝐱𝐢𝐢. 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚, 𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙤 𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙨

𝐱𝐢𝐯. 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐱𝐯. 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌, 𝙯𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙮

𝐱𝐯𝐢. 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚, 𝚎𝚍𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎 & 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜

𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝙗𝙚𝙖 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧

𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝙚𝙜𝙤, 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐱𝐢𝐱. 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝙤𝙝 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐱𝐱. 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

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Crescent thinks that Cedric probably wants her to die, or something. Back at the beginning of summer, when her older brother Cedric asked her to accompany him and their father to the Quidditch World Cup, Crescent had agreed, albeit hesitantly at first. She thought, okay, no big deal, it'll be fun, because it's Quidditch, and who doesn't love Quidditch? But now, as she listens to the excited shouts from her brother from outside of her room, she kind of wants to die, herself.

"Cress!" Cedric shouts for, like, the hundredth time, and Cress shoves a pillow over her head with a groan. "Cress, we've gotta leave in like an hour!"

Finally managing to squint her eyes open, Cress expects to be blinded by the sunlight and is highly disappointed when she looks out of her open curtains to see that it is still dark. She groggily blinks the crust out of her eyes and angrily throws the blankets off of her before slipping out of bed and stomping over to the door, slamming it open and narrowing her eyes at the sudden light intruding her vision.

Cedric stands there, already dressed in casual clothes, his hand raised as though he was about to knock once more. Cress isn't amused. She says, "When I agreed to go to World Cup with you, I didn't think it meant that you'd wake me up in the middle of the night to leave."

"It's not the middle of the night," Cedric scoffs, then sheepishly rubs the back of his neck when Cress sends him a glare. "It's only two!" he says as though it would make up for everything he's put her through in the span of five minutes.

"Die," she deadpans and attempts to shove her door shut, but Cedric slams his foot down and pushes on it.

Crescent fights back, she truly does, but she would just like to point out that she was going against like two hundred pounds of pure muscle, and really, it wasn't a fair fight to begin with. So, Cedric ends up in her room, flipping her light switch on and making her sneer, because she never agreed to this. She agreed to go watch Quidditch with her family and have a fun time, not to get up before the arse crack of dawn. She sends Cedric a glare. He smiles brightly, and Cress almost gags; it's that stupid, dumb smile, and it is always followed by wide eyes and pouts, and Crescent is not going to fall for it.

"Cress," he whines in that nasty voice of his, and Crescent turns her head away, not giving in. He taps her shoulder. "Cress, come on. I told you at least fifteen times that we were leaving early—at either two or three in the morning—and every time you nodded your head and said that was okay. What changed?"

Cress opens her mouth to answer, but finds herself stopping short. Truth be told, each time Cedric had mentioned the Quidditch World Cup, Cress had, kind of, maybe, blanked out for the duration of every babble and rant and nodded when she needed to. But she hadn't been expecting her mistakes to come bite her in the bum.

She stares at Cedric for five, ten, twenty seconds, before sighing out, long and forlorn, and points to her bag that she packed for the trip, ignoring his very joyous look—one that he only shows when he's particularly pleased. "Take my bag downstairs, I'll be there in five."

Cedric nods enthusiastically as though this is the best news he's ever received and hastily grabs her bag, zooming out of the room. Cress shakes her head, groggily makes her way over to the closet. Blindly, she searches for something to wear, and when she pulls her hands out of the small, cramped space, a hoodie is in her grasp. It's black and has a yellow smiley face with 'x's for eyes with Nirvana scrawled underneath it.

Now, Cress doesn't know what the hell a Nirvana is, but Axel had given it to her for Christmas last year, telling her how much he loved merchandise by them—who 'them' was, Cress has no clue—and that it was only right that he share his love for them with her. Cress had accepted it, along with the whole wardrobe he bought her. Honestly, he literally had bought her about twenty shirts, ten hoodies and sweaters, and about fifteen pairs of pants and other garments, and when she had tried to refuse, saying it was too much, he almost smacked her. Like raised his hand and everything, ready to attack. Cress had never been more offended in her life.

But then he didn't, and explained that since he was loaded, he decided that he should treat his one and only friend to something special on Christmas. Said that she should be expecting more presents like this in the future.

However, as she slips the hoodie over her dark maroon shirt—another gift she received from him—she's thankful, because Axel is the best and more people need to realize this instead of letting all his generosity go to waste. So what if he had a blunt mouth and always spoke what he thought? So what if his personality was a little bit off? He was the best, and everyone needs to realize that.

Stupid arseholes missing out on the good life, she thinks with a huff, sliding on some of the flared jeans that Axel thought she'd enjoy. Supposedly they make her bum look nice, or so Axel had claimed when she complained about the tightness of them, especially around her bum. Whatever, they fit and the kind he bought her were cozy, so it's okay.

Cress walks down the stairs five minutes later, as she told Cedric she would, and finds her family sitting in the kitchen, her mother handing a cup of blueberry tea to her father—Gadby must be asleep then. Cedric sits across from Amos, gulping down a big glass of coffee that no doubt has about eight cups of sugar in it. Cress almost turns back around and walks out when she sees him; she just doesn't have the time to be annoyed by an energetic Cedric.

Before she can actually flee from the scene, her mother, Blythe, spots her and gives her a cheerful, yet tired smile, and says, "Crescent, darling! Good morning! Would you like some tea, or perhaps a cup of coffee?"

Cress takes another look at Cedric. "A cup of tea, please," she says and gives her mum a small grin of gratitude when she nods, going over to the kettle to start assembling it.

As the youngest Diggory takes a seat at the seat in between Amos and her brother, she gives Amos a tiny nod of greeting when he grins at her. Her eyelids start to feel heavy, and once again, she regrets ever agreeing to join Amos and Cedric to their stupid Quidditch game. She likes the game well enough, honestly, but to wake up after she literally went to bed three hours prior was too much and she just wants to sleep. Plus, Axel isn't going to be there since he's in the United States with his family for some kind of business trip. So, really, this trip is going to be a waste.

Her mum sets the mint tea in front of her with a kiss on her forehead, and Cress smiles, takes a soothing sip of it after she makes sure it's not too hot, then looks to where Amos is reading the Daily Prophet.

"Anything interesting?" she asks, taking another sip.

Amos shakes his head. "Nope. Nothing at all." He folds it shut and gives Cress that smile that says 'I'm-hiding-something-but-I-don't-want-you-to-know-that.' Cress shrugs, because he'll probably tell Cedric and then her brother will tell her, so it won't really matter in the long run if she thinks about it.

Which brings up another reason she doesn't want to attend that Quidditch World Cup; Amos favors Cedric over her, and it's blatantly obvious that he didn't really want her attending the event with them. When Cedric had asked her to attend, Amos had tried to deny her of it, saying that it was a birthday present for Cedric, he was becoming a man and all that bullshit. Cress hadn't really minded, used to being second behind her brother, but Cedric had literally thrown a fit, saying that if Cress didn't go, then he wasn't either, and Amos, of course, had agreed without batting an eyelash, because this is Cedric and he always gets his way.

Oh, well, it isn't as though she cares about being second, or the "shadow" to her brother. In fact, she kind of likes it, loves it even. It means that she doesn't have all the attention on her, doesn't feel the stares of her peers as they silently judge every move she makes. It's a quiet life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

(But really, her quiet life isn't really all that quiet, considering her one and only best friend is Axel Jenson - the most loudest, outgoing, teenage boy to ever grace the world with his presence.)

Cress is shaken from her thoughts when someone claps a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see that it's Cedric, and she gives him a tired smile.

"Time to go already?" she asks, and he nods excitedly, grey eyes lit with anticipation and happiness. Cress tries to muster up as much enthusiasm as he's showing, standing up and following him and Amos to the door, where her mother is waiting by the door with Amos's coat and an illuminating beam on her face.

Blythe Diggory is a skinny woman with kind blue eyes and long light brown hair that sashays down her back in thick waves. Cress sometimes wonders if that smile was permanently glued onto her face, because every time she spares a glance at her mum, the woman's always grinning. Whether if she's cooking, or knitting, or just reading a book, Blythe sports a smile. It is a little unnerving, honestly, but Cress loves seeing her mum happy, especially since the woman sacrifices so much to make her family happy. (Like waking up at two in the morning just to see them off.)

She hugs her mother, a comforting and long embrace that makes her want to stay more. Her mother whispers sweet words in her ear, telling her how much she'll miss her, and that she hopes Cress enjoys the Quidditch World cup, and that when she's seventeen, her and Cress will do something special, just the two of them.

Cress gives her mother a small smile when they detach themselves. It seems as though everyone could tell just how much more Amos loves Cedric, and if her mum was picking up on it, then it must be pretty bad. Cress just shakes her head, as though to assure her mother that it's okay, she doesn't mind, and Blythe gives her daughter a smile, but this time there's a tinge of sadness in it, and Cress's heart squeezes in her chest just a little as they say goodbye and start their journey.

⋆˚࿔

Cedric is the biggest tosser to ever walk on the face of the earth, and Cress is sick of him. The whole journey there, he had been gushing about finally getting to see Viktor Krum play for the first time and that there was no way that he was going to lose, because he was just the greatest, and no one can beat him, Cress, he's too good. Honestly, Cress is certain that her brother may have a little crush on him, what with all the monologues he's speaking about the Bulgarian Seeker. Cress is about two more poems away from kicking him down onto the trail.

"You know who's the greatest?" Cress asks after Cedric pauses in his speech about Viktor's very phenomenal Seeker skills. Cedric turns to give her a smug smirk, grey eyes lit with mirth.

"Let me guess," he drawls out slowly, "Fred Weasley?"

Cress makes a squawking kind of noise in the back of her throat and is grateful that Amos isn't hanging onto every word that comes out of Cedric's mouth like he usually does. Her face turns an ugly shade of red—at least she thinks so, because suddenly she feels ten degrees hotter, and she has to pull her hoodie off her and tie it around her waist, knotting it at the front.

"I don't- Ced, you can't just say things like that!" Cress exclaims as she smacks her brother on the arm. She pouts when it doesn't affect him in the slightest, save for the laugh that comes out of his mouth.

Cedric laughs for a good while, before tugging both his and Cress's bag higher up on his shoulder. He gives her a bright smile, though she can tell it's mocking. "We both know that's what you were thinking, even if you weren't going to say it aloud," he says, smug, and Cress has never wanted to hit someone as much as she wants to hit him. "You've got the biggest crush on the bloke."

That is a lie, Cress argues in her mind. She does not have a crush on Fred Weasley. Nope. No sir, not her. Never in a million years would she like someone like Fred Weasley. She does not like his ginger hair that looks bright and beautiful when it was in the sun; she does not like his magnificent brown eyes that shine brilliantly when he laughs with his twin brother; she does not like the way said eyes always look mischievous when him and George were about to pull a prank; she especially doesn't like how kind he was to everyone, doesn't like the compassion he shows for others when they need it.

Except she kind of does.

It is actually pathetically sad, how much she likes it and him, and she thinks maybe she should have been over it by now, but she is not. So sad.

Cedric is still giving her that smug stare, his lips pulled up into a half-smile, and if Cress wasn't so worried about being sent to Azkaban for murder, she'd take him down right here. Instead, she pushes him arm (roughly, she might add) and says, "You've no room to talk about me, Ced. Everyone knows about your boner for Chang. At least I can keep mine to myself."

Cress has to hold a hand up to her mouth to calm the snorts trying to escape. She watches in amusement as Cedric's face changes from smug to embarrassed in a second. His nose scrunches up, and his cheeks bloom with color as he averts his attention to a tree in the distance instead of looking at Cress. Once again, she's glad that Amos is paying them no mind, for if he heard what she said, he would probably blow a gasket at her "vulgar" language.

Finally, Cedric says, "That's— it's not. I don't fancy her, okay!"

His voice is an higher octave, and it echoes off the forest. Cress thinks probably everyone in the village can hear him, he is so loud. Amos, who has been very intent on what he's doing, turns around to give Cress a glare, completely disregarding Cedric.

"You'll wake the whole village with your incessant yelling," he reprimands her in that voice that shows how much he disapproves of her actions. "Please, quiet down." Amos turns back around, and to her right, Cedric snickers in his hand.

Meanwhile, Cress stares at Amos's back, indignant and a little annoyed. Of course, he yells at her without a second thought. Merlin forbid that his golden child do anything to disrupt anyone; it's always her, has to be. She huffs, ignores Cedric in favor of being silent for the remainder of their hike.

When they reach the Portkey, the sun's not yet risen, but it is incredibly lighter than it had been earlier. Cress stops shortly after Cedric comes to a halt. Amos is ahead of them, checking out the Portkey, and Cress, in her annoyed state, wants to shove that nasty old boot up his nostril. However, she doesn't, because she has class, really, and would hate to be the reason Amos needs to be sent to St. Mungos.

Cedric whispers, "You know Dad didn't mean to yell at you, Cress. He's probably just tired." His voice is incredibly sincere, and he sounds sympathetic as he lays a hand on Cress's shoulder and pulls her in for a one-armed hug. She doesn't try to struggle against him, because her efforts would be futile anyway. And plus, he kind of gives the best hugs.

She notes the silent apology in his voice and frowns. Cedric has nothing to be sorry for, he wasn't the one who wrongly yelled at her like a insensitive wanker. Instead of responding to him—she is sure if she opens her mouth, she'll go into a massive rant about how fucking ridiculous Amos is, and Cedric doesn't need that—she wraps her arm around his waist and gives him a little squeeze, smiling up at him, eyes crinkling and everything.

Her brother grins back at her, gives her one last squeeze, and lets go of her. Cress, when she's certain that no foul words will come out of her mouth, asks, "Can I have my water bottle? I'm a little parched from all this walking."

Cedric wordlessly grabs two bottles from both sacks and hands one to Cress before drinking out of the other.

Cress pops the cap on her canteen of water, chugging it down as though she hadn't had water in three years—which is what it kind of felt like since her tongue kept sticking to the roof of her mouth due to it being so dry. Cedric watches her, amused, and Cress resists the urge to flip him the bird as she stares back. They both walk to stand behind Amos, and Cress finishes the rest of her water as Amos shouts, "Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Furrowing her eyebrows, Cress wonders who her father is shouting at and resists the urge to scold him for yelling so loudly, but she realizes that she is, in fact, his daughter and for her to chastise him is considered disrespectful. So, she smartly keeps her mouth shut as a ton of people saunter up the hill, every one of them out of breath from the long trek.

"Amos!" someone says with a smile. He's a red-haired man and, with a start, Cress realizes this is Arthur Weasley. Fred Weasley's father.

He joins the three at the top of the hill, his pack of people following like lost puppies. Cress scans the crowd; she sees Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, George Weasley, and, of course, Fred Weasley. Cress chokes on air and has to grip Cedric's arm tightly to keep herself in check.

Cedric sends her a look, but Cress ignores him, because Fred Weasley is in her line of sight, and fuck, he looks handsome. His hair had grown out during the summer and is falling of his shoulders in a beautiful wave of shimmering ginger. His eyes are lit with the same mischief as usual, and Cress takes a second to wonder how he could be so lively when the sun hasn't even risen yet. He glances up, and Cress hides behind Cedric so she isn't in his line of sight.

Her heart races in her chest, and she's sure her cheeks are blazing. She jabs Cedric in the back when he gives a silent laugh. She finds none of this funny, not at all. In fact, it is the opposite of funny; it is mortifying, embarrassing—the worst experience of her life. If she would have known she was going to be sharing a Portkey with the Weasley's and company, she wouldn't have even come.

In front of them, Mr. Weasley says, "This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?" The ginger man gestures to the two men in front of him, disregarding Cress, who came out from behind her brother's back a few moments ago.

The fact that Mr. Weasley didn't even acknowledge who Cress was doesn't bother her in the slightest. She is used to this, really. Every time her family goes out and encounters someone Amos knows, they always know who Cedric is, but never her. Amos always laughs awkwardly when this happens, stating that he's mentioned her before, you must be mistaken, Mrs. Longbottom. It's occurred so many times that she doesn't even feel her stomach drop in sadness at the thought of Amos not boasting about her like he does Cedric.

"Hi," Cedric says, waving at them with an awkward smile.

Cress listens as everyone else says hello back to him, except for the two twins, who just give him a nod. Cress assumes they're probably still bitter about losing to them last year, and she understands, really. Gryffindor totally would have won, had those bloody Dementors not shown up like they owned the place.

(She had voiced this to Cedric, once, and he had scoffed and told her that she would have thought that anyway, even if the Dementors hadn't shown up. He accused her of being biased to their team because of a certain Beater, and even though Cress denied it to his face, it was still probably a little bit true.)

"Hello, Crescent," someone says brightly. Cress looks up from her black Converse (yet another gift from Axel) to see Ginny Weasley grinning at her tiredly. "Doing well?"

Ginny Weasley is a blessing to this world, Cress decides, because usually when Cress is in the same place as her brother, no one gives her a second glance. But here Ginny Weasley stands, acknowledging Crescent as though they're friends. (Cress thinks they might be, considering last year Ginny had come to her, asking for help on a Charms essay, because supposedly someone—probably Axel—informed her on how brilliant Cress was with the subject.)

Cress waves back happily. "Top of the morning to you, Ginny!" She smiles brightly at the girl, conscious of the stares she was receiving from everyone else.

"And who's this?" Arthur Weasley looks very curiously at Cress, as though she was a very rare magical creature whom he just discovered. He glances to Cedric a moment later, seeming to come to a conclusion. (Cress decides she does not like the expression he is wearing.) "Ah, I understand. The Quidditch World come is something most people share with their significant others. Good for you, son," he says proudly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

The looks Cress and Cedric send each other are ones of utmost disgust. Cedric shakes his head in a denial, opening his mouth and shutting it like he was some kind of fish out of water, and Cress wants to hit him for being so unhelpful in her time of need. She resists the urge to throw back up the water (and tea) she had just drank at the very assumption that she'd date someone like him. Gross. Even if he wasn't her brother, he still wouldn't be Fred Weasley, so there's no way she'd ever think about something as disgraceful as that.

Ginny loudly says, "Dad, that's Crescent Diggory! Cedric's sister!"

Cress is shuffling on her feet, because now she's embarrassed. She doesn't care if other people don't know who she is, doesn't mind that barely anyone outside of school realize that Amos and Blythe Diggory have another child. However, she minds that Mr. Weasley doesn't seem to know who she is, because that means that Amos hasn't spoken about her to him. And okay, she doesn't mind that part, but she minds that he's with a shit ton of people, and it just makes Cress look like a pathetic little girl who hasn't done anything to par with Cedric's great accomplishments, which is why her precious father hadn't mentioned her to Mr. Weasley.

And that's fucking embarrassing.

She spares a glance at Fred Weasley, but to her relief, he's staring at Amos, frowning hard at the man. She doesn't care to know why, just glad that he's not looking at her with that pitiful gaze that most people usually give her when they meet her for the first time—like she's some helpless child who needs more love. (She's definitely not.)

"Amos!" Arthur says, sounding offended. "I didn't know you had a daughter!"

Amos scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as everyone turns their attention to them. He laughs, a short noise that sounds more like a squeak than an actual laugh. Cress sighs through her nose and pinches the bridge of her nose, as though it'll help her get through these tough times.

(She knows it won't.)

"Long walk, Arthur?" Amos asks, instead of answering Mr. Weasley's exclamation. He stares long and hard at the ginger man, silently challenging him to question him anymore about the subject.

Arthur is a sensible man, Cress realizes. He shakes his head, sends one last smile—not even the pitiful kind everyone gives her—and says, "Not too bad. We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced?" Amos ignores Cress again, more out of habit anything, and claps Cedric on the shoulder as he stares proudly at the people before him. Cress steps over and tries to ignore the heavy glare on her as he continues, "I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparation 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 of easy. . ." Amos looks around at the crowd before him. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no," Arthur says, gesturing to his children, "only the redheads." He points to other two people. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's — and Harry, another friend —"

"Merlin's beard," Amos cuts off Mr. Weasley. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Cress rolls her eyes, so sick of Amos's shit. Beside her, Cedric tenses, as though he's preparing himself for the storm that was about to hit. She gives him a soothing pat on the arm, and he grimaces back.

"Er — yeah," Harry says. Cress notices the way Amos's eyes zero in on the scar on the black-haired boy's forehead, and she groans quietly. So disrespectful.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," Amos says in a tone that shows that he's smug but doesn't realize he is. "Told us 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!"

Cress's face pulls up into a grimace itself, and she sends her brother a sympathetic look. Poor thing, getting glares from both the twins like his life depends on it. She tries not to laugh when he looks down, embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he mumbles, looks like he might be pouting again. This time Cress lets a snicker fall from her mouth, hating herself immediately afterwards because the twins send her the same, withering glare that was just directed at her brother. She grimaces herself, because she totally isn't laughing at the fact that Harry fell of his broom, but at the fact that her brother always gets embarrassed easily. Not that she can tell them that—they probably wouldn't believe her if she did. "I told you," Cedric continues, pushing Cress behind him, narrowing his own eyes, when he notices the looks she was receiving, "it was an accident. . ."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" Amos basically shouts, slapping Cedric on the back, the action jostling Cress, too. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd 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!"

Cress scoffs. Apparently loudly, because Amos sends a warning glare in her direction, as though daring her to say something more on the issue. Cress intelligently keeps her mouth shut, turning her head away from Amos and towards her shoes. Silently, she unties the hoodie from around her waste and throws it back over her.

"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley informs them, his tone rushed, like he was trying to prevent something. Cress looks up and sees the Weasley twins still glaring in Cedric's direction, and supposes that's what the man was referring to. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," Amos responds. Cress rubs tiredly at her eyes, yawning quietly. All the walking has taken a toll on her, it seems. Amos says, "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley says. By now, Cress is hearing his words, but not really listening, her mind too focused on sleep. "Yes, it's a minute off. . . . We'd better get ready. . . ."

Cedric leads Cress to the mangled boot, and she places her finger on the boot, making room for everyone else. Cedric stands to her right and, much to her relief, Hermione Granger is on the left side of her. The bushy-haired girl gives Cress a timid smile, and Cress tries to conjure up her own grin in return. Everyone else lays a finger or gets a limb on the Portkey somehow, and Cress sneezes softly, a piece of dust irritating her senses, eyes clenching shut momentarily as she sniffles.

"Bless you," someone says from across from her.

Cress looks up just as Mr. Weasley starts counting down from three. She opens her mouth to thank her bless-er (whatever they're called) and finds Fred Weasley giving her a crooked grin, brown eyes warm in the morning light. Cress's brain pretty much shuts down, and she closes her mouth to keep from looking like a gaping ghoul, because Fred Weasley just talked to her. Like, legit spoke more than one word to her, and she is pretty sure her heart is having palpitations because of it.

She opens her mouth again, because dammit, she is not about to just let this slip through her fingers. Granted, the bloke just blessed her for Godric's sake, but Cress felt it so deep in her soul that she's pretty sure her children can feel it, also. So, no, she isn't about to just let Fred Weasley bless her entire life (and future family's, too) without showing some gratitude for the gesture.

But, of course, just as she is about to vocalize her thoughts, to tell the man thank you for being the greatest human being I've ever know, stay blessed, the Portkey is activated, and she doesn't even have time to think before she's sucked up into it. Her shoulders bump against both Hermione Granger's and Cedric's, and her ankles bump against theirs, too. She clenches her eyes shut and tries to ignore the fact that she can't really feel her feet.

Cress feels her stomach lurch madly, and she is absolutely positive Cedric wants her to die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

When Cress finally hits solid ground, her knees wobble for about two seconds before they give out all together and she falls. Luckily, she isn't the only one who fell, for the only people who were standing are Mr. Weasley, Amos, and Cedric. Cress sprawls out on the soft grass beneath her, and decides that she's fine just staying here for the duration of the Quidditch World Cup. Yep, totally fine with her; she snuggles further into the ground, ignoring the morning dew on it.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," says someone from farther away. Cress doesn't look up, doesn't really care about who's speaking, but someone kicks her shoulder lightly.

"Get up," they say, and Cress realizes that it is Cedric. "Heh, you kind of look like a broom right now." She groans loudly, turning her head to squint up at him when he kicks her again. "Up," he tries, palm out, over her like she was a fucking broom, that same, stupid smile plastered on his face. He doesn't look to be affected by the Portkey at all, and Cress kind of hates him for it.

"Ced, I love you, but no," she tells him. "I think I'll take my chances right here. What's the worst that could happen to me?"

"You could get mauled by a bear?" Cedric replies, like he knows that that's exactly what would happen if Cress stays in the same spot. "Or, you know, snakes could slither up from out of the gro—"

Cress gives her brother the most withering glare she can muster when she's standing on her own two feet again. Cedric smirks back at her and rests a hand on her elbow to steady her. She snatches it away without even a exclamation of gratitude for his chivalry. Instead, she goes to pick up her bag, because apparently Cedric is only capable of keeping a hold of one sack whilst falling to the earth after coming out of a Portkey. She sends him another glare, and he just shrugs.

"Stupid wanker," she mumbles, brushing the debris off of it with a pout. "Fucking tosser." Cress swivels to walk over to Amos, only she can't because she's hitting someone's back after she takes just one step. "Son of a bitch!" She grunts, not injured, but a little damaged on the inside, because of course, of fucking course, she runs into the one and only Fred Weasley.

Of course.

He turns around to face her, and Cress pulls her rucksack closer to her chest when he stares down at her. His eyes are soft and brown and beautiful, as always, and Cress can feel her knees shaking at the apologetic look he's giving her. Son of a bitch, she thinks, because fucking shit, Fred Weasley was going to be the death of her.

"Oi," he says, smirking, and Cress has to stop herself from swooning at his melodic voice, "got quite the mouth on you, don't you, mate?"

Cress fiddles with her hands, cheeks blazing, because yes, she knows she has a bad mouth, and no, she doesn't need Fred Weasley pointing that out, thank you very much. On the plus side, however, he called her mate, and she's counting this whole day as a win. Fuck whoever wins the Cup, Cress wins at life, because Fred Weasley called her mate and that's like eight hundred times better than some Cup.

She means to come back with something witty, say something that'll make her look cooler than what she really is, but when her mouth's open, she says, "B-Bless you!"

Fred Weasley cocks his head as though he's confused. "Pardon me?"

"U-um—" Cress scratches at her face, and can practically feel Cedric making fun of her from where she is. Fred Weasley is still giving her a confused smile, so Cress continues, "Thanks. For blessing me. When I sneezed. Earlier." She awkwardly looks away and wonders how many snakes it'll take to drag her into the forest. "And, uh, s-sorry, for y'know, running into you?" The statement is more like a question, and Cress really wishes a bear would maul her—Cedric's suggestions are sounding a whole lot more appealing to her now.

But it isn't her fault, okay. She's been crushing on this dude for like her whole school career and never has she spoken one word to him in the four years she's been at Hogwarts. Not once. (Not really, there was that incident in her first year but that doesn't count.) Excuse her for not knowing how to react to to him when he's literally like a foot away and she can basically smell him.

(Cinnamon and some kind of leftover burnt smell that must be from all the inventions him and his brother work on, just like she thought. Not that she thought about his smell. Or watched him from afar to see him inventing things. No. That'd be weird and she is anything but.)

Fred gives her another grin, this one mischievous. "Don't worry 'bout it, Little Diggory." Cress frowns at the nickname, bottom lip jutting out, because she hates when people refer to her as 'Baby Diggory', or some other obscene nickname that's just stupid as hell. "Happens to the best of us," he continues, and Cress stares back up at him, pout still present on her lips.

"Yeah, I g-guess so," she stutters out, because apparently she is playing a game called, Let's See How Many Times Cress Can Embarrass Herself Today. She is probably at ten, now, she thinks. She really wants the world to swallow her up, like, right now. The way Fred is smirking down at her, like he just knows something she doesn't make her stomach twist. (Except for it does.)

"Cress!" calls out Cedric before Fred can get any more words out, and Cress heaves a silent sigh of relief—she's embarrassed herself enough for one day. She turns to her brother. "Come on!" He gestures for her and Cress nods once, an affirmative.

She turns back to Fred Weasley, trying to figure out what to say or if she's even supposed to say anything to him. Is that how it worked, talking to your crush? Do you leave them with parting words that scream I'm definitely going to see you after this and we'll talk and hit it off then in the future I'm going to marry you? Or just wave and go on your way, never to speak to them again? Holy Hufflepuff, Cress is stressing; one of her veins is probably going to pop from how much she's thinking, honestly.

"Enjoy the Cup, Little Diggory," says Fred Weasley before Cress can even comprehend what's happening. She gapes up at him, a little dazed and out of it, and he just gives her one last smirk before turning and running off with his family, throwing an arm around his twin's neck and laughing merrily with him.

When Cress reaches Amos and Cedric, she's lagging, a permanent frown on her face, because she's one hundred percent sure the words that Fred Weasley just spoke to her were parting words that meant I'm never talking to you again, so don't bother, and now she just wants to crawl into some kind of hole and maybe die.

Cedric gives her a pat on the shoulder, but doesn't say anything to make fun of how much of a fuck up she is, even though she knows he wants to. Cress pouts at him anyway, offended even if he didn't utter one word towards her. She does it just because she can, because she's allowed to have a pity party if she wants to. Cress follows Amos silently to wherever they're supposed to go, stays quiet as he converses with a man named Mr. Payne or something, then follows him to the tent they'll be staying in for the duration of the trip.

The tent is medium-sized on the outside, probably about as big as a garage or shed, maybe bigger, and Cress smiles tiredly, the greenish cloth of the tent reminding her of the times when her family used to go out for camping trips. Back when things were good. Back when they were happy.

Cress follows behind Cedric, marveling at how little the old tent's changed. It's still huge inside, still has three separate bedrooms for everyone to sleep. In one corner, the left, sits a door that leads into the same bathroom Cress is used to. On the right is the kitchen where her mother used to make dinner every night when they would go camping occasionally. To the right of that is her parents' bedroom, who's room was the largest, and across from theirs sits Cedric's, who's is the second biggest.

Cress's bedroom is in between everyone's and it's the smallest, of course. Not that she cares, all she needs is room for her rucksack and herself, anyway. She bids Cedric a good morning ("It's not fucking night, Ced, shut the hell up!"), retires to her room, and throws herself onto the twin-sized bed. She is grateful that her bed has already been made, since the last time she left this tent, her bed was stripped of everything, because her whole family had caught a bug on their last camping trip and didn't want to risk anything, so they stripped the whole thing down.

Pulling the heavy duvet over her body, Cress snuggles into her bed, and tries to smother the mortification out of her body. She just cannot believe she had the audacity to embarrass herself in front of Fred Weasley like that. It's like, she got the perfect chance to talk herself up, to have him falling for her witty, charming self in two point three seconds, and she just blows it. Blows it. It is so mortifying and now, he is probably laughing at her with his siblings, making fun of her and her stupid illiterate self, and she is going to have to drop out of school and move to Antarctica and live with the penguins, oh no.

"I can basically feel you self-destructing." Cedric pulls the curtain of her room back and Cress feels him sit at the end of her bed. He slaps her ankle in comfort. "It wasn't that bad, honestly."

"I blessed him, Ced," Cress mumbles into her pillow. "Like legit blessed him, and he didn't even sneeze."

Cedric sighs, slapping her again. "You're thinking about this too much," he says, and he's probably right but Cress is too distraught to even care. "He probably thought it was cute, if anything."

And that's where Cress loses it, because the chances of Fred Weasley finding her cute is about one in a trillion—maybe not even that, because honestly, who would find her cute? No sane person, that's who. She appreciates his attempts at cheering her up, though, even if they only make her feel worse about herself—her self esteem was at a medium sixty five percent, but Cedric just brought it down to a measly negative three what with his silly talk and bullshit (no brother is supposed to give his sister false hope like that, it's unjust!). She groans at her brother, kicks at his hand, a silent plea for him to leave so she can wallow in her own self misery and pity until it was time to depart for the Quidditch World Cup later. (She knows Amos will probably appreciate the fact of her staying in her room, also. Makes it easier on him when encountering his big, fancy Ministry people.)

Cedric gives her ankle one last pat and stands up, her bed's springs bouncing back up at the sudden loss of weight. But Cress knows what's about to happen, what he's about to say, because Cedric may be a nice guy or whatever, but he's still one of the biggest assholes to ever walk on the face of the earth. Really.

So, when Cedric mockingly says, "May you have a blessed slumber," the pillow that smacks him in the face a moment later is definitely not an accident.

Her brother leaves after he throws the pillow back at Cress, laughter falling out of his mouth loudly. Cress decides she hates him a lot, and pulls the covers up to her nose, getting comfortable. Her exhaustion from earlier returns ten times stronger, and as soon as Cress closes her eyes, she's gone.

⋆˚࿔

Cress used to hate Quidditch, honestly. It was one of those sports that she thought was overrated and everything, even though it was the only sport they had in the Wizarding world. Her brother, Cedric, has loved the sport ever since he came out the womb, however, and whenever he wanted to play, Cress had always been forced to accompany him in their backyard and hop on a junior broomstick and play with him. She had hated it, hated every second that she spent in the hot sun, trying to keep herself steady on her broom, and always told her brother that ("I just don't see why I have to play with you! You've got so many friends! Ask them!"). Cedric always waved her off ("But they're not you, Cress. It's gotta be you who plays with me, or it won't be fun!").

Even while the two siblings were in Hogwarts, Cedric still forced Cress to play Quidditch with him—outside of his own practices, of course. She had been apprehensive, denied him many times, but he had always found some way to drag her to the Quidditch pitch every time, telling her that it was a great way to relieve stress, come on Cress don't tell me you don't love hitting the Bludger at me!

But no matter how many times she was forced to play with Cedric, no matter how much she (barely) liked doing that, she had never been able to really get into Quidditch the way Cedric had.

Not until she saw Fred and George Weasley play, that is.

She vaguely remembers the game, had been in her second year and they had been in their third when it happened. Gryffindor played Slytherin that day, if she recalls correctly, because it is foggy and she has always had trouble remembering things. They had won, of course, because Gryffindor really has an amazing Quidditch team, no matter what any one thinks.

However, that's not what attracted Cress' attention or anything. Not the famous catch the Harry Potter made, the Snitch falling out of his mouth after he landed on the ground. What caught her attention was the Beaters, because Cress always been fascinated by them, and how they played against their opponents.

Beaters, in Cress' opinion, were like the knights on the team, protectors if you will. Sure, you had the Keeper that was supposed to try and save the Quaffle from trying to enter the hoops, but really, that's all they did. Beaters were supposed to protect their teammates from the nasty Bludger, supposed to keep them safe so they could properly score for their team, and Cress has always thought that it was amazing. She loved the feeling of protecting her friends and team, and told herself that if she were ever to try out for Quidditch, she'd be a Beater.

However, Gryffindor's Beaters were a sight to behold, more intriguing than any other Beater Cress had ever seen. Cress doesn't know why she thought their Beaters were so phenomenal, but it probably had to do with the fact that they worked so well together. They were like well-tuned record player, syncing up with each other as though it was as easy as breathing. Cress thinks that it probably was, considering they were twins.

During that game, Cress had observed the two twins and fell in love with the way they played. The determined, fiery glint in their eyes, the set of their shoulders as they sped along on their brooms to change the Bludger's course, the grunts of anger when they failed to save the Bludger from hitting a teammate—all of it. Cress thought it truly was a beautiful way to play Quidditch, thought it was phenomenal that they were so dedicated to a sport, and she had been hooked from then on. No longer did she deny her brother of extra Quidditch practice or pull a face when he asked her to go watch the matches with her. She only smiles and nods now, heart happy when she's in the air.

Cress lets Cedric pin a white, green, and red flag onto her already red sweater that she had slipped on minutes prior. He gives her a beaming grin when he backs up, obviously pleased with his handiwork. Cress smiles back, happy that her brother is happy; this is his birthday present, after all, and there is no way in hell that she would ruin this for him.

"Aren't you excited, Cress?" he asks cheerily, a dreamy look on his face. "Because I am. I've wanted to see the Bulgarian National Team play for so long! And it's finally happening!"

"Of course I'm excited, Ced," she responds, grabbing the same hoodie she had been wearing earlier and draping it across her arm. Cress pushes at Cedric, nudging him along roughly. "Now, come on. We wouldn't wanna lose our seats, right?"

Cedric nods happily and they both make their way out of her tiny room and into the spacious living area where Amos is waiting. He gives them both a wide smile, standing up from his spot on the couch and coming over to slap Cedric on the back, once again ignoring Cress. Not that she cares. She walks over to the entrance of the tent and lifts the flap of it, exiting.

Outside it's nightfall, and Cress gapes at the dark sky; surely she hadn't slept that long. However, she wouldn't put it past her—she had been exhausted. She stays close to Cedric when both him and Amos exit the tent, looping her arm through her brother's so she doesn't lose him in the sea of people. He gives her another smile, and she grins right back.

Around them, red and green lanterns light up a trail that leads everyone to the stadium where the match is being held. Everyone seems very excited, Cress notes, and it makes her fingers twitch with anticipation, too. She might have been a little down about coming earlier, but being here, now, with lights gleaming at her, people whooping and hollering joyously lifts her sour mood easily.

She laughs and jokes with Cedric, sharing pleasant conversation as usual. He's telling her about something one of his friends —probably that kid Ernie Macmillan because he was the only person Cedric mentioned was coming to this event—did earlier today when Cedric went to see him, and it must have been the funniest thing he has ever seen, because as soon as he starts laughing, he can't stop.

"And then he just— he, oh Godric—"

Cress tries to suppress her own laughter, but it is a futile effort. Cedric's always had this laughter that makes everyone around him follow suit. Especially when he wheezes—it's like yawning; once he does it, everyone else follows suit. She lets out a chuckle, eyes crinkling as she does so, and waits patiently for her brother to finish his story. He does, and even though it isn't as funny as her brother makes it out to be—tripping over a stranger's water basin and falling into a pile of dirty clothes isn't all that amusing—she laughs with him.

Cedric, for all that he is worth, is obsessed with merchandise and being around all these shops with Bulgarian items is not helping the situation; Cress is already decked out in all things Bulgaria; a bright, red rosette is attached to her already red sweater, and she has a roaring lion scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, all thanks to Cedric. He gives her a wide smile when she finally manages to get the deafening sound of the lion to halt, and she frowns back, not amused. Around them people maneuver themselves around the kiosk that Cedric and Cress are currently stationed at. Amos had left them earlier on, claiming that Cedric was mature enough to get them to where they needed to go, and that he trusted his son not to get into any trouble.

(Before Amos departed from them, though, he gave Cress a look that just screamed that if she did anything to jeopardize the Diggory name then she would find herself in a world of hurt. She thought it was bullshit, but had given Amos a too-polite grin anyway.)

"Oi," says Cress, indignant, as Cedric drapes a large flag across her back, "I told you I didn't want to wear any more merchandise. The roaring lion in my ear is more than enough."

Cedric gives her a innocent grin, eyes crinkling as he fiddles with his own illuminating rosette. "But it looks so much better on you than me. I can't rock a whole flag like you can, Cress."

Cress sighs through her nose, wondering why Cedric even wasted his Galleons on this frilly little flag in the first place. But she doesn't comment anymore on the situation because Cedric's smile is just too endearing and she doesn't want to be the person to swipe it off. Instead, she nudges him suggestively in the chest when she spots the one and only Cho Chang walking their way as they're about to depart from the fifth (and last, thankfully) kiosk they have visited.

"There's the fucking bird you never shut up about, mate," she tells him, loudly. Cedric makes a noise, like someone's shoved a Bertie Bott's boogie flavored bean down his throat. He pushes a giant man hand on Cress's mouth and makes a shushing gesture with his other free hand. Cress rolls her eyes and pries the hand off her mouth. "Oh, don't be like that, you prick. Everyone knows how much you want to shove your tongu—"

Cedric squawks this time—literally squawks—and smacks both hands over her mouth just in time for Cho to say, "Hello, Cedric."

Cress laughs are muffled by Cedric's hand and he sends her a look before glancing at Chang with a nervous grin. "Evening, Cho," he greets, removing his hands off of Cress's mouth in favor of trying to act suave, even while wringing his them together. He's giving Cho one of those grins that's shy but still kind, his face a light pink. Cress snorts and her lion scarf roars up again, rudely interrupting the eye sex her brother is currently having with Chang.

Chang goes red. "O-Oh, good evening, Cr-Crescent!" she says nervously.

"Evening, Cho Chang. Wonderful night, isn't it?" Cress wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Cedric turns a dark shade of crimson. Cress ignores him in favor of staring at the girl, who is dressed in Irish merchandise. "Tell me, Cho, how excited are you for this match?"

"V-Very! I-I have always loved the I-Irish team!" Cho seems intimidated as she stares at Cress. Cress frowns hard, the hesitant tone in her voice speaking volumes to her. She glances from Cedric to Cho a couple of times before coming to a decision.

Cress points to some random kiosk behind her. "Well, I'm just gonna go get Axel a. . ." she trails off, noticing that both Cho and Cedric have averted their attention back to one another, not giving two fucks that Cedric's younger sibling is right in front of them. She rolls her eyes with an exasperated smile on her face and departs from them.

Axel had been very upset when he found out that he couldn't join Cress at the Quidditch World Cup due to family business and all that. He had thrown a big fit, saying that this was probably going to be the only year that Bulgaria was participating and he was going to miss seeing his future husband playing in person, why the fuck couldn't you have told me sooner, Crescent?

Cress, trying to calm his oncoming tantrum (she hadn't fancied cleaning up broken glass, thank you), told him that she would bring him back a souvenir that he would cherish for the rest of his life. At first, he had pouted, distraught that he wasn't able to join the Diggory's on a trip that would no doubt be a turning factor in everyone's life — dammit Crescent why the fuck did you hold out on me? — but then he got over his life crisis and told Cress to bring him the best present ever.

Now, here she is, sifting through merchandise at yet another kiosk since the first three didn't have anything that screamed Axel. Cedric is still off somewhere, chatting it up with the Ravenclaw girl, so Cress is just going to waste time trying to find the perfect gift until Cedric basically has to drag her by the hair so they can get to their seats in time for the match to begin. It is only a matter of time now, really. Cedric has always been impatient, no matter what anyone says.

Cress really starts to worry when she hits her fifth cart of merchandise and she can't find anything to buy Axel. Literally, there is nothing here that he would like. She thinks about just giving him her roaring lion scarf, because after tonight she was probably going to burn it due to the thing making her ears ring every ten seconds. But then she realizes that if she doesn't like it, then there is no way in hell that Axel would enjoy it.

Perhaps she can buy him a program or something, maybe a signed picture of Viktor Krum since the bloke was so in love with the Seeker. Cress sighs, irritated as she stares at the mocking items in front of her, each one seemingly mocking her back with their uselessness to her. The kiosk worker gives her a rueful smile, and Cress wonders how stressed she looks trying to search for a present for her best friend.

"Anything specific you're looking for?" the kind man asks her.

Cress sighs again. "Uh, just something to— I dunno. Something Viktor Krum related," she tells him, rubbing her eyebrows in frustration. She is so close to throwing in the towel and telling Axel to eat shit, but then remembers everything he's done for her and realizes that he deserves this, no matter how irritating it might be.

But, apparently, luck is on her side right now, for the kiosk man smiles wide, like Cress just told him he won a million Galleons. He ducks down real quick and rummages through various items in the tiny cart, humming all the while. Cress waits, patiently, a little worried about what Cedric is doing to poor Cho to make him this late—she's almost positive the match was about to start and Cedric is not one to miss the beginning of a Quidditch game.

The man pops his head back up, standing up straight, and holds his hand for Cress. She looks, a little confused at first, but then her heart soars to the stars above at what's in the palm of that glorious man's hand.

A tiny Viktor Krum stares blankly up at Cress, giant, furry eyebrows furrowed down like he is confused. Cress smiles, huge and happy as she snatches him out of the kiosk man's hand. This is perfect for Axel. Absolutely magnificent. He's always wanted Viktor; now he can have one with him at all times, a little, travel-sized Viktor. It'll be great and she'll be the best fucking friend known to man, so it's worth the seventeen Galleons she pays for it.

"Thank you so much." Cress shakes the man's hand graciously and makes sure to leave him a generous tip, even though she is not sure that people are actually supposed to do that. The man seems pleased enough, so Cress counts it as another win and is on her way a few moments later.

Cedric finds her minutes later, his hair askew like he had been running his hands through it. Cress thinks he might've, since he has the habit of doing it a lot when he's impatient or concerned. He grabs Cress by the wrist and pulls her towards the stadium, his steps long and hurried. Cress is having trouble just keeping up with him, seeing as how her legs are sad little things compared to his bean stalks.

"Ced," she whines like a child, burying tiny Viktor Krum in the bag she brought with her just in case, "you're walking too fast."

"Well, if you wouldn't have run off like that I wouldn't be in a hurry!"

"I told you where I was going! Not my fault you and Chang were too busy eating each other's faces off to worry about the time."

Cedric shoots Cress a withering look, but his cheeks are tinted pink, so Cress can only imagine what her brother got up to with the girl. He doesn't loosen his grip on her wrist, nor does he slow his pace and by the time they reach their seats, Cress is fighting off stitch. She pants as Cedric takes his seat beside Amos, the latter giving his two children a once over.

"What took so long?" he asks curiously.

Cress, who is still trying to catch her breath, gestures for her brother to answer the question. He fixes his hair (or at least tries to, because when he messes it up there's no hope for it afterwards), and says, "Got caught up in all the neat merchandise, s'all. They had so many neat things and Cress and I couldn't take our eyes off of any of it."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Cress wonders why Cedric didn't tell Amos that Cho ran into him and they spent like ten minutes gazing into each other's eyes as though they hung the moon for each other. It isn't like her brother to lie, especially to Amos, but when she catches his gazes and sees his eyes, she decides to drop the subject for now. If Cedric doesn't want Amos to know then she isn't going to tell. But, later she was getting answers, whether Cedric likes it or not.

Amos takes the excuse without a second thought, smiling and patting Cedric on the back. Cress rolls her eyes and adjusts the flag on her back, Bulgarian's national anthem booming out of it as it waved slightly. Amos sends her an unimpressed glare, but she is past caring about him for the night.

Moments later, a thunderous voice echoes all about the stadium: "Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome! Welcome to the final cup of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Cedric sends Cress a childish smile, teeth and all, and it reminds her of when they were younger, when he would give her that same smile as he asked her to fly with him, just once more, even though they had been flying for hours. It is a brilliant grin that very few witness and Cress is glad to be one of those few people. She grins right back, heart elated with happiness and adrenaline for the match, and she decides that today might have not been a total bust.

Sure, she embarrassed herself in front of the one person she thought she'd never embarrass herself in front of, but that is okay, because Cedric was there, helping her through her foolish panic with kind words and a shoulder to lean on should she need it. Cedric is always there, she realizes, and for that, she's grateful. She grasps his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly with joy and love, beaming at him, blue eyes crinkled with playfulness, and he laughs back, the merry sound music to her ears. (It's just like when they were younger.)

The lion on Cress' scarf roars, loud and mighty at the words of Ludo Bagman, and Cress thinks that maybe, just maybe, the little thing was growing on her.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Cress is definitely not panicking. No, she is completely calm, completely at peace with her life right now. Sure, she is alone, and stranded in a crowd full of panicking people whilst some idiots in mask torture Muggles, but that's no big deal, really—not the Muggle torture part, of course, because that is a big deal, but the part where she's alone and not panicking. Honestly, she's happy being alone, glad she doesn't know where Cedric ran off to, and definitely not panicked, at all.

Except she kind of, most definitely, is.

Around her people push and shove their way through the crowd aggressively, screaming out obscene words as loud, booming sounds echo in the distant. People are pushing against Cress, moving her along with the strong crowd and she fears that someone is going to break one of her limbs from how hard they're shoving her. The forest is dark, and the trail she is currently on is barely lit, but somehow she's making her way through, barely managing to keep herself upright as she hunts for her brother.

It is all Cedric's fault, she decides, as she leans up against a tree to catch her breath. If he would have just stayed in the tent like Amos instructed them to do, she wouldn't be in this mess.

When the Quidditch World cup had ended, Cress had returned to the tent along with Cedric and Amos. They were all in high spirits, even though Bulgaria didn't win the Cup like Cedric wanted them to. Her brother had worn a bright smile on his face anyway, and Amos was actually civil with Cress for once, so she had been content, for the most part. They had stayed up for hours after, sitting around a fire eating snacks and drinking the best hot cocoa and tea Cress has ever had in her life. It was familiar and content, and Cress had been so joyous over it.

They had talked nonsense, bringing up each and every topic to talk about to pass the time. Cedric talked about the Wronski Feint ("I'll definitely master that move before the end of the year, you just wait!"), Amos brought up Ministry work ("Everything's okay, nothing to complain about. . . yet."), and Cress spoke about another Muggle book that Axel lent her awhile back (It was about a futuristic utopia that burned books because reading was banned. It's so horribly dark and absolutely phenomenal!"). It was a quiet discussion, but still lovely and when Amos had instructed them to go to bed, Cress did so with a smile on her face.

But then something had happened, of course, because something always had to happen to ruin a good day. No later than twenty minutes or so later, Amos had come into Cress's makeshift bedroom, telling her to stay put and not to leave the tent, no matter what. And Cress, having been disoriented due to just waking up, had been confused, and had opened her mouth to respond, to ask what was wrong, but Amos had already disappeared.

Cedric had come in a moment later, and sat on the edge of her bed, eyes worried and bright in the dim light of her lantern. He'd said, "There's a lot of commotion going on out there."

And that there was. Cress had heard the shouts, the screams of terror and fear as echoing booms that could only be caused by a wand rang about the place. She had nodded an agreement and Cedric had taken her hand and grinned reassuringly.

"Nothing's going to happen to us," he'd said, and Cress had believed him. She always believed him when he stated things like that, because he never gave her a reason not to.

However, not even a minute later, Cedric had sprung up off the bed when he heard a particularly loud boom, one that had Cress shivering apprehensively on her cot. He turned towards the exit and then glanced back at Cress. She had shaken her head and grabbed his wrist.

"No, Ced!" she'd pleaded desperately, because she really didn't fancy having him out there in the crossfire. "Amos said to stay put, and that's what we should do!"

But Cedric had just kissed the top of her head and said, "People are in danger, Cress. I can't just sit by and do nothing." He had grinned at her one last time. "Now stay put and I'll be back soon, okay?"

And then he just left, just disappeared into the chaotic night like he was taking a stroll. Cress had been indignant and also a little afraid, because she might've said that she liked being alone, liked the quiet life, but really she didn't. She actually kind of hated it, especially when she could possibly be in danger. She remembered that one time where she had gotten left alone at her house, because she was sick and everyone else wanted to go eat, so they left her at the house alone (Gadby had been doing something that day). At first, she hadn't minded being alone, for she was perfectly content to take care of herself—what nine year old wasn't? But after awhile, the panic started to sink in and she had worked herself up into hysterics with tears and snot, a lot of snot, because she thought, hey, what if they don't come back, like ever? Am I supposed to look after myself, because I totally can't, I'm too young. I'll be dead in three days tops, even with Gadby's assistance.

(Her mother had found her curled up in the kitchen cupboard when they returned and they never left her home again after that.)

She thought maybe the same thing had been happening to her right then, and she had decided, that no, she didn't fancy having a panic attack in the midst of all this disorder, so she did what any sane person would do. She went after her brother.

Thinking back on it, Cress supposes that this is partially her fault, too, since she didn't technically have to go after Cedric. She could have stayed in the tent like an obedient child and then she wouldn't be in this mess right now. But alas, she is not obedient—not to her brother, at least—and that's probably going to be her downfall one day.

Cress pumps her legs harder, the chill breeze cool on her bare legs—oh how she wishes for pajama pants instead of shorts. Her tank top continues riding up on her stomach and Cress is becoming annoyed, because she didn't ask for this stupid piece of fabric that claims to be her size yet still rises up like it's three times too small for her. It is the worst, and she hates it. Not to mention, her bare feet—in her haste to depart, she ignorantly forgot to slip on a pair of shoes— are probably black from all the mud she's been slipping in and Cress is probably going to get sick if she makes it out of this forest alive.

More bangs echo and Cress runs faster, eyes searching for some evidence of Cedric. She hates that she can't find him, doesn't like the fact that he had to go off and play hero when Amos clearly instructed them to stay put. But then again, here she is, copying his actions and therefore rescinds all rights to be upset with him.

She continues her hunt, praying, hoping that even if she can't find him, that he's alive and well. Cress pushes against the screaming crowd and wonders when this is all going to be over. She wants to go back to the tent and let out a good cry, because this is not fun, not amusing and she is so stressed, so scared.

Normally, when things go array, Cress is always by Cedric's side. In her third year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, she stayed by her brother's side without a second thought; in her fourth year, when the prisoner, Sirius Black, escaped Azkaban, Cress wasted no time pulling her sleeping bag over to his when they had to stay in the Great Hall. She thinks that maybe she can be a bit overbearing with her tendencies to cling to Cedric, but she can't really find it in herself to care—Cedric makes her feel safe.

But now, Cedric isn't by her side and she honestly doesn't know what to do, because this is so new to her, this feeling of helplessness and loneliness. It sends waves of desperation and sorrow through her veins and before she knows it, she's calling out his name, shouting for him like a madwoman. Some people turn her way as she does it, but she couldn't care less; all that matters is finding her brother and making sure he is okay.

"Cedric! Ced!" Her feet dig into the ground, pushing outward as she continues down the trail. By now, she's nowhere near her tent, this much she knows. However, she doesn't exactly know where it is she's found herself. "Cedric!" she yells once more, hoping that her voice carries to him, no matter how far away he may be.

A hand pushes her down into the ground, and soon Cress is greeted with a face full of dirt. She coughs roughly, and pushes her hands on the ground to lift herself up, only to be shoved back down with a foot on her back. People are still running, escaping from the madness, and in the process of that, they seem to have lost their manners. Fortunately, some people take in consideration and deliberately go around Cress, but for the most part, she keeps ending up with feet planting her back in the ground every time she attempts to get up.

"Fucking hell!" she screams when someone else steps on her. It was a plump man, and boy did he press into her back hard. She is going to have bruises for weeks if her back isn't already broken. "Learn some manners, you bloody prat!" Cress pulls her wand out of her waistband and holds it tightly in her hand so she can keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't break (really, it's out because the next person to push her into the ground is getting hexed three ways into December), attempting to push herself up once more.

A hand lands on her shoulder, again, and Cress can almost taste the dirt she's about to eat, can feel her hand twitching in their direction, ready to hex, but the hand isn't shoving her down, it's helping her up. As she struggles to her feet, she almost sheds tears of relief, grateful for this kind human being. Once she's standing, brushing off excess twigs and leaves, she stares up at her savior and actually almost does cry.

It's George Weasley.

"Little Diggory," he says in greeting, a surprised note in his voice. He looks at her attire, at how dirty and unkempt she is, and holds a hand over his mouth, probably to keep in his laughs. Cress, yet again, frowns at the nickname (and at the fact that he is totally mocking her), and sees that most of the crowd is gone, probably somewhere safe now, away from the chaos that was at the campsite. Behind him, however, are two figures that seem to be walking their way. Cress almost bets it's Fred and another Weasley.

"Hello," Cress responds, just to be nice, and because she can't really be angry with him since he, after all, helped her out. She gives George a grin and shoves her wand securely into her waistband once more. "Thanks for the assistance, chap. Would have been flattened out like a pancake if it weren't for you."

George Weasley grins. "Well, what can I say? I have a thing for heroics." The two figures reach them and Cress realizes that the second person is, in fact, another Weasley. Ginny, to be exact.

"Little Diggory!" Fred Weasley says, sounding delighted. He gives her a once over, eyes gleaming in the dark night. "You look terrible!"

Cress wonders how an insult can sound so much like a compliment coming from his mouth. She thinks it probably has something to do with the way he beams, so dazzling and not mocking, like she assumes George's was. But then again, she doesn't know; for all she knows, Fred Weasley could be laughing up a storm in his head and not at her because he wants to seem respectful or something. Oh well—at least they seem to have forgotten about this morning. Doesn't really need the two of them being bitter about a silly feud right now, does she?

She frowns hard. "Thanks. That is what happens when fucking arseholes pummel you into the ground, Weasley."

She's annoyed, now. Not at him, but at this whole night. First, she can't find Cedric. Then, she gets beaten into the ground like some kind of rag doll, and now, here stands Fred Weasley in all his glory and she can't even be happy about the fact that he's talking to her once more.Cress is about to depart, bid them a farewell and hobble away into the depths of the forest when Ginny speaks up.

"What my brother meant to say was: Are you okay?" she asks, sending Fred Weasley a glare, to which he just sticks his tongue out mockingly with a shrug, like Hey, she got it! (And Cress has never found something so foolish so endearing in her entire life even if she didn't get the concern laced in his previous statement).

George snorts into his hand.

"Sure," Cress says, because she was okay. A little (lot) sore and drained, but okay, nonetheless. "I'm fine. Say, you haven't seen my brother around, have you?"

George and Fred Weasley grimace at the mention of Cedric, and Cress rolls her eyes because she obviously was too hopeful that they wouldn't be petty about this, of course. But, honestly, now is not the time to be pouting about some trivial Quidditch match. They can mope and brood about how Hufflepuff won another day, but right now, she needs them to not. She looks to Ginny for an answer, because it's obvious the two boys have no interest in replying to her when it involves Cedric.

"Sorry, no," Ginny tells her, looking disappointed that she couldn't help. She glances towards the twins then back to Cress. "Actually, we were just about to head back to our—"

Something erupts into the sky; a bright emerald flash. It swirls in the night sky, swiveling and shaping itself to make some kind of shape. Cress watches in horror as an enormous skull places itself in the sky, a giant snake protruding from its mouth like some kind of nasty tongue. The hollow, sinking feeling returns to her, and now more than ever she wishes she had Cedric by her side.

Now, Cress has heard loads about Voldemort (You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord, etc.) and his sick ways; when she was younger, her mother and father sat both her and Cedric down to explain everything that happened. So, yes Cress has heard about the evil little git who makes children orphans and kills anyone in cold blood. She's heard all about the twisted asshole who hates Muggles and Muggle-borns with a passion. She's even been told about his followers—Death Eaters, she thinks—and knows all about the Dark Mark each one of them supposedly has branded on their left arm.

But up until now, Cress has assumed that You-Know-Who was dead, that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, got rid of the tyrant when he was a babe due to the protection he received from his late mother, Lily Potter. Rumors, of course, spread even after the Dark Lord was pronounced dead, but Cress hasn't ever paid attention to them, not too keen on worrying if someone depraved was going to swoop in and ruin her life at any moment.

So, Cress has always pushed that little sliver of fear, apprehension, and concern away because it was better for her to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was rotting away somewhere than to worry about his rumored return to power.

But looking at the luminous Dark Mark that paints the sky green, Cress can't shake the foreboding churn in her gut. It tugs around in her unpleasantly and makes her queasy, makes her feel very unsafe. Once again, she wishes Cedric was with her.

Rubbing her arms to fight off the sudden chills that sprung on her skin, Cress takes a step back and looks to the Weasleys. "Er," she says timidly, "I'm just going to go look for my brother. . ." They stare at her. Cress tries not to feel intimidated. "Thanks for earlier, George." She tries to turn and leave, but a hand grips her wrist.

"You're mad if you think you're going out there alone, Little Diggory," Fred Weasley tells her sternly. His hand is on her wrist and Cress can feel the warmth of it; it shoots up her arm and successfully helps her with the chills protruding from her skin.

"Yeah," George agrees, nodding his head grimly, "if you were to die out there, it'd basically be on our hands."

"And we don't want that," Ginny continues, monotone.

The three of them stare at Cress like she's already dead, like she already got mauled by a hippogriff or something, and they're working out funeral arrangements. It should not be amusing, not at a time like this, but Cress smiles despite herself; leave it to the Weasleys to make light of a heavy situation. No wonder everyone loves them. She softly pulls her arm out of Fred Weasley's grip and then glances up at the sky where the mark is. The green skull glares back at her, almost menacingly and Cress feels another shiver run down her spine.

"Alright then," Cress says, taking a step forward. "I guess I'll follow you guys. If that's okay?" she asks timidly, because there's no way, no way, she's about to overstep her boundaries.

"Well, of course it is," says George brightly.

Fred says, "Wouldn't have asked if it weren't."

Ginny rolls her eyes, but nods anyway, sending Cress a smile. Cress grins right back, and falls into step with the three of them. It is kind of silent for the first moments of their journey, but Cress kind of thinks that there is never a dull moment in the Weasley household, because not too long after they start walking, Fred and George are spewing questions at Cress.

"What are you doing out here anyway, Little Diggory?" George asks.

"And Merlin where are your shoes, woman?" Fred says, sending her a cheeky grin.

"Have you no shame, sauntering out into the cold forest with no kind of robe, either?"

"Don't you know it's supposed to be in the negatives—"

"—and when that happens your little tiny toes are going to fall off."

"Then you're fingers—" says Fred grimly, snuggling his fingers into his own robe mockingly.

"—and then legs—"

"—and then arms. They'll find your scattered remains throughout the camp."

"And we definitely cannot allow that to happen, so—"

"—for Godric's sake, woman, never leave the house without proper footwear!"

They end in sync, and Cress stares, confused as they start laughing as though it was some kind of inside joke. Maybe it was, but she doesn't know about it. They probably have tons of inside jokes, Cress thinks, because the Weasley twins are the two closest siblings she's ever laid eyes on. Not a day went by when she didn't see one of them with each other; they always stick by each other's side—it's pretty amazing, really.

Cress purses her lips, and tries to hold in her laugh. Her mind reels back to the first question George asked—the only one that mattered, really—and she ponders. Maybe she can come up with some kind of fib to tell because her honest answer—the one that involves Cedric leaving her alone in the tent and her almost falling into hysterics because of it—sounds a little bit like a tiny child whining about being scared of the dark or something. At least that's what she thinks—no person her age becomes terrified of being alone for more than five minutes, really. It's probably only her, and that's just pathetic.

"The people were nearing my campsite. I thought it'd be best to run in case they decided that anyone in sight was free game," she tells them instead. Technically, it's not a lie, it's just not the whole truth either. The people in masks were near her campsite, close enough for her to get a glimpse at what they were doing before she fled, but that's not why she is out there. She is out there to hunt her brother (which they know because she asked if they've seen him earlier), just because she couldn't stand the thought of being away from him for two measly minutes.

Fortunately, the Weasleys seem to take her answer swimmingly, nodding along like her answer was the best one she could have given them. She smiles back and then Fred asks, "Tell me, Little Diggory, which team did you support? Ireland or Bulgaria?"

The tone of his voice suggests that she must answer the question seriously, like it's a life or death situation. Cress thinks that it might be, to be frank. This one inquiry could very well ruin the slim chance that Cress has in befriending the gingered boy. She bites her lip, thinking this over. She can either lie, again, and tell them that she rooted for Ireland, or be an honest thing and say Bulgaria. Oh, decisions.

(She supposes she shouldn't be freaking out about one tiny question this much, but this is Fred Weasley that she's talking about. Cress knows he takes his Quidditch severely and if she gives him a distasteful response, then that's it. He'll probably never speak to her again, and then she'll have to change her name and leave the country because the shame will be too much for her to handle.)

"Er—you see," says Cress awkwardly. She looks up at Fred Weasley and tries not to melt right there. He's staring down at her, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his robe, and she has to stop herself from gushing over his pajamas; blue plaid never looked so good on anyone. His expression is serious, and Cress is reminded of his immense love for the sport. It's breathtaking, really, seeing someone hold so much admiration, so much veneration for one thing, and Cress is starstruck.

"Well, come on and spit it out then," George says, almost impatient. Cress shakes out of her reverie and turns away from Fred, hoping her cheeks aren't as red as they feel. Beside her, Ginny lets out a snort. "Haven't got all night, Little Diggory."

Cress rolls her eyes. "I don't really keep up with Quidditch, Weasley," she tells George. "But I cheered for Bulgaria, because Cedric did." She thinks this might be the wrong answer because both the twins' faces twist up as though they have eaten something sour. Cress frowns and rubs at her arms, a particularly nasty chill running across her bare arms and legs. She would totally kill for a robe or something, maybe even some shoes.

The forest is thinning out now, and Cress assumes that they're getting closer to their campsite. Part of her wants to depart from them and hunt her brother down to make sure that he's at least okay, but the other, more sinister part of her wants to bask in this moment, to enjoy this tiny moment with the Weasleys, because she's at least eighty-three percent sure that they'll never speak to her again after tonight, especially since she obviously answered Fred's question wrong or something. At least she thinks so, for no one has uttered one word in like, fifteen seconds, and that might be a bad sign? Cress isn't sure anymore.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cress sees Ginny open her mouth and thinks, Oh, thank Merlin for this woman, because she couldn't deal with another moment of silence, really.

But what Ginny says brings Cress no comfort: "Uh, Crescent, I think I've spotted your brother. And he does not look too happy."

And true enough, she did. Cress follows her line of sight and grimaces when she finds Cedric staring at the four of them with a hard frown on his face. Cress knows he's livid. She gulps—that glare means death is approaching, she just knows it—and silently counts her blessings. She wonders how many people are going to mourn at her funeral because there is no way that she was leaving this place alive, not now that Cedric has spotted her in all her grimy, unkempt glory. He starts trekking towards them, looking thoroughly unharmed, and even though Cress knows her last minutes are coming, she still allows herself this moment of relief, allows herself to bask in the fact that her brother is, in fact, okay.

Without really pondering about it, Cress flings herself into her brother's arms, grasping onto him as though he were her lifeline. (She suspects this might be true due to all the times she relies on him without a second thought. Like there's no one else that Cress could refer to for assistance besides Cedric.)

Cedric grips her shoulders tightly, pulling her securely into his chest. He runs his hands through her (dirty) hair, and Cress suppresses the cry that want to escape her mouth. She clenches his sweater tightly in her hands, scared that if she is to let go, he'll disappear, leave her there, alone with no one. And that isn't something she wants, ever.

When he pulls back, Cedric pushes Cress until she's an arm's length away. He frowns even harder, if that's even possible, when he takes in her mucky appearance. Cress doesn't think she looks that bad. Sure, her legs and arms were bare, the former cut up from tiny rocks and twigs that scraped into her whilst she was on the ground. And, okay, her hair seems to have went through a hurricane, for it is going in every direction (from what she could feel). But, overall, she is mediocre at best, which is normal for her.

(However, Fred Weasley saw her like this, and yeah, not a big deal because let's face it, Cress never looks put together. But normally, the ginger never spares Cress a second glance so it never really matters to her. Except for it does, because now here she is, looking like some ragamuffin with Fred Weasley present. If Cedric doesn't kill her, she's going to throw herself off a roof from the amount of mortification running through her veins.)

Cedric glances over Cress head and, with relief and respect, says, "Thanks for looking over her. Merlin knows what would have happened to her if you guys weren't there." He shoots Cress a glare, tugging his sweater off of him and throwing at her. Cress huffs, indignant, but pulls the warm piece of cloth over her shoulders and snuggles into it, grateful. The sweater is much too big for her and falls down to her mid-thigh, something Cress is grateful since her legs were becoming a bit chilly.

When Cress swivels around to face the Weasleys, they're each giving Cedric hesitant smiles—well Ginny is smiling whilst Fred and George kind of grimace at him like they're trying to give him one but just can't. Cress understands.

Ginny says, "Welcome, Diggory. Glad to help."

Cedric nods and smartly doesn't expect the twins to input anything on the matter. Instead, he pushes Cress's shoulder and coughs pointedly. She glares at her brother, because she knows, dammit. He doesn't need to tell her. Cress has manners and she knows how to use them (most of the time).

Cress gives the three Weasleys a grin. "Thanks for helping me out, chaps. Really wouldn't have made it out alive without you guys there," she says, over exaggerating just because she can. She even adds a little bow at the end of it.

She's relieved when the Weasleys smirk back. The twins even humor her by bowing, also. Fred says, "Twas a brave journey for us all, mighty princess!"

George continues, "We valiant knights are grateful to have embarked on such an exploration with someone that possesses such true compassion."

"Please, remember us always, Your Highness!"

Cress wants to say that even if she desired to, she could never forget them, not even if she had been obliviated to the tenfolds like the heroines were in those novels her mother reads. She laughs, instead, feeling elated and happy even though she is conscious that she shouldn't. But it was like they just knew how to make someone forget about every terrible thing happening to them with their joyful grins and mischievous eyes. You just could not be in a foul mood once around those two boys, it wasn't possible.

She says, "My noble knights, remember me always, for I shall never forget you. I bid thee a goodnight, sirs!" Cress bows once more, a humored beam on her face as she giggles, then turns to Ginny. "Goodnight, Ginny! By the way, 'Cress' is fine, yanno? 'Crescent' is kinda a mouth full," she adds, because it is and Cress thinks that her and Ginny are at least at that level of acquaintanceship.

Ginny chuckles. "Alright. Night then, Cress!" Ginny waves and follows her two brothers towards their part of camp. Cress watches them go, the grin fading from her face, nervous about what was to come in the next three seconds.

"Crescent," says Cedric, in that deadly calm tone of his. Cress flinches at the sound of it and the use of her whole name—Cedric only did that when she has upset her brother majorly. She fiddles with the sweater and faces him, slowly, not sure if she should run or not. If she ran, that'd probably upset Cedric even further. And plus, he'd just tackle her down before she could take two steps.

"Ced—"

"What in Helga's name where you thinking?! Running off like you had no sense?!" Cedric snaps, grey eyes lit with a mute anger though his voice was booming. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there? Did you see what shot up into the sky, Crescent? Did you?! That was the Dark Mark, Crescent! The Dark Mark!"

Cress flinches, because yes, she saw the ominous looking skull with the snake tongue light up the sky. Yes, she realizes that it was Dark Mark, and yes, Cress knows what could have happened to her whilst she was out there. She knows. It was a stupid decision that she made, when she looks back on it. But she hadn't been thinking straight, too occupied by her oncoming panic that she didn't really ponder on the consequences of her actions. Cress gets where his irritation is coming from, understands she deserves it. But he left, too. He left her, alone and scared, and ignorant to what was happening outside of the tent's walls.

But Cedric didn't think of her when he left, didn't even consider how she would have felt, laying in her cot, all alone, with no sense of comfort or security because the only comfort she had was off trying to play hero or some stupid shit. Cress was scared, terrified, that something was going to happen to him whilst he was out there with all the other masked people, but what did her feelings matter? They didn't, don't, never will. Not as long as Cedric thinks he needs to save each and every person he comes across. Like everyone he encounters is a person just waiting to be rescued by him.

Cress wants to shout at him. Tell him how unfair he was being and that she doesn't deserve it, because he did exactly what she did; he left. Cress wants to bring up how he did it first, too, just because she isn't against being childish right now. Not when he deserves her rage.

But when she opens her mouth to speak, a choking sort of noise comes out. It's the kind of sound that sounds desperate, hollow, and Cress hates herself when she starts crying right after, big fat tears streaming down her face as she cries.

Cedric's eyes go soft, all his anger dissipating into concern, worry. He pulls Cress into him, cradling her head against her chest and she clings to him as though he'll disappear if she happens to let go. Her sobs grow louder, but she can't control them—it's like a damn broke and the water is flooding everything.

She doesn't even know why she's crying. Perhaps it's the fact that she could have easily lost the most important person in her life, and thinking about that sends an icy dagger straight through her heart, a wave of sinister chills rushing over her body at the mere thought. Perhaps it's the fact that she didn't and the relief that Cedric is okay, and here, is too overbearing for her to handle. But, really, Cress thinks it's probably her nine-year-old self, the one that's afraid of being alone, resurfacing. She clutches Cedric's shirt, sniffling and trying to take in deep breaths, discovering that she can't, and it's like she's back in that tiny cupboard, sobbing into her knees about being alone, and it makes her heart clench with a deep hurt.

"You w-were—" Cress says, only to have Cedric shush her softly.

"I know," he whispers apologetically, "I know, Cress. I'm so sorry."

Cress buries her face deeper into his chest. "I was terrified!" she wails, the earlier panic seeping into her bones like an old friend. "I was s-so terrified. And you w-were gone, and it sucked, Cedric. It sucked so much." She cries and cries and wonders how she can be so dependent on her brother, wonders when she'll grow up and stop this childish act because one day Cedric won't be around and she'll have to figure out what to do on her own.

But, right now, in this very moment, she has him. Cedric is here, and it helps calm her, just a tiny bit, and she can breathe with a little more ease as he pulls away from her. Her brother wipes away the tears then grimaces. "Probably shouldn't have done that, considering how dirty your face is," he says, almost wincing when Cress smacks her hands to both her cheeks.

She swipes both of them down her face and holds them out in front of her, almost crying again when she finds brown gunk residing on them. It must have stuck to her when she was pushed into the dirt like she was a piece of deadweight. Which means it was there for awhile and Fred fucking Weasley saw her in all of her funky glory, had to walk with her nastiness for a good bit of yards, what the fuck.

(What's worse is that Fred Weasley himself said she looked like something he'd find at the bottom of the Black Lake. Granted, it wasn't worded like that, but still.)

Cress faces Cedric. "I blame you," she tells him, heart finally calm in her chest. It doesn't feel like she's going to have another breakdown anytime soon, and she's relieved that the heavy feeling has disappeared as she stares at her brother.

"Why?!" Cedric is indignant, frowning deeply. Cress gives him a look.

"Because if you would have just stayed in the tent, like Amos instructed then I wouldn't have went hunting for you and gotten dirt all over my face! I'd be clean and Fred Weasley would have never had to have seen me look like something that's on the bottom of one's shoe!"

Cedric makes this noise that kind of sounds like he's done with this conversation or just with Cress in general, but he says, "Okay, to be fair, it's not that bad. If anything, you look what the professors found behind that portrait that one time in fourth year."

Cress actually tears up this time, because she vaguely remembers what the professors found behind that painting of the wailing woman and it was not pretty. And Cedric telling her that makes her feel worse because it was more horrendous than what could be found underneath one's shoe. She is so done.

"I hate you," she says, taking in his teasing smirk and light eyes, "I hate you so much and I don't know why I still associate myself with you." Cress pushes past him and starts heading in what she hopes is the direction of their campsite.

Cedric catches up easily and laughs. He throws an arm around Cress's shoulder. "You have to associate yourself with me. I'm your brother."

"Nope. Not anymore. I revoke the title from you."

"You can't do that!" Cedric exclaims, snorting. A moment later, he pauses and stares down at Cress. "Wait, can you?"

Cress shrugs, silent, and revels in the way her brother crows, affronted. They walk the rest of the way in silence, and Cress is exhausted when they reach the tent. Cedric hesitantly opens the flap even though he's already been back once, and Cress follows behind him, glad to see that Amos isn't present at the moment. She doesn't have the time to hear him reprimand her for leaving the tent when he blatantly demanded that she stay put.

Silently, Cress separates from her brother and grabs some spare clothes from her rucksack, taking them to the small bathroom and showering quickly. The hot water stings her cuts and scrapes but Cress doesn't really mind it one bit because she's safe, Cedric's safe and that's all that matters. A few cuts and bruises are nothing to cry about. Cress would gladly give her leg to make sure that Cedric is always safe.

When she finally shuts off the water, Cress dries off quickly, then pulls on her undergarments and new pajamas (a t-shirt and dark red pants, thankfully). She swiftly pulls back the flap and exits the room and is still relieved to find that Amos is not back, for she would have no explanation as to why she was showering so late at night.

Cedric, however, is sitting on the couch and holds out a cup of what Cress assumes to be hot cocoa to her when she exits. Cress swiftly throws her dirty clothes into her room and takes a seat beside her brother, tucking her feet under her thighs and grasping at the hot cocoa happily. She takes a slow, content sip and loves the way the rich chocolate runs down the back of her throat. (Cedric always did make the best hot cocoa.)

Her brother sips on his own cup of tea—he never has liked the rich flavor of hot cocoa, says it "makes him nauseous" or whatever, but only makes it because Cress demands it of him—and gives her a forlorn glance. Cress furrows her brows, wondering what on earth could have made Cedric so upset. She takes another drink of hot chocolate and stares at her brother, long and hard.

"What is it, Ced?" she asks quietly, scared to ruin this precious moment.

Cedric, for the most part, seems as though he's thinking strongly about something. After a few moments, he says, "I'm sorry. For leaving you alone here when you hate being by yourself. I wasn't—I wasn't thinking and it was very insensitive of me to not even consider how you'd feel before I booked it out of the tent. Godric, I'm so sorry, Cress."

By now, Cedric has his face buried deep into his hands, his mug of tea on the table in front of them. His voice is muffled but Cress can still hear the sincerity in his voice, the sheer regret and guilt he feels for leaving her behind.

Her hand (the one not holding her cup of cocoa) comes up to rub his back comfortingly. Cedric always did this, always apologized for things that he had no control of. Sure, Cress was upset that she had been alone (and had been childishly angry about it), and it had been the worst minutes of her life—besides the time when she was nine, of course—but still. Cress needs to learn to grow, to be more independent and not so clingy with her brother, so he had nothing to apologize for.

And besides, when it all came down to it, Cress knows that Cedric probably helped a lot of people out tonight, so it was for the best that he had left. She doesn't need him working himself into a frenzy over it. Cress pats his back. Hard. He winces and hesitantly brings his hands away from his face, looking at her with watery grey eyes. Her heart clenches.

"Cedric, don't," says Cress sternly. She sets her mug onto the table and reaches for her brother's hand. "You did what you thought was best, alright? It was stupid of me to go after you just because I was a tiny bit scared." She squeezes his hand and Cedric grips back. "I can't always count on you to coddle me, to watch over me, Ced, it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry," she continues, frowning hard.

"Don't ever apologize for needing me, Cress," her brother replies just as strict as she was. There's a hard gleam in his eyes, and Cress is relieved that he doesn't look like he's about to cry anymore. He clutches her hand so tightly that Cress can see it turning white. "Apologize for being an idiot, apologize for running out into the crossfire, but never apologize for needing me."

Cress finds herself tearing up once more and hates how sentimental she is being tonight. Cedric is staring at her with determined eyes and she's never been more happy than she is in that moment. Here she is, thinking that her needing her brother was a burden to him, but it's the exact opposite. Cedric likes looking after her, likes that she needs him and it makes her heart soar jovially.

For the second time that night, Cress curls herself into her brother's arm, all the doubt and loneliness from earlier washing away like a seashell on the beach.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Viktor looks at Cress, eyebrows furrowed and eyes blank. Cress stares back, her own eyes watering in an attempt to keep them open. She is sitting criss-cross on her bed and Viktor is standing across from her, all miniature and still. Cress hates him. A lot. For the past twenty minutes, Cress has been engaged in a very serious staring contest, and she's getting very irritated because she hasn't won once. Not once. And she's like ninety percent sure the little thing is mocking her because of it.

He may look all innocent and brooding and handsome, but Cress knows better. Underneath that exterior is a little tiny demon just waiting to end her life one staring match at a time. Here she thought that it was some cute action figure thing that she could give her best friend in apology for him not going to the Quidditch World Cup, but it turns out tiny Viktor is a mastermind who likes to watch people suffer.

Now, sure, Cress may be crazy, but still. Viktor Krum is out to kill her and she's certain of that. Especially when she blinks (again) and the action figure looks at her, not exactly gloating but somehow still smug. The little shat.

"I'll have you know," —Cress points a finger in Viktor's face— "that I am a champion when it comes to staring contests."

Viktor gives her a deadpan look that asks, "If you're so good, how did I manage to beat you fifteen times? In a row?" and yeah, Cress wants to murder the tiny Quidditch player. She officially regrets wasting six Galleons, two Knuts, and three Sickles on the stupid arsehole because he is the worst and she was going to take her thumb and index finger and ring his neck. Viktor continues giving her this smug look that still manages to remain blank and Cress inches her fingers closer to him, ready to strike.

And then her door is slammed open.

In hindsight, Cress thinks she probably should have heard the pounding footsteps heading towards her room, considering Cedric weighs about eight hundred pounds ("It's muscle, Cress. Muscle!), but she's going to blame her lack of attention on the nasty little git Viktor because basically everything remotely bad or embarrassing that happens to her from now on is his fault.

Cedric stares at Cress for a long moment, then shifts his gaze over to tiny Viktor. Then back to Cress. She can feel the judgment from her bed, and okay, sure her predicament may be slightly odd, but seriously Cedric, let her live. Even Viktor is sending her brother a glare that might seem neutral to outside people, but because Cress has gotten to know the action figure on a personal level, she knows he's not amused either.

(Honestly, that whole statement is probably saying something about her mental state—seriously, who gets to know a tiny Quidditch player, one that can't even talk, on a personal level?—but Cress is literally past the point of giving a fuck.)

"I don't even want to know," Cedric says, looking a little put off as he stares at Cress.

Cress shrugs. "Wise choice, brother." She feels tiny Viktor walk over and sit down, leaning his small back against her knee comfortably. Cress takes this as a declaration of peace and pats his head with her finger. Cedric grimaces.

"Actually, I do want to know," he says, seemingly disturbed yet intrigued at the same time. "You've been holed up in your room for three days now, and this whole time you were playing with an action figure?"

"Action figure?" Cress lets out a huff of laughter, prodding mini Viktor in the back with her knee. "I think you've been mistaken, brother dearest. This is not an action figure, oh no. This," —she pushes on Viktor's head with her finger— "is a demon."

"A demon?"

"Yes, Ced, a demon."

"I'm sure it is." Cedric nods, but it's that kind of nod that means I'm seriously considering sending you to St. Mungos because I'm absolutely positive you're a nutter. Love you, though.

Cress shakes her head with a sigh, because leave it to her brother not to understand how bad she's had it these past few days. Whilst he's been out with his ginormous group of friends, having a laugh or two, Cress has been stuck in this soul-sucking thing she calls her home with no one to talk with because Gadby has been gone for like three days (where he went, she has no clue) and her mother has been too busy worrying about Amos and all the shit that's going down at the Ministry to really give Cress the time of day (and Cress kind of wasn't speaking with her either, but that's besides the point).

Which, okay, the whole Ministry fiasco is kind of a big deal and yeah, Blythe has every right to be worried about her husband's job. Cress gets it, really. But for the love of Helga, did the woman have to agree with Amos when he decided to ground Cress? Most times, her mother usually doesn't—side with him, that is—and when he brought it up Blythe had batted one, singular eyelash, showed concern before he ruined it again, told her to say that Cress needed proper punishment and that a week of solitude (solitude!) would do her justice.

Her parents hadn't even given her a fair argument, really. Like, when Cress and Cedric and Amos returned home the day after the whole Dark Mark chaos, Amos had been in the foulest mood possible. Cress doesn't think she's ever seen the man so irate in her life, which is saying something since she's experienced Amos at what she thought was his foulest mood. Apparently that was child's play compared to how he felt that day.

But, anyway, they got home and Blythe greeted them with worry and relief, kissing all over their faces and telling them how relieved she was that they weren't harmed in anyway. That she heard about what had happened, that it was all over the Daily Prophet. Cress had accepted her hug and coddling willingly, relieved herself because she had thought she was in the clear, honestly, because her and Cedric had shared a look, an unspoken promise to never talk about the other night, and Blythe was about to send them to their rooms for some much needed rest when Amos had spoken.

"Crescent," he had said, gravel in his voice, piercing and rough, "is there something you'd like to tell your mother and I?"

Cress had given him a confused kind of look because she really hadn't understood what he was speaking about, but Amos's eyes were hard and knowing and Cress had known she was fucked. She still had tried to talk her way out of it, though, because dammit she wasn't going down without a fight.

"What ever do you mean, Father?" She had tried the innocent option, furrowing her eyebrows and tilting her head slightly to give her a more childlike feel to her. Inside, however, she was quaking with fear and annoyance because if Amos saw her loose during the whole disturbance then why not bring it up the night before? Why did he have to wait until they were home?

(She thought it probably had to do with how much the man liked to see her suffer. He was secretly a sadist, Cress just knew it.)

Amos had not been deterred by her ploy of innocence. "Don't be daft, Crescent. I saw you last night. You were with the Weasleys, running amongst the chaos even after I instructed you to stay put in the tent," he had said, voice low and angry. Cress had heard her mother let out a gasp of shock at that, but she didn't bother turning her attention to her, too busy glaring at Amos.

Frankly, if Amos had seen Cress with the Weasleys that night, it meant that he also saw Cedric. He had to have seen her brother if he saw her, too. Cress wouldn't believe anything else. But this was Amos she was talking about, Cedric's biggest fan, basically, and if the man spotted his son, he'd keep it to himself rather than saying anything about it. Because Merlin forbid his magnificent son be punished for disobeying orders! Oh the pain!

"Crescent, is this true?" her mother had asked, incredulous, worried rather than angry. Her eyes had softened in concern, but it was her father's hand on her arm that prevented her from coming to her daughter.

Cress had nodded, mostly because she didn't have anything else to lose, and also because her grave was already dug and there was no way she was going to get out of it alive. What else did she have to lose, really? However, Cress has still stood by her first thought to fight and boy was she going to. She might die quicker but at least at her funeral they can say she fought to the death and didn't die a pansy, because that would suck.

But when she had opened her mouth to plead her case, her mother had looked down upon her with eyes so vicious that Cress had felt her lifespan shorten by, at least, ten years. Possibly even twenty. Blythe Diggory could be a terrifying woman when she needed to be, Cress had known that much.

"I think a week of being grounded will teach her to never do something so outrageous again. Don't you agree, sweetheart?" Amos had wrapped an arm around her mother's waist at that, voice incredibly sweet, and Cress knew what he was doing. The bloody git.

Still holding on to a sliver of hope, Cress had stared at her mother, almost pleading with her eyes because she didn't fancy being grounded a week before school started. No thank you. She rather enjoyed her last week of freedom, seeing as how that usually meant that she was able to go and visit Axel and check out Diagon Alley before term started. She couldn't very well do that if she was holed up in her room, grounded, because her parents wouldn't hear her side of the story, now could she?

Blythe, however, seemed to have a different perspective, for she had grinned, a grin like a grimace, but a grin nonetheless, and said, "Oh, yes, dear. I think that'd be best." Then she had glared hesitantly at Cress (and she hated Amos, hated him). "No leaving the house, no phone calls, and absolutely no lettering anyone, do you understand? You are to stay here and behave and if I see you trying to make contact with the outside world, your punishment shall be lengthened, Crescent Hope. Do I make myself clear?"

Cress hadn't needed to be told twice, she just nodded her head quietly and felt the metaphorical grave that was dug fill itself up with metaphorical dirt whilst she laid down and metaphorically died. She had never felt more defeated in her life. So much for going down with a fight, she had thought bitterly as she had walked (hobbled, really since she had a bruise the size of a hippogriff on her back and her legs were still in pain from the night prior) herself to her room to cry herself to sleep.

And that's how the next few days passed. Cress woke up, glad to have one more day of summer, only for it to be ruined by the fact that she was suffering her in room, injured and grounded whilst everyone else enjoyed these sunny days and happy times. Truth be told, she doesn't exactly remember when the tiny Viktor Krum came into the picture. All she really remembers is that one day, whilst bored, she went through her bag that she forgot to unpack and ruffled through it.

In it, she had found said Quidditch player buried underneath her lion scarf that had let out a tiny mewl when Cress found it and the Bulgarian flag and decided that since Cedric was being a terrible brother and not sharing the burden of being locked away like some prisoner with her (read: Cedric, being the magnificent brother he is, tried to speak up and tell their parents that he had disobeyed Amos's orders just as Cress did, but she wouldn't let him, because one of them deserved the rest of summer vacation, at least) then she was going to make a new friend, dammit.

So, Cress brought out the small Viktor, a couple Charms books, and some crafting supplies and worked on making her a companion for the next week.

For the most part, it worked out, if Cress is being honest. Viktor was kind of standoffish at first, shying away from her and all that and Cress always had to stop and wonder why something meant for entertainment seemed to be so adept to human contact and all that. It was extraordinarily curious. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, the little tiny humanoid figure seemed to dull down as each day passed, always walking into stuff and tripping over air. Stuff like that.

But Cress, ever so great with Charms, has been researching all kinds of spells she could possibly use to help the Viktor doll continue being active for a little while longer. Not to toot her own horn, but Cress is sort of like a master when it comes to Charms. Truly. It's like the only subject that Cress really gets.

Which is why she didn't really have any trouble figuring out which spells to use to keep an enchanted action figure running well. Cress even fiddled around with her own spells (ones she's been messing around with since she was young) and, as a result, Viktor can now actively walk around and be conscious of what he was doing. Hence why he's beaten her at so many staring contests.

However, Cress knew when she fiddled with her unknown spells that she could have caused damage to the doll and, possibly, had the Minister of Magic ramming down her door and throwing her out of Hogwarts and into Azkaban for the use of underage magic.

(Cress doesn't really care, however. She thinks the Ministry has a lot more to deal with than a teenage girl using magic in her own household.)

A groan echoes throughout the room and Cress shakes herself from her thoughts to see Cedric standing by her desk, a hand running through his hair in what she thinks is exasperation. Viktor sits up straighter, his interest peaked and Cress cranes her neck to see what's got Cedric so defeated.

"Cress, why?" Her brother turns around and Cress sees him holding a tiny bed in his hand. "Why do you have a bed for it?"

"First of all, Viktor is a he, not an it, Ced," Cress hisses at her brother, rolling her eyes in annoyance. Viktor nods like he understands and agrees with what she said, but Cress isn't really sure if he does or not—she's not sure how far his intelligence goes. "And where else is he supposed to sleep? On the floor?"

Her horror is palpable.

Cedric shakes his head then stares at the ceiling for a long moment. "Cress," he says miserably, "it—sorry, he—is a piece of merchandise that you bought from a kiosk. He doesn't need a bed." He shakes said object as though he's proving a point.

"Cedric, how dare you!" exclaims Cress, slapping both her index fingers on Viktor's ears to save him from those harsh, harsh words. "Viktor is my friend, and he doesn't deserve this treatment!" Viktor nods his head again, and Cress decides, with elation, that maybe her spells worked a little too well and he actually understands her.

But her elation is stamped down on when Cedric narrows his eyes at the both of them. "Don't tell me—" He shakes his head again. "Cress, did you— for the love of Helga," —Cedric brings his voice down to a shouted whisper—"did you use your own spells on the doll?!"

Cress winces, wondering when her expression became so readable to her brother; she hates herself just a little because of it. Here she thought she was in the clear with no one realizing that she has been doing underage magic—with unregistered spells, nonetheless! If only Cedric would have avoided her room until it was time to go back to Hogwarts. Then, she might've been able to hide her obvious rule breaking from her brother. Possibly.

"Okay, before you blow a gasket, just hear me out." Cress holds her hands up in mock surrender and Cedric makes this funny kind of noise and clamps his hands over his mouth in frustration (she thinks?). She explains, "This was the only way I wouldn't go mad, Ced. Like, honest to Rowena, I was three seconds away from losing my mind from the sheer boredom. I'm grounded for Merlin's sake. I've been forced to stay in my room and not socialize with anyone; I can't even call Axel for crying out loud! Talk about tor-ture!"

Cedric pinches the bridge of his nose and gives Cress the most unimpressed look she's ever seen in her life. "So, to pass the time you use spells that you made up when you were, what, twelve? To entertain yourself?" And wow, the way it sounds coming out of his mouth sounds kind of bad. Like Cress is breaking some kind of major law, or something. Which is kind of true, but still.

"Huh," she responds, frowning, "when you say it like that, it almost makes me feel bad about it."

"Almost," Cedric emphasizes, cross, pacing around her room now. Cress frowns harder, because, really, no harm no foul. She's okay. Viktor's okay. No one was harmed in the process, and the Ministry didn't come breaking down her door, so she counts it as a win. However, Cress can see that Cedric, in fact, is seeing this as anything but a win.

Cress says, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Please don't give me a lecture."

"How did you—?"

"Please," says Cress, rolling her eyes, "I can basically feel the disappointed lecture leaking out of your brain. You look like you really might blow a gasket. Don't. It's not that big of a deal."

Cedric repeats the same noise as early, the frustrated one, and shakes his head. "Cress, we're talking about unregistered spells! As in spells that haven't been registered!"

"Oh, wow, who would have guessed," Cress responds, sarcasm dripping in her tone, "that unregistered spells haven't been registered? What an idiot I've been! Thank you, brother, for enlightening me on this subject. I would have never figured it out had it not been for you." Viktor lets out a puff of breath from where he's lounging at her knee and Cress thinks he might be amused. It brings tears to her eyes.

Her brother sends her a deadpan look, but she can see his lips twitching and knows that he's basically over it now. Cedric walks over and sits at the end of her bed, curiously peering at her. "So, which spell did you use for him, exactly?"

"Obliicum Foculsis," Cress replies easily. Her brother seems confused, so she adds, "It's basically a spell that helps with focus. Made it last year." She perks up, proud at herself. "There were more, too, they just didn't work as well as this one."

Cedric beams at her, also, seeming pleased with her. Cress smiles back madly, probably looking like a prison inmate, her hair wild and untamed on her head. Viktor nods again, for no reason. Her brother looks from her to the figure on the bed, then in a low voice, whispers, "Do not let Father find out that you used unregistered spells, Cress. I'm honestly surprised that the Ministry hasn't found out about this yet. That was a very dangerous thing you did, do you realize that?"

A groan slips past Cress's lips, and she contemplates on whether or not to take the pillow behind her and smother her brother with it. Here she thought he was over it, but it seems that he can't let go of his Disappointed Dad lecture that he had wanted to give her earlier. She settles for throwing her head back and staring at her ceiling in defeat.

"What did you even come in here for, Cedric?" she asks curiously instead of answering to his small speech.

"Oh," says Cedric as though he's remembering something, "Mum asked me to bring you down for lunch. She made your favorite."

Cress resists the urge to fling herself off the bed and run down the stairs so she can devour her mother's delicious clam chowder. It may be her favorite thing ever, but she knows what Blythe Diggory is doing and she is not having any of it. No amount of clam chowder is going to make Cress speak to her mother. Not when her mum betrayed her like that and forced her to spend her last few days as a free woman stuck in her dingy little room with nothing to do besides make herself a friend.

So, Cress pushes her hunger and desire down and says, "Not hungry, sorry."

"That's a lie," Cedric says, like he can hear her stomach with his giant ears. Axel said something about satellite dishes once... Cress has seen them, and boy, Cedric's are ten times that size.

"Yeah, it is," she concedes, because he raises a stupid eyebrow and she knows he did hear the grumble, the bitch.

"So, what's really going on? Because you've actually been holed up in your room for the past three days. You only come out to use the loo or get a snack—you don't even eat dinner with us anymore!" Cedric raises his hands up in exasperation, throwing himself back on her bed with them behind his head. "What's up, sister dearest? Tell big brother all your secrets." He snorts at himself (like he's funny)and she is reminded once more that he's the biggest idiot in the world, yet has the highest marks in his year.

Cress rolls her eyes. "Well," she responds, "if you must know, I'm protesting."

"Protesting?" Cedric sounds disbelieving. Cress doesn't care. "Protesting for what?"

"My freedom," Cress says simply. "I know Amos saw you out there too, know it, but the little git just wants to rat me out? Like what sense does that make? So I'm protesting for my freedom because I deserved a fair trial, and they didn't let me speak once, and now I'm mad."

"Yes, you are," her brother tells her, but she thinks he's referring to a different kind of mad. She pouts indignantly, wishing Scout were here so she could secretly send Axel a rant about how much her life sucks and how everyone in her family basically has it out for her. But, alas, Scout is with said best friend and hasn't returned since Cress sent her last letter to him. Cedric continues, "Nonetheless, I think Father did see us both out there and I admit, it wasn't fair for them to gang up on you like that. But you know Mum was just scared in the moment and a little angry, which is probably why she didn't really have to think about your punishment."

Cress bites her tongue, refusing to acknowledge the grin (grimace) on her mother's face when those hands wrapped around her waist—like maybe he squeezed a bit too hard. Cedric hadn't noticed, and she doesn't know how to say what she fears because fears are allegations, dearest Moon, Amos once said.

She refuses to say anything, even when Cedric looks imploringly at her, his grey eyes shining with wavering hope. "I know she wishes she could take it back, though. She seems really upset that you won't speak to her, too."

And, shit, if that doesn't send a pang through her heart. Cress hates when her mother is upset, because Blythe's smile is like the sun and when the woman is upset it's like the bright star has disappeared leaving nothing but darkness and sorrow in its departure. So, if Cedric is right and her mother is upset because she isn't speaking to her that just makes her feel like that worst child to ever have been born.

Cress peels herself off her bed, snatching tiny Viktor and taking him over to his little bed on her desk. She places him down and sends him a look that says, "Be good or else," and then turns to her brother. He is still sitting on her bed, one leg hanging off, and is staring at her expectantly. Cress says, "Well, come on. The clam chowder isn't going to eat itself."

Cedric gives her an illuminating smile and stands, running out of the door before she can even blink. Cress gives a disgruntled shout, chasing right after him. Her socks slip on the tiled floors of the kitchen and she almost face-plants into the ground, barely managing to catch herself in time. Cedric laughs, booming and joyous whilst Blythe, her long locks pulled back in a bandanna, scolds them.

"Kids, you know what I've said about running in the house." Her mum is by the stove, stirring a big pot of what smells like clam chowder. Cress watches her turn and give them a look from over her shoulder, but she's smiling so Cress thinks it's okay.

Walking up to stand next to her, Cress says, "Smells delicious, Mum. When's it gonna be done?" She snatches a biscuit from the plate laying on the counter and smacks Cedric hand away when he tried to grab one himself. He doesn't deserve one, the rotten bloke. He glares at her, but Cress isn't worried about it, too busy focusing on the chowder.

"Should be ready here in twenty minutes or so," her mum says, and Cress narrows her eyes at Cedric.

"You said it was done." Her tone is accusing as she points a finger in his direction. "Liar," she says when he holds his hands up in surrender and shrugs.

Cedric says, "Wanted to play Quidditch for awhile and try out the Wronski Feint, but knew you wouldn't come down unless it was for Mum." He's smirking smugly. Cress throws a biscuit at him and hates him even more when he catches it easily—without getting crumbs anywhere, too!—and chomps down on it.

"Mother, you raised a delinquent. A very cunning delinquent." Cress shakes her head, heart warming when she hears Blythe let out a chuckle. Cedric flounders at both of them, obviously very upset that they seem to be conspiring against them. Cress childishly sticks out her tongue.

"It would seem so," says Blythe, humored as she adds some salt into the chowder. She nudges her shoulder against Cress's. "He's a blasted little shit, isn't he?"

"Mother!" Cedric's voice is a whine, but Cress is howling with laughter now. She takes another nibble from her biscuit and snickers some more as Cedric rethinks ever bringing Cress down here.

Blythe shrugs. "Only telling the truth, Ced. If you can't handle the heat, then maybe it'd be best if you'd leave the kitchen. You do eat quite a lot of biscuits, anyway." Cress rages with laughter once more, her body shaking. Her mother, of all people, just made a pun. A fucking pun. This is the best thing that's ever happened to her.

"Why do I even bother?" Cedric frowns and turns to leave the room, but not without one last look at the biscuits. "I'm going to play Quidditch, if you don't mind. Have fun bonding over harsh words and bullying, you terrible, terrible people."

He walks out of the kitchen, but the door never slams, so Cress laughs softly, looking over her mother's shoulder like she did when she was a child with chair under her feet, Gadby by her side. He'd hold onto her with his wiry arms, because they both sucked with balance, and she'd snort and giggle when he's say, "Oh, Miss Cress, I fear we may fall."

Felt like one of those days, summer breeze drifting in through the window, utensils busy behind her mother, levitating and chopping things, moving around Cress as Blythe continues stirring. The only thing missing is Gadby, who she hasn't seen in so long. Truly, it's been years (weeks). She wants to ask, but Gadby deserves his privacy and plus, he'll come back when he wants. Sad as she is that she doesn't seem him a lot, she's glad that he's off doing... whatever he's doing.

With a click of her wooden spoon on the stoneware, Blythe pulls Cress away from her thoughts and asks, "Do you think he's really upset with us?"

Cress shakes her head, because even if her brother was angry, it wouldn't last long. He was never known to have a short temper. She tells her mother this, and Blythe nods understandingly then gives Cress a sidelong glance, and opens her mouth, almost hesitant. The spoon creaks in her hand.

"I'm sorry," Cress blurts out before she can really think about it, hating the way her mother's eyes gleam in the sun, like two puddles about to run over. "It was very rude of me to get angry with you for punishing me when I deserved it. I'm sorry, Mum."

Her voice is earnest and sincere and she really hates herself for being mad at her mum when she did nothing but what she thought was best—or well, what Amos thought was best. Cress saw the concern in her mother's eyes, felt the way her mother wanted to comfort and not scold, but of course—of fucking course—Amos saw nothing but a wrongdoing, something he could punish.

Git.

Blythe surprises her by laying the ladle she was stirring with down, wrapping her arms around Cress. She can feel her mother smiling in her hair as she plants a tiny kiss on her head. Cress wraps her own arms around Blythe's torso, gripping back just as tightly in hopes to convey her regret without words. They stand like that for a few moments before Blythe pulls back, giving Cress one of her sunshine smiles. Cress beams back, her heart light once more.

"I understand, and I was never mad at you, my love, ever," Blythe says softly, pushing a strand of Cress's knotted hair behind her ear. "It's okay, Crescent." Her grin is like a petal, soft and light, but she shoos Cress out of the kitchen with it, her laughter infectious. "And as much as I love you, and I do, truly, you should go enjoy the day. Go play Quidditch with Cedric and I'll call you both when lunch is ready, okay?"

Cress nods an affirmative, giving her mother one last smile; she'll ask, she promises herself, about her father, the grimace, the yellow fading on her wrist, but she can't today because her mother's eyes are puddles, and Cress hates puddles for so many reasons but mainly because Blythe can make a sea from a drop, and Cress will have to hurt someone if that happens.

Instead, she walks out to the backyard after a parting kiss on her mother's cheek, her own ire raising before the blue skies and a blazing sun, not a cloud to be seen anywhere, bring her to a level head, to where she can focus on playing and not on the man who seems to do everything but respect his family (sans Cedric, of course, the poor bloke). It's steaming out and birds chirp in the distant, and Cress is glad to be wearing a pair of denim shorts and a short sleeved shirt. She takes off her socks and slips on her (very hot) sandals sitting by the back door. Once she gets over the burning sensation of that, she walks towards the direction of the shed three yards away.

Once there, Cress pulls open the door and retrieves her Comet 260. It takes awhile, since it's shoved underneath a bunch of old storage and useless stuff that her parents never got rid of over the years. Cress winces when some of the clutter clambers to the floor with a thud. She leaves it there and swiftly closes the door to the shed, hopping on her broom and soaring into the sky.

Cress, although she used to dislike Quidditch with a passion, has always loved flying. Ever since she was young, she's loved mounting on a broomstick and gliding into a sky like some kind of bird. And at first, she had been a little mediocre at flying, had fallen off her broom on more than one occasion. But, now it was like she had wings herself and was flapping them as she soared through the summer sky.

She heads in Cedric's direction, feeling free and lively as her hair blows back in the cool breeze. A smile graces her face, a light sort of sensation running through her bones when she reaches her brother. Cedric gives her a small smirk, his own brunette hair flying around madly.

"Ready?" he asks, a teasing tone in his voice as he holds a makeshift Quaffle in his hand. The homemade Snitch is already soaring above them.

Cress smirks. "You're on."

As Cress plays her brother, she can't help but rejoice in this familiar scene; Cedric is here, playing with her like usual, the blue sky wide and glorious as it always is and Cress loves it. She admires the emerald grass that sways gently as the summer winds pick up pace; she admires the hummingbird that zooms past her face as she chases after the Snitch with a big grin plastered on her face; she admires the way Cedric helps her learn the Wronski Feint, taking her through each step patiently without getting annoyed. These are the moments that make Cress's life even more enjoyable. And sure, she will probably have to deal with Amos's mouth (she's supposed to stay in the confines of her room with no fun or human interactions whatsoever, yada yada, she doesn't care) when he returns from work later in the night. But right now it is just her and Cedric and nature and Cress feels like she's on cloud nine.

She flies past her bedroom window and sees tiny Viktor staring out of the window at her desk. Cress beams.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Normally, the day before a new school term starts (read: the day Cress contemplates on throwing herself off of her roof in hopes that she doesn't have to board the Hogwarts Express), Blythe wakes her up, gently and a little bittersweet like a honeysuckle in the spring.

Because Cress goes on a rampage that would scare even the Dark Lord's spirit, Blythe is the one who has to come into the beast's room. She knows this from experience because, one time, Cedric had to wake her up for some kind of appointment or something and Cress had had a bruised knee for almost a week because he had thought it would be hilarious to drag her—by the ankles—off her bed. (It wasn't and neither was the fact that Cress got punished because Cedric somehow ended up with a black eye that she had nothing to do with.)

So, basically, Blythe wakes Cress up like she's something delicate and pure and Cress just happens to relish the days her mother wakes her up; it means that she's home, enjoying holiday or break and doesn't have to rely on herself to wake up in the morning just so she can be on time for classes. Because honestly, Cress almost always manages to get up later than what she's supposed to and it kind of sucks since Snape always gives her detention for being tardy to lessons. (Fortunately, she's gotten a lot better at waking up when the sun comes up, which means she's received less detentions over the years.)

Today, however, it seems as though Blythe has decided to change up her methods, because said mother does not come wake Cress up in a bittersweet manner that makes Cress wish for an instant death rather than the slow, torturous one she stars with that morning. The blonde is woken rather forcefully, the air getting knocked out of her lungs when a heavy weight lands on her stomach. When she hears a loud screech, she instantly knows who it is.

Her eyes pop open, alert, as she curls in on herself, trying to take deep breaths. Dammit, that hurt. Her stomach feels like it has been meshed into her arteries or whatever's located near them. Cress squeezes her eyes shut and tries to avert her attention from where Gadby is jumping wildly on her bed in favor of listening to the rain outside. It is going to be one of those days, she supposes. Cress can feel annoyance boiling up into her system and she knows a headache will be approaching soon.

Gadby is still jumping up and down on her bed when Cress finally gets herself under control. The tiny elf looks absolutely delighted at the fact that he's in her room right now, hopping on her bed like some kind of rabbit and she takes a second to contemplate whether or not she wants to smother him or herself with her pillow.

But then he turns his giant brown eyes her way, and says, "Gadby is happy to wake up Miss Cress! Gadby has missed Miss Cress!" and she forgets all about her irritation and is just joyous in the fact that he's here—he has been gone for almost a week now.

If anyone ever asks Cress how the Diggorys obtained Gadby, she's going to take a moment to feel bad for the person for inquiring her on such a thing (she becomes really vocal when talking about the subject) then she's going to dive right into the fateful backstory of how Crescent Diggory found Gadby the house elf.

But, to make a long story short, Cress had found Gadby in the woods, injured but alive and took him home where Blythe had patched him up. Then, Cress had demanded that he stay with them, as a member of the family and not as a house elf because she didn't want him to be treated that way anymore. For the most part, everyone agreed, except for Amos (of course). He had spit all of this bullshit out about how house elves like what they do and do not wish to be treated like a human, but Cress had yelled and him and Cedric had quietly argued back and the discussion was over after that because Amos has never been able to argue back to Cedric, no matter the circumstances. Gadby was apart of the family after that, getting paid three Galleons every week for cleaning around the house during the school term whilst Blythe was busy with her job.

However, even though the elf doesn't usually clean during the summer, Gadby hadn't really been around this break. Which is okay, Cress knows he has a life of his own, but it's also weird because Cress has no clue what the elf has been up to. Especially on those three days where he disappeared into thin air.

(Cress had went to his room to pay him a visit in hopes he'd save her from her boredom. But just as she turned the knob to enter, the familiar crack of Disapparation sounded through the room and Gadby was gone. Cress was miserable.)

So, to have him waking her up is both a blessing and a curse because it means that Gadby is back and safe, but it also means Cress is going to have about three more bruises on top of the fading ones from the Quidditch World Cup. She supposes it's worth it, though, since Gadby is smiling like he ate too many Chocolate Frogs (his favorite snack). He's practically beaming, Cress notices, as he jumps on her bed rambunctiously; she cracks a tiny grin.

"I missed you, too, Gads," she says earnestly. Gadby's topaz eyes all but twinkle as he squeals, throwing himself at Cress. She catches him with a surprised laugh, letting the elf wrap his arms around her neck. Cress wheezes out a breath when Gadby squeezes a little too heartily, pushing him slightly away. "Stronger than you look, Gads," she reminds him, because he is. He might look like a twig that's about to snap, but Merlin, Gadby can crush someone in a hug.

"Gadby is sorry, Miss Cress," he says but is still smiling. Cress sits up on her bed, letting the covers pool around her waist as she looks outside. Rain patters against her window noisily and she can see tiny Viktor staring out of the window in a certain kind of fascination. She grins, the pounding in her head residing somewhat. "Gadby has come to retrieve Miss Cress! Miss Blythe asks Gadby to get Miss Cress and Gadby listened!" Cress turns her attention Gadby and nods once.

She says, "Thanks for coming to wake me up, Gads." And she means it, truly. Gadby nods eagerly and Cress shoves the duvet off her, shivering when her bare legs meet the cool air. She wipes the remaining sleep out of her eyes and walks over to her closet, yawning with a hand over her mouth. "By the way," she glances at Gadby over her shoulder, "where have you been?"

"Gadby is helping people!" he responds excitedly. Cress glances back from where she's taking a sweater off a hanger to see him grinning again. "Gadby hears that people need help so Gadby helps!"

Cress nods, dropping the subject because it really isn't her business what Gadby got up to in his free time. Plus, if he is leaving often, Blythe has to know; Gadby tells the woman everything he does. She just grabs a pair of jeans, a camisole to go under her blue sweater, and some boots to slip on. After she shoos Gadby out of her room, she puts her attire on, knotting her boot laces up and standing up from her crouching position when she's done.

Her trunk sits in the corner of her room, dusty and unopened. Cress stares (glares) at it, wishing for like the hundredth time that it'd just disappear so she won't have to go to Hogwarts this year. It's not that she doesn't want to go, per say... no actually, it's exactly that. She doesn't want to go back, at all. Because going back means she's in her fifth year which means those stupid exams that basically make or break your whole future with one letter: the O.W.L.s. And Cress hasn't studied for, like, any of them. Except maybe Charms but Charms doesn't count because she always studies Charms.

So, what Cress is basically saying—she's completely and royally fucked this term.

As the rain continues itas downfall, Cress contemplates throwing herself off the roof (a common thought on days like this). She sits on the edge of her bed for Merlin knows how long before a knock echoes through the room. Cedric pops his head in not even two seconds later, a too bright smile on face. It falters the slightest when he catches sight of Cress, who is still just staring at her trunk as though it's the bane of her existence.

"Cress?" Cedric says, coming to stand beside her. His voice is hesitant, cautious, like he's approaching a wild hippogriff. "What're you doing, sis?"

Cress shrugs. "Contemplating on whether or not I should throw myself or my trunk out the window."

"Ah," says Cedric, and now he sounds humored rather than apprehensive. Cress frowns and turns to him. He's got a hand over his mouth as though he's trying to contain his snickers. Cress hates him.

"I truly don't see why people think you're so nice. You're the biggest arsehole to walk this earth," Cress tell him then walks towards her trunk, reluctantly picking it up and dragging it across the wooden floor. She ignores the scraping sounds it makes and reaches for the bag on her desk.

Cedric says, "M'not an arsehole, Cress. Stop being grumpy. We go back to school today!"

"Hence the grumpiness." Cress rolls her eyes, and almost launches Viktor across the room when he refuses to get in the bag. She crouches down to his eye level. "Either you get in the bag or I force you in there, got it?" Viktor huffs out a breath, but to Cress's relief the little shit hops in the bag without question. "Fucking right, you little prick." She closes the bag roughly and turns back to Cedric. He's staring at her as though she's absolutely lost her mind and Cress honestly thinks that may be true.

"Cress," he starts in that nasty, understanding voice of his, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing?" Cress says it more like a question as she raises a brow at her brother. She drags the trunk over to where her empty cage is. Silently, she takes a minute to pray that Scout is either safe with Axel or safe at Hogwarts because she honestly has no clue where that bird may be. Cress hoists the cage into her arm and almost cries when she loses her balance. The cage tumbles to the floor in a mess of bird droppings and food and her trunk follows suit. "For the love of—" Cress cuts herself off, looks out the window and contemplates drowning herself in a puddle out there.

Cedric has other plans, of course. He picks up the trunk and cage, first of all, handing Cress the cage and keeping the trunk for himself. He frowns at Cress again. "You seemed stress," he states. "And we haven't even started the first day of term yet. Usually you have a meltdown after then, but," he gives her a once over, "you're not looking too sharp right now."

Cress deadpans, "You're honestly the best at comforting. I think you should really tell that to Cho, Ced, really. She'll love it." She huffs and tightens her grip on both her bag and cage as she turns to walk out of the room. She pointedly ignores Cedric's squawk from behind her and has a hand on the knob when his hand touches her shoulder.

"Is it because you're going into your fifth year? Because of the O.W.L.s?" Cedric's voice is incredibly soft and understanding, but Cress tenses anyway because she hates the fact that he figured it out just by the way she acted. He adds, "They're not as terrible as everyone makes them out to be. I even managed to pass all of mine with Outstanding's."

Cress already knows this because one, Amos wouldn't shut up for like a five days after Cedric's results came in, and two, it's basically expected since her brother is literally the most talented person she knows. Which, okay, she might be a little biased since it's her brother, but he truly is one of the most intelligent people she knows. She doesn't tell him that (will never tell him that, thank you very much), because she really doesn't need his ego to grow anymore. Cedric, even though he's modest about it, can be very arrogant when he wants to be.

But really, all arrogance aside, he's probably got a point and Cress is probably just over exaggerating everything like she always does. Term hasn't even started, as Cedric had mentioned earlier, so really, Cress shouldn't start worrying about O.W.L.s until the week before, really.

"You're right, Ced." Cress gives him a radiant beam of a smile. "I shouldn't even worry about those stupid exams, honestly. And I won't. No point on wasting time on something as irrelevant as the O.W.L.s, am I right?"

Cress asks rhetorically, but Cedric shakes his head in exasperation anyway.

"That's not exactly what I meant. . ."

"Yep! No worrying for me! I'll just wing each and every exam I take and hope for the best! I'm pretty sure that's what Fred did anyway and look"

Cedric looks majorly concerned for Cress mental health right now, so she smiles one last time, cheerful and bright and exits the room. She pushes the O.W.L.s to the back of her mind, locking them away in the deepest part so she can't agonize over them anymore. Now, she can focus on seeing her best friend for the first time since last term ended. The thought of reuniting with him washes away every doubt or worry she had. She beams again.

Gadby is downstairs, causing a commotion in the living room, when Cress enters. She sets her cage down by the love seat and throws her bag right beside it. Cedric follows suit and places her trunk down beside the cage. Cress can see his own trunk resting beside the armchair that Blythe currently sits i, knitting some kind of hat or something. Cress couldn't make it out from where she was standing.

Blythe glances up, smiling. "Good morning, Cress."

"Morning, Mum." Cress walks over to the armchair and kisses her mother's head, snatching a glance at her mum's current work whilst she's at it. It's a sweater, dark green and probably for Gadby. Cress loves it. "Is Amos at work then?"

"Cress, please," Blythe scolds Cress, but she just shrugs; she refuses to call Amos anything but his given name. Blythe should know this by now. "But yes, he's at work. Had to go in early because something happened. Apparently Mad-Eye Moody claimed to be attacked last night. I don't know much about it, though. He was keeping a tight lid on it."

Cress hums, acknowledging her mother's words. Everyone who was anyone knew about Mad-Eye Moody which means that they also know that for something like this to happen is not unusual. After all, his nickname had to have been derived from something.

"Where's Scout?" Blythe asks after a moment's silence.

"Dunno." Cress shrugs then heads towards the kitchen so she can grab a snack. Considering the time, she probably can't make a bowl of cereal, so it looks like a pack of crackers will have to suffice her until the trolley passes by on the train later. "I sent her with a letter to Axel like a month ago and she hasn't returned, so I'm going to assume he's been taking care of her and just sent her to the school or that she's been murdered by a pack of bears."

"Cress!" Blythe's tone is surprised and the exclamation is followed by a loud gasp. Cress isn't at all shocked to see a hand on her mum's chest when she returns to the living room, chomping on her crackers. Cedric sends her a look, deadpan, whilst Gadby holds out a hand for one. Cress tosses him one and takes a seat beside Cedric on the love seat, focusing back on her mother.

"Mother," she drawls out, "I'm just being realistic. If Scout's not with Axel or at the school, she's probably dead." And it's not like she's alright with the fact that her owl might be gone, it's just that it's easier to talk about it in with an effortless tone than to get all choked up about it. She can save the tears for when she's alone because no one needs to see her weep over her animal companion. At least, that's what Cress tells herself when she worries a little too much about Scout.

"Well," Blythe says suggestively, "why don't you call Axel real fast and if he hasn't left, ask him if he's sent her to Hogwarts already?"

Cress groans, slumping further down into her seat. She nudges Cedric.

"You do it," she whines, crumbs flying out of her mouth with ever word.

"No, Scout's your owl," he argues back, a scoff falling from his dumb, idiot mouth, and Cress scoffs.

"She belongs to both of us, you tosser," she says, sending her mum an apologetic smile when Blythe sharply calls her name. "Sorry, Mum."

Cedric mumbles, a pout evident in his voice, "Sure. If she were both of ours then I would have had a say in what we named her." He's got both arms folded across his chest like some kind of child that didn't get what they wanted, and Cress rolls her eyes, because really? Cedric is holding onto the past, after all these years?

"Cedric, you're kidding right?" she asks incredulously. "You're still upset about that? It was like, what, four years ago?" And it was. Cress had gotten Scout, her precious tawny owl, when she had went shopping for her Hogwarts supplies. Blythe had taken her to Eeylops Owl Emporium while Cedric and Amos went shopping for Quidditch supplies and told Cress to pick out any owl she liked, that it was her birthday present since she had just turned eleven. Cress had smiled and went around hunting, feeling more and more discouraged when the owl either seemed to not like her or just didn't fit her tastes. She had been about to call it quits, to ask for a cat or something instead, but then she had stopped dead in her tracks.

Back, like way, way back, in a large cage that had held a litter of almost grown tawny owls and their mother was a smaller, more reserved one. It had obviously been the runt of the group, shunned off to the side because of its tiny size and Cress has never been more in love. Its big brown eyes had bored into Cress, and she almost wrenched the cage doors open herself just to get to the beauty. But alas, she had had to wait and when the clerk came over she pointed at the smallish owl in the back.

"Are you sure, honey?" the kind lady had asked hesitantly, grimacing at Cress' choice. "This is the only owl that hasn't been able to fly yet. She's probably not going to be of any use to you. Perhaps it'd be best for you to take one of the others."

But Cress hadn't cared, she just wanted the owl, despite the fact that it was a little bit on the tiny side. So, she nodded and her whole body shook with the effort back then, and then she exclaimed that she would take the runt and only the runt. Blythe had just shaken head when the clerk turned towards her. And that was that.

Cress had been so excited to show Cedric, to tell him that they had an owl now, and hopefully she could get him to smile since he had recently been down due to the death of his own pet. And it had worked for the most part; Cedric had grinned, wide and contagious, petting the smallish owl in her cage, commenting on how cute she was. It was all fun and games until Cedric suggested a name for her.

"What about Princess. . . Hooty?" Cedric had spoken as they walked down the sidewalks of Diagon Alley, licking an ice cream cone. He had laughed after the (terrible) suggestion. "Ha! Get it? Hoot-y?"

And Cress had never been more disgusted or unamused in her life. She had stared at him for a long moment and then said, "No."

"But why?" he had whined, pouting into his banana mint cone. Cress licked at her own vanilla one. "You said we were sharing her, right? Doesn't that mean I get a say in the name?"

"Not if you're going to give her the worst name in history, Ced. Just like your cat; Sir Shakespurr?"

"Hey! What's wrong with that name?"

Cress had given him a look (the look) and shaken her head. "What's right with the name? Listen, while Shakespeare might be an amazing writer, you're ruining these animals lives with your puns, and you need to be stopped. So, no, you're not allowed to help me pick out a name," she had stated, ignoring Cedric's put out look. "Besides," she continued, glancing back at the owl her mother had carried for her, "I've already decided on a name for her."

Cedric, begrudgingly, asked, "And what's that?"

"Scout."

And Cedric had spluttered indignantly for about an hour after, but the point is, the whole incident happened a long time ago and basically, Cedric needs to learn to let things go. Because, really, Cress had saved Scout from an embarrassing life of having a pun in her name. So, really, Cedric should be thanking her for not letting him name her (their) owl something as foolish as that.

"We still could have compromised." Cedric sighs out, and gets up, ending the conversation. Cress watches him go, smirking when she hears him pick up the phone and push a few buttons on it.

She hears him mutter a few words, slam the telephone back down before storming back into the living room. He says, "Scout's with Axel, or so his mother says. Axel's already on his way to the station and therefore, couldn't come to the phone," he adds when Cress gives him a confused glare.

Cress basically trips over herself in an attempt to get off the couch. Her limbs flail as she reaches for her belongings, almost face planting into the hardwood floors as she grasps her trunk and bag. She looks at her mother. "Mum. We've got to go. Like now." And yeah, sure, maybe she's rushing them because it's only ten fifteen and it literally takes them about ten minutes to reach King's Cross, even with traffic. But Axel is on his way there right now and Cress has really, really missed him. There are no words to describe how much she has missed her best friend.

Blythe gives Cress an odd stare, but Cress is too busy throwing her rain coat over herself and covering her hair with the hood. She turns back to her family afterwards, her trunk and cage at her feet, placed awkwardly on the floor. "Well, come on," she ushers them up, "sitting on our arses isn't going to get us to the Station any time sooner, you know?"

"Crescent!" her mother scolds once more and really, Cress should know better. She does. It's just—she doesn't care.

She sends her mother a mischievous grin and walks out to the very Muggle car that is not magic at all. Seriously there isn't a trace of magic in it. It always blows Cress's mind thinking about it. Like, how is there a way of transportation that doesn't use magic? It's so uncanny.

But, she isn't going to lie, this car is a blessing to her. Not only does it help her get to and from King's Cross Station without all that Apparation hassle, but her mother also promised her that she could drive it when she was old enough to get something called a diver's essence? Sign her the fuck up.

The rain is heavy and relentless when Cress walks out and she curses everyone because one) she doesn't have the fucking keys to get in the car and two) she doesn't have the fucking keys. Which means she's stuck out here until Blythe comes with the keys so she can put her stuff in the trunk and pout over her soiled clothing in the car. What a wonderful day it is, she rolls her eyes just as Cedric comes out looking very smug, a giant grin on his face as he hauls his own supplies out.

He flings out a pair of keys when he reaches her and Cress sneers. "Wipe that nasty look off your face, wanker. And open the trunk."

"Oh, pushy." Cedric smirks but does as he is told, Cress basically throwing her trunk into the enchanted trunk of their '73 Impala.

Cress snatches the keys off Cedric when she's done and unlocks the car, hopping in the backseat, almost dying with excitement and anticipation at the thought of seeing Axel. She is basically vibrating with eagerness to get to the station, and Blythe has to scold her three times on the way there before she finally calms down.

When King's Cross Station is finally in her view, Cress feels as though she may go a little ballistic.

⋆˚࿔

King's Cross Station is a bustling place, packed to the brim with Muggles and wizards alike. Outside, the rain continues to pour over the city, and Cress walks through the doors, pulling her trunk and cage with her. Her bag is slung over her shoulder, as usual, and she makes her way over to a cart, slamming her heavy as fuck trunk on there and placing the cage on top.

Cedric says, "Literally, you'll see Axel in a few minutes. It's not that serious."

But Cress doesn't expect him to understand. What would he know about being kept from your best friend for the whole summer? Absolutely fucking nothing is what. He saw Hamlin, all those other gits he calls friends and got to play Quidditch! She got tiny Viktor, so she frowns and resolutely ignores him.

Blythe leads them through the crowd quietly but surely. Cress can see people turn their heads to get a glance at her, and she grins. Her mother has always been a person who can get all the attention they want without even knowing it. Blythe, for the most part, acts ignorant to these suggestive glances even when Cress teases her about it.

They reach platforms nine and ten, and Cedric makes his run first. Cress watches him slowly walk then pick up pace until he was steadily jogging through the brick wall between the platforms. She follows suit eagerly.

The Hogwarts Express always manages to make Cress breathless. She can't help it. It's such a majestic piece of machinery. With its gleaming red exterior and its soothing whistle that always makes Cress feel as though she's ten again, boarding the train for the first time. She loves it and when she sees it sitting there, steam coming from the top of it as it normally does, she smiles, big and bright and can't wait to get back to school.

Families are scattered everywhere, and Cress smiles widely as she shuffles through them. She can see old students returning and new ones that will be boarding the train for the first time. Cress can tell that most of them are nervous and wonder if any of them have siblings who have told them any kind of rubbish about Hogwarts. She's betting all of her allowance that's the case for some of them. She doesn't voice this to Cedric, though, because the last time she tried to make a bet with her brother she ended up losing every Galleon she had and she doesn't really fancy repeating history, if she is honest.

Cress's eyes scan the platform for anyone that resembles Axel. She thinks she sees him once and grins wide and happy only to find out that it is just another fifth year chatting with his own family before boarding the train. Cress frowns. Where in the bloody hell is her best friend?

She shuffles through the crowd and just decides to get on the Hogwarts Express because if he isn't out here, he has probably already taken claim of their usual compartment. Cress hears an agitated hoot and perks up once more. That sounds just like Scout's hoot, all nervous and twittery.

Swiveling around, Cress searches for the source of the noise and found, not Scout, but a soaked Ron Weasley shuffling through the crowd with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. It is his owl making all the noise, along with the many other owls hooting about as though they have no manners. Cress huffs and turns away, dismissing the fact that yes, Fred Weasley is probably going to show up soon, but no she doesn't have time to see his glorious face. Her eyes scan for Axel once more.

"Oi, Mo!" someone yells. Cress feels a sense of hope surge in her; it's Axel, it's got to be. He's the only one who calls her that. "MO!" they scream again and Cress cranes her neck to see Axel at the compartment entrance—the one they usually use--with his hand raised in a wave and a bright smirk on his face.

Cress takes off, almost losing her trunk once or twice in the process, but nonetheless making it over to her best friend. She lunges into his arms, attaching herself to him like some sort of koala. Axel laughs and hugs her back, resting a hand in her hair.

As Cress grips onto her best friend, she realizes a couple things. One, he is fucking tall. Like, so tall, almost as tall as Cedric probably.

Second, he's gotten leaner, his muscles more refined than usual. The shirt he had taken with him, the one that had been loose on him before he left, now stretched over the muscles he was never supposed to have. Cress is sure her mouth would gape had it not been for number three:

He smells like the fucking beach. Gross.

"You smell fucking terrible, Ax," says Cress when she pulls away. She scrunches up her nose in distaste and goes to lug her stuff up onto the train, Axel assisting her.

Axel says, "Haha. Fuck you. I spent the whole summer on the west coast of the United States, soaking up that Vitamin D. I'm tan now, you albino bitch." And boy was he. Cress hadn't noticed it before but Axel is about three shades darker than usual. It makes his vibrant blue eyes stand out so much more. She gapes.

"How the shit?" Cress is still gaping when they arrive at their usual compartment. She opens the door and tosses her trunk and cage in, not bothering to stuff it up top since they're the only two that sit in there. Cress sees Scout sitting in a cage on one of the benches and she smiles, cooing to her tiny owl. Scouts hoots back. Axel gags.

"Shut the fuck up, you wanker." Cress rolls her eyes and tugs at his wrist and leads him to the exit. "Also, don't call me an albino bitch again or you don't get your present."

Axel perks up. "I'll call you whatever the fuck I want, Mo. Besides, you totally owe me that present since you basically ditched me to go to a Quidditch match."

"Oh for the love of—" Cress huffs out, indignant. "Let's get one thing straight, Ax. I didn't ditch you. I blatantly invited you to come and you know what you said? Do you? You said—"

"Okay, no need for quotes, Mo. God, sometimes I hate how you can remember everything I say." Axel scoffs and runs his fingers through his dark as night hair.

Cress smirks, smug as ever, as they walk towards Cedric and Blythe. Axel takes off when they're closer, throwing himself onto Blythe in a tight embrace. Cress catches up to him and tries yanking him off because hello, Blythe is her mother, and she deserves to hug her before Axel.

"Back off, Mo." Axel slaps her hands away. "It's my time to shine."

Blythe, the traitor, laughs wholeheartedly whilst Cress just stares, feeling betrayed and abused. She huffs and Cedric snickers. Fucking asshole. She swats him in the side, and he grunts, clutching his ribs. Cress whistles a random tune when he glares at her.

"Mother," Cress says when Axel refuses to let Blythe go, "I am almost eighty percent sure the train is about to depart and if you don't mind, I would love to bid you goodbye."

With another laugh, Blythe gently pushes Axel away until he's standing on his own now. She opens her arms for Cress and she basically runs into them—sticking her tongue out at Axel as she does.

Blythe is warm and soft, radiating a comfort that Cress always enjoys. She entangles her arms around her mother's waist, burying her nose into the scent of baked cookies and herbal tea. Cress takes it all in, trying to store it all in her brain so she doesn't forget this moment, or her mother's scent. By now, she knows she's probably tearing up, but truthfully she can't help it; she is a mummy's girl through and through.

When the horn on the Hogwarts Express blows, Cress manages to pull herself away. She sniffles once, twice, thrice and Blythe gives her a tiny smile.

"Be good," her mother says softly. "And make sure to take care of those dress robes, please."

"Dress robes?" Cress asks, tilting her head in confusion. "What would I need dress robes for?"

Blythe, however, doesn't answer. She sends Cress an enigmatic wink before shooing her off to the train. Cress wants to stay and ask her mother what the fuck she's talking about but she knows if she holds off any longer she'll miss it and Helga knows she doesn't want that to happen. So, she turns around and high tails it to the Hogwarts Express, following Axel into the compartment.

Cress looks out the window and sees her mother's blond hair billowing in the wind left over from the Hogwarts Express. She gives a sad smile and waves her mother a goodbye, blowing her a kiss when Blythe sends her one.

Once the train is truly away from civilization, Cress slumps down in the seat and says, "Axel, do you have any idea as to what I'll need dress robes for? Do you think we all need them? Was it on our list? Because I didn't do my shopping this year, Mum did. Oh, Merlin's tits."

Axel says, "Dunno. Don't really care. But if it makes you feel better then yes I, too, had to purchase dress robes. It was horrendous, honestly." He kicks his feet up and lays down on the seat, making himself comfortable. He stares at Cress expectantly. "Now, give me my present."

Oh, yeah. His present. Cress totally forgot about that. She reaches for her bag and stuffs a hand in there, reaching for the tiny Viktor. She snags him by the foot and drags him up and into the compartment. As usual, the little bastard looks grumpy and completely done and Cress rolls her eyes before muttering, "Be good," and showing him to Axel.

Axel, who is staring at the tiny being with fascinated eyes. His mouth opens and closes, and Cress assumes he's struggling with his words. She holds her hand out to him and, with careful hands, Axel reaches out and holds onto the action figure.

"Holy fuck," he says breathless and Cress bites her lip, feeling her cheeks heat up. She isn't too sure whether he's happy with the gift or disappointed. After all, she doesn't have millions of dollars to spend on him like he does her.

Hesitantly, Cress asks, "Do-Do you like it?" She sees Axel jerk his head over to stare her dead in the eyes and Cress feels highly uncomfortable with those piercing blue eyes peering into her own.

"Do I like it?!" he repeats incredulously. "Fucking hell, I love it! This is the best thing anyone could have ever given me! Look!" He points to Viktor, who is staring up at Axel with what seems to be wide eyes. "Look how fucking cute he is! I'm in fucking love, bloody hell! Thank you so much, Mo."

Cress grins, feeling lighter than she did a few moments ago. If Axel likes it, that's all that matters. She continues watching the two interact, Axel talking to the tiny Viktor as though he's a real person. Scout hoots a few times, and Cress feeds her some treats that were in her bag to hush up her pet.

"Mo! Look, Mo!" exclaims Axel after a few minutes. Cress turns her head away from the window to stare at him. He says, "I think he's smiling at me! Bloody hell, he is!"

Sure enough, tiny Viktor's lips were tilted slightly upwards, a small smile. Cress squawks, loud and indignant, pointing an accusing finger that the arsehole.

"How come you never smiled for me?! After all I've done for you!"

Viktor looks perturbed, bemused to say the least, and Axel smirks, victorious. Cress huffs and turns away, feeling betrayed for the second time today. First her mother and now tiny Viktor, who she basically made? The world has it out for her, she just knows it.

"So," Axel speaks up, "tell me what went down at the Quidditch World Cup? And don't leave out any details."

Cress beams, happy to divulge into those past few days - minus the whole Dark mark in the sky ordeal that could stay there, thank you very much. Basically, she just wants to tell him about how Fred Weasley blessed her whole life and then saved her on the very night it happened. Oh, glorious, perilous times, indeed.

"Well," Cress says, making herself comfortable. The rains patters against the window in a steady rhythm. Cress continues, "There was this Portkey. . ."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Axel gapes at Cress. She tries not to fidget too much under his intense gaze, but so far she's had no luck. When Axel stares at someone with those piercing sapphire eyes, it's hard not to fidget. She frowns, snaps, "Well—say something!"

Her best friend shakes his head as though coming out of a trance. "I wish you'd give me more time to process things, Mo. You can't just spill something like that on someone and expect them to react right away." His lips turn down. Cress can see the tiny Viktor poking out of his school robes. She rolls her eyes.

"I gave you, like, three minutes to take it all in, Ax. That's more than enough time," Cress argues.

Axel scoffs. "I beg to differ. You just told me how supposedly You-Know-Who's followers were at the Quidditch Cup, and they shot his signal up in the air like they were signaling for Batman or something! It's unnerving and I deserve time to collect myself."

Cress doesn't even want to know what the hell a 'batman' is. She just sighs out and replies, "Okay, you've collected yourself. Please stop gaping now."

"Not gaping," Axel says. He throws his feet up onto the bench, laying down. Cress crosses her legs and stares at him. "But, I have a question."

"What?" she asks.

"Did Viktor get hurt?"

Dead silence.

Cress stares at Axel like he has grown two heads in the past three seconds. Her eyebrows furrow and she tries not to be too offended that her best friend is more worried about a famous Quidditch player that he doesn't even know than his own best friend. Like, really, she just spilled the beans about how she was trampled into the ground multiple times by over one hundred people (probably) and all he has to say is, Did Viktor get hurt? She takes the copy of Moby Dick that Axel let her borrow and throws it at said arsehole.

It smacks him in the face.

"Ow!" Axel clutches his forehead as the book falls to the floor with a thump. He glares at her. "What the hell was that for?!"

Cress narrows her eyes. "You know what that was for, fucking twat," she says. "I could have died and you care about some Quidditch player over me? I'm trying so hard not to be offended right now."

"For the love of—" Axel rolls his eyes. He gives Cress an exasperated look. "Obviously, I'm not fucking worried about you, Mo. You're right in front of me, perfectly fine. Probably sore because your skinny arse got pounded into the ground, but still fine. But Viktor isn't in front of me. He's off in Bulgaria, probably injured and struggling to make it through the day. Also he's not just a Quidditch player, he's my future husband, Crescent Diggory. Husband."

Instead of responding to Axel, Cress pulls out a notebook and flips it open to the first blank page. She takes a ballpoint pen and marks a tally in it. "Oh, don't mind me. I've just decided to document each moment you call Viktor Krum your future husband, is all, starting now. I could have more, but we don't want to run out of ink right?" she says when Axel sends her a confused glare. "Also, best friends still ask best friends if they're okay, fuckwad. You totally lose points for this."

"You are the most pettiest person I've ever met in my entire life." Axel scoffs, tiny Viktor coming out of his pocket to sit on his flat chest. Cress notes, with a hint of jealousy, that the figurine seems to enjoy Axel's presence more than her own. "I was going to ask you if you were okay, by the way." Cress sends him a look. Axel looks affronted. "What? I was! After I made sure Viktor was okay. . ."

Rolling her eyes, Cress drops the subject. She decides it's nothing to fuss over—even though Axel is still losing major best friend points for this—and that Axel, in his own, idiotic way was going to show his concern. She doesn't really feel like berating him for it, either, because she knows how he gets with his obsessions. It is like his obsession with Elvis Presley, some Muggle singer who Cress doesn't give two shits about but apparently Axel devotes his whole life to. Like, it is honestly so bad that he even named his cat, Siamese and the most loving thing you could ever meet, after the famous man.

Axel doesn't have many obsessions is the thing. For so long, he has only been obsessed with two things: astronomy and Elvis Presley. That's all. Sure, he had some likes and hobbies and all that jazz, but it was never like the infatuation he had with those two objects.

Which was why, when Axel came up to Cress one day and went on and on about how he was just in love with Viktor Krum's bushy eyebrows, she knew her friend had another thing he adored like he did astronomy. So, Cress does her best to support him in everything he loves. Because, sometimes, Axel would trail off in his rants about Elvis and stars and space, looking forlorn and insecure, and Cress never wants to see that expression on her best friend's face. Ever.

"Hey," she speaks up, glancing around the compartment, "where's Elvis?"

"Oh." Axel takes a bite out of some kind candy, giving a crumb to little Krum. "I shoved him in another compartment. He's been really moody lately, I dunno."

Cress takes a moment to feel offended for Elvis's sake. Poor cat. Doesn't deserve a terrible owner like Axel. She stands up and reaches for her bundled up uniform on the bench. Axel questioningly stares at her.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To find your cat and give him the love he deserves." Cress walks over to the compartment door and opens it. The hallway is empty, people holed up in their respected compartments. She pokes her head back into the room. "Where exactly is Elvis?" Axel shrugs and Cress willfully holds herself back from punching him in the throat.

"I think I put him in a compartment a little ways down. I dunno." He shrugged again, patting the tiny Viktor's head. "I don't remember, dumbarse. So, please do us both a favor and get out of my face. Your beady little eyes creep me out."

Cress officially hates her life (and Axel). She doesn't respond to him, only slams the compartment door shut with a huff, curling her arm around her uniform and heading towards the direction she think Elvis could be. As she heads down the empty hallway, she reaches a finger up to poke at her eye. They're not beady. . . are they? She pouts indignantly. What a best friend she had.

The hallway she's in is quiet and empty but Cress can hear people talking and laughing in their respected compartments. She keeps marching on and strains her ears for any noise that might lead her to Elvis and his whereabouts. She thinks she might be getting close when she hears a commotion from a few feet ahead of her.

"Oi, what the fuck is this?!" The person is shouting in distress, and Cress just knows that Elvis is with that person. "Oh my fuck—it's trying to claw out my eyes, mate!"

She walks towards the noise and almost tosses herself off of the train when she sees who it is that is dealing with the ferocious feline. Lee Jordan is in a compartment near the end of the hallway, and Elvis is on his lap, hissing and scratching at him angrily. George and Fred Weasley are sitting across from him, laughing what seems to be their arses off. She doesn't think she's ever seen either of them so red before.

"Hands off of the precious angel, Jordan!" she exclaims, walking into their compartment with no shame whatsoever and placing her uniform on the bench next to the twins. She ignores the fact that her heart might have stopped beating in favor of reaching towards Elvis, who perked up at the sound of her voice, halting his violence with Lee. "Hi, baby," she coos at him, crouching down and holding her hand out for him.

Elvis stares at her with his big, sapphire crystalline eyes, and Cress tries not to melt when he nuzzles into her, purring loudly. "That's it. . ." She picks him up and nuzzles his face with hers. "That's a good boy. You're a good boy." She pets him lovingly and knows that she has never loved any animal (except Scout) more than Elvis.

Cress notices how quiet the compartment has gotten and glares at Lee. "What did you do to this angel, Jordan?!"

"Me?!" Lee's incredulous and totally seems like he wants to hex Cress. Which—fair because she wants to do the same to him."The bloody thing jumped out of the ceiling basically and attacked me for no reason!"

"Sure," Cress drawls out with an eye roll. "Like this angel," —she nuzzles Elvis— "would ever get near you without reason."

"I am a victim," he defends. Cress calls bullshit.

Clutching Elvis closer to her, she says, "The only victim here is Elvis."

Lee looks at her like she's everything that is currently wrong with the world. Cress rolls her eyes because what does he know? He's just a fucking idiot who likes to push people into puddles of mud and then try and cover his tracks and say it was an "accident." Biggest crock of shit Cress has ever heard in her life. And to make matters worse, Lee makes it worse every time he sees her by calling her—

"Pud."

Cress despises everyone and everything. She wants the train to kindly stop for her so she can get out and lay on the tracks for it to run over her. She clenches her eyes shut because she's scared to see the look of amusement on not only Lee's but the twins' faces. Elvis paws at her mouth, and she smiles despite herself. She opens her eyes and glares at Lee.

"Can it with the nickname, Jordan." She is still crouched down beside him and she has to look up at him to see him. His dark eyes stare into hers.

"Well, see, no can do, sweet cheeks." Cress thinks this nickname might be worse. She fakes gagging and struggles to her feet, seeing stars when she is upright again.

She says, "Nope. Call me 'pud'. No pet names. Nope. Never. If I hear those words leave your mouth again I will not only kill you, but burn your collection of Quidditch players, too."

And Lee gets this kind of gleam in his eye and shares a glance with the twins. Cress knows mischief when she sees it, and she is usually never on the receiving end of it—except for when Lee pushed her into that wretched puddle, of course—so she is panicking. A little. Maybe a lot. She doesn't know. Can't really hear over the sound of her soul leaving her body.

"Speaking of Quidditch," Lee says suggestively. Cress frowns and glances at George and Fred, the former looking utterly pleased and the latter looking away. Great. They talked about her and about how she probably was a complete mess at the World Cup. Oh fuck, they probably talked about her terrible conversational skills and now wanted to make fun of her because what a dumb twat she is for trying to think she could ever have a normal conversation with someone as brilliant as Fred Weasley.

Cress turns to get her uniform. She refuses to have this conversation. Elvis is still purring in her arms and she reaches for the compartment door.

"Ah, ah, ah." Someone grips her shoulder and pulls her back. Cress winces slightly at the sliver of pain that shoots through her body. She was still a little sore from the whole fiasco plus Gadby's added bruises don't help lessen the pain. "Sorry." She turns around to see Lee giving her a small, apologetic smile. She shrugs his hand off.

Outside the rain pours and Cress says, "Listen, Jordan, I came to get the cat. Not to talk about Quidditch or whatever the hell you wanted to make fun of me for."

Lee holds a hand to his chest like he's offended. "Me? Make fun of you? I am offended that you would think so lowly of me!"

Cress rolls her eyes, and Elvis hisses at Lee like he is the bane of his existence. She laughs. Lee has his eyes narrowed.

"Your cat is the devil."

"Not my cat. What do you want, Jordan?"

"Why is it I always have to want something when I talk to you?" Lee asks, outraged. He throws his hands up for emphasis. "I mean, I see you in the hallways and say hello because I am a nice chap who is friendly with everyone and you just glare at me. Every time."

"You pushed me in a fucking puddle." Cress gives Lee a deadpan look, and he has the audacity to look sheepish.

"That was so long ago, though," he tells her. "Water under the bridge and all that jazz."

"Sure," Cress says, but she's still bitter about it. She had been a first year after all, and she was scared and nervous and wanted a friend and then she gets pushed into a puddle because someone couldn't watch where they were going. She cried so much and had to stop Cedric from going off on the pusher when he saw her.

Lee says, "So. . . how 'bout that Quidditch match? Huh?" He nudges Cress suggestively. She narrows her eyes at him.

George, from his seat, says, "Mate, why are you fishing?"

And Cress is thankful for his interruption because Quidditch and her were not getting along right now. Well, her and the Quidditch World Cup. She doesn't want to talk about it, think about it or even hear about it. Quidditch (World Cup) is dead to her—at least until Cedric forces her out to the Quidditch pitch to practice here soon. Merlin's tits, she is not going to be ready for those early morning or late nights. She wants to drown in the rain.

Elvis meows loudly in her arms and Cress is aching all over and she wants this whole thing to be over because she here she is, in the same atmosphere as Fred Weasley, but he isn't talking to her, and she just feels pathetic. She notices that they're all in their robes, Gryffindor's crimson and gold colors shining at her in the dim light of the train. She thinks of how much she doesn't want to change into hers.

George is writing something on a piece of paper but he glances up at Cress and asks, "Did your injuries heal alright? You looked pretty rough last time we saw you." He is referring to himself and Fred. He looks concerned.

Cress nods mutely because that's all she can do. She wants to leave this compartment before she loses her mind. She can feel the heavy gazes of everyone on her. She shuffles on her feet. While she's grateful that George is concerned about her wellbeing and all that good stuff, Cress has never been one to stand in the spotlight so having all this attention on her is kind of unnerving.

"Well, I'm just—" she nods her head at the door "—going to go."

She is feeling anxious and like the world is too small for her and wonders if maybe being in the same vicinity as Fred Weasley had that effect on people. If he just made everyone feel like they just got the breath knocked out of them but in a pleasant way. She wonders if Fred Weasley feels that way about anyone. Bitterness eats away at her at the meer thought and she hates herself for being such a petty person when technically she has no right. Fred Weasley is not hers to keep, not even hers in the first place so what does it matter to her that he might (possibly) fancy someone?

She tells herself it doesn't matter and leaves the compartment, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

⋆˚࿔

Cedric is tall and wide, and Cress has never hated someone so much. He's gnawing away at a turkey leg and she watches in disgust as he converses with one of his friends whilst doing so. A fucking pig is what he is and she's sorry she's related to him. Most of all, she hates the fact that he's blocking what could be the perfect view to the Gryffindor table—also known as the perfect view of Fred Weasley.

From where she is sat, she can see a sliver of his long, ginger hair, looking soft and beautiful in the candlelit Great Hall. He's laughing, of course, at something Lee said and she wishes she could hear that magnificent sound from where she is place.

"You're so fucking weird," Axel says from beside her.

Cress says, "Shut the fuck up, bitch."

"Don't call me a bitch."

"Don't call me weird."

"Well, you are weird."

"And you are a bitch."

"Guys, come on," Cedric starts but both Axel and Cress say, "Shut the fuck up, Cedric!"

And he backs off because Cedric knows better and Cress knows this. She glares at Axel and he glares at her and suddenly they're having a stare down and Cress wonders if the first years hate their new House already. Axel blinks, loses, and comes closer to Cress.

"Just tell the bloke you like him," he whispers over a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Cress laughs because it's the most absurd thing she's ever heard in her life. She shovels macaroni and cheese down her throat so she doesn't have to talk to him. Axel looks angry. Around them people are laughing and having a good time catching up with their friends and Cress is jealous because she has Axel and Axel doesn't like to catch up. Axel likes to ruin lives.

"Baby Diggs has a crush?" Suddenly Cedric's friend, Hamlin Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is, is in their conversation. He smirks at Cress. "I knew you had a heart deep down in there." His dark brown eyes are humored.

"Fuck off," she says angrily over a spoon of mashed potatoes. Hamlin laughs because Hamlin is a little shit and Cress hates him so much. She looks at Axel as if to say, This is what you bring to us. You bring arseholes and no good. Axel rolls his eyes.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Hamlin asks her. Cress stares. "Come on, Baby Diggs, I won't tell a soul. Pinkie swear." And he leans closer to her with his pinkie outstretched and Cress feels uncomfortable.

She smacks his hand away from her face when he gets to close and glares at Cedric, silently commanding him to get his idiotic friend away from her before she did something she might regret. Cedric pulls him back in a second, saying, "Drop it, mate." His tone leaves no room for argument.

Hamlin does just that, and Cress eats her dessert in peace. Axel doesn't bring up her little crush on Fred Weasley again so Cress thinks it's dealt with, at least for the time being. She eats her cake in silence and wishes there was ice cream to go with it—she could really go for some chocolate banana goodness right now. Tiny Viktor is on the table right now, eating something that Axel is feeding him and almost everyone at the table is staring in awe. Cress wonders if it's okay for the figurine to have food. She's about to say something when all the dessert is swept away and the tables are clear and suddenly Dumbledore is at the podium and he's talking.

"So!" he says, grinning like a crazy old man. Cress stares at the beauty that is Fred Weasley and barely listens. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for you attention, while I give out a few notices."

Headmaster Dumbledore says a lot of stuff that Cress barely pays attention to. She is too focused on the way that Fred Weasley is paying attention to care about anything else. The long hair is a good look on him, she thinks, staring at the locks longingly, wishing she could run her hands through those beautiful strands. From where she is, she can make out a dot on his cheek and it's a freckle and it looks so cute and his lips are tugged up just the slightest as George whispers something in his ear and Cress is so gone, thinks she might have died from heart failure altogether. Fred Weasley is so, so perfect, and she is fifty percent sure she loves him.

But then Dumbledore tells them about Quidditch, and it being cancelled and Cress forgets all about Fred Weasley's beautiful face and yells, "What the hell?! You can't just cancel Quidditch! What are you—some kind of barbarian?!"

She's appalled and pissed because Quidditch is the only place she can stare at Fred Weasley freely without seeming like a freak and now Dumbledore thinks it's okay to just tell them it wasn't happening? Hell fucking no.

(And, okay maybe she does enjoy those early mornings and late nights where Cedric makes her get up and go to the field with him so he can practice. Just maybe.)

Cress sees eyes on her and she realizes she's standing and standing means attention and she just gathered all the attention to her. Her cheeks blaze. Axel is laughing. Cress wants to die.

Dumbledore's eyes are twinkling. "I didn't know you were so enthusiastic about Quidditch, Miss Diggory."

"Oh, trust me, Professor, it's not the Quidditch she's going to miss," Axel says loudly, and people snicker. Cress sits down in silent mortification and hates the way that even Professor McGonagall seems amused. She's never going to recover from this.

"Sorry, Professor." She doesn't even have to raise her voice because the Great Hall is dead silent save for a few ghosts of laughter. Dumbledore continues, and Cress buries her head in her arms and prays for a quick death. Axel rubs her back, so Cress forgives him a little for the embarrassment he just put her through.

Someone interrupts Dumbledore just as he's about to explain to the very distraught students as to why there is no Quidditch this year. The man hobbles in and he has a limp. It's Mad-Eye Moody, the person that Amos sometimes talks about, and Cress doesn't think she's ever seen someone make such an entrance. The way the crack of lightning lights up his scarred face looks like something out of a Muggle movie that has children screaming for their parents to turn off. And Cress frowns at herself for judging, but she's never been one for horror movies.

Dumbledore introduces Mad-Eye and to make up for her shitty thoughts, Cress claps for him, respectful and apologetic. Besides her, only Dumbledore, Hagrid, and another Hufflepuff, Mallory Ackerman, who may or may not be in Cress's year clap for the new professor and then Dumbledore continues what he was saying.

". . . . we are to have the the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an even that has not been held for over a century. It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley exclaims, voice warm and raspy. Cress cracks a smile as everyone laughs, the silence from before suddenly broken by the ginger boy. Axel even chuckles quietly as he plays on the Game Boy his sister lent him. (Cress doesn't know where the hell he pulled it from since she saw him tucking it into his trunk earlier on the train, doesn't even know how he got it past the wards to use it.)

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling, "though now that you mention it, I did hear and excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar. . ." Professor McGonagall clears her throat. Dumbledore continues, "Er — but maybe this is not the time. . . no. . . where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation and allow their attention to wander freely."

Cress knows all about what the Triwizard Tournament is about and how many people it's killed so she snatches the Game Boy from Axel and makes him pay attention while she makes the plumber jump over platforms to save his precious princess. Axel grumbles indignantly but nonetheless pays attention to what Dumbledore says.

The Hufflepuff table is filled with murmurs directed at her brother when Dumbledore pauses in his explanation. Cress glances away from the console in her hand to see Hamlin smacking him on the back, saying, "If you don't enter, Ced, I'll never forgive you."

And now Cress starts to worry because there has been deaths in this game, this tournament and there is no way in hell that she's allowing her brother to enter. No way. She opens her mouth to protest but stops short at the look on Cedric's face. He's grinning, not looking wary or put out and Cress knows he wants to enter. She hands the game back to Axel and stares at him. Stares and stares until he catches her eye and his face falls.

"Cress," he says, a question, a plead. She turns away and listens to Dumbledore.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older. . ."

Cress wants this to be over. She stares at Dumbledore but she isn't listening because Cedric is going to enter this stupid tournament and there is nothing stopping him from doing so. He is going to enter and she knows he'll get it no matter what because this is Cedric and Cedric's luck never fails him. She wants to cry but that's pathetic, and she's already pathetic for feeling this way all because her brother wants to enter the Triwizard Tournament.

Suddenly, her mind blanks, and she finds she doesn't care. She has already made a big enough scene tonight what with the whole Quidditch cancelled bullshit she pulled earlier. What's a dramatic exit going to do?

Cress pushes herself away from the table and she hears murmurs and the soft voice of Dumbledore talking and she knows eyes are on her. Eyes are attention and Cress feels her heartbeat accelerate but she pushes through because she needs to get out of there before she does something that she might regret. Like cry, or yell at Cedric about how fucking stupid he is for wanting to enter such a dangerous thing. She thinks he probably knew from the beginning, that Amos told him and she feels angry and sad all at once.

Thunder cracks and she pushes the doors to the Great Hall open and walks out.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sleep is good. Sleep is great. Cress loves sleep with her entire being. She thinks it's the most brilliant thing in the world. Wishes she could sleep forever, especially after last night. Had last night went differently, Cress would probably be at the Quidditch pitch, practicing with Cedric and probably—although Cress hates thinking about it—Hamlin.

But last night did happen, and Cress had went to bed exhausted and stressed, and this morning, she really doesn't want to get out of her cocoon and face the world. It sounds horrible, torturous even.

Nonetheless, she knows she has to and that if she doesn't she could (potentially) miss all her classes and probably fail all her O.W.L.s before she even takes them. With this in mind, she begrudgingly pushes the covers off of her and stares at the ceiling above her.

Outside, the rain has dispersed but it is still cloudy and depressing and Cress thinks it fits the mood. She pulls herself out of bed with a groan and sees who she assumes might be Mallory Ackerman walk out of the dormitory room. The other girls are still resting peacefully in their beds, unaware that it is probably past seven and they should probably be up by now. Oh well, not Cress's problem (except it should be because they are roommates and she doesn't need them, mainly Santana, shaving her head whilst she's sleeping as revenge for not waking them up and making them late to class).

Cress gets out of bed and her feet drag. She's sluggish, but it's for good reason; she doesn't want to go out into the real world where Cedric will want to talk to her. She would much rather stay in bed all day, thank you.

She puts on her uniform, half-awake, and ties her hair into a bun that she's pretty sure is shit since she can feel hairs brushing against the back of her neck when she reaches for her bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she walks out of the door, calling out a, "Wake up, chaps! Time for learning!" before she leaves. Faintly, she hears the girls groan as she walks into the common room.

Entering the Hufflepuff common room is like entering sunshine. It's bright and beautiful and sometimes hurts your eyes. Cress loves it. She loves the soft yellows and dark blacks that decorated the place; loves the various plants laying around here and there—ferns wrap around the room, moving cacti looks prickly yet magnificent in their potted areas, and the other plants look alive, waving at the students and looking as joyful as a plant can look. Cress is enraptured every time she comes in.

Cress waves to Helga Hufflepuff, who's portrait is set over the mantle, as she walks out of the common room. She smells the delectable scent of food and she almost drools as she heads towards the Great Hall.

Before Cress can actually enter the Hall, Professor Sprout, her Head of House, is in front of her, a disapproving frown on her face. Cress knows what's about to come next. She tries to prepare herself for the lecture of a lifetime.

"Miss Diggory," she says in that voice of hers.

Cress swallows nervously. "Yes, madam?"

Professor Sprout says, "Don't play coy, Miss Diggory. You understand that what happened last night was very disrespectful and I will not tolerate it." Cress nods solemnly, feeling a lot like a scolded child. "To up and leave as the Headmaster is giving a speech! Especially one of such importance! I have never!" She glares at Cress and Cress tries to keep her eyes on the woman instead of looking away from the fierce stare. "What to do with you now? Perhaps detention for the next week will do you some good?"

A nod is all Cress gives since she's too busy feeling like a piece of shit to fully comprehend what Professor Sprout is saying. One thing she knows, though, is that she should not have overreacted last night and walked out of the Great Hall in a flurry of hurt and rage. It was not a smart decision and now she's paying for it. Fuck. She looks at her Head of House.

"Then it's settled," Professor Sprout declares. "Detention with me for the next week starting tomorrow. After dinner until midnight. In the greenhouse. Don't be late, Miss Diggory."

"Yes, madam."

Professor Sprout suddenly does a one eighty, eyes turning soft as she says, "And here, dear—your schedule for this year." She hands Cress a piece of parchment filled with ink. Cress thanks her. "Not a problem, at all. Make sure you do study hard, Miss Diggory. You have O.W.L.s this year! Would hate if Mr. Diggory was the only Diggory to do well on his exams!"

Cress says, "Of course, Professor," even though the words sound hollow on her tongue. She yawns as Professor Sprout bids her a farewell and walks away to no doubt hand out schedules to other people. She walks into the Great Hall.

Axel is already in there when she arrives, shoveling pancakes down his throat as though he's never eaten before. With some relief, Cress also notices that Cedric (nor Hamlin) isn't there and is probably still at the field or coming back right now, and she is so glad because she doesn't fancy speaking with him right now. She starts making her way towards Axel, ready to just bury herself in some breakfast and try not to think about how shitty her day started. Like, she thinks that out of all her first days, this one is the worst.

And Lee fucking Jordan pushed her in a puddle in her first year, so that's saying a lot about her state of mind right now.

"Cress! Hey!" The voice is friendly and soft, and they call out to Cress as she is halfway to the Hufflepuff table.

It's Ginny Weasley. Cress stops and looks at her, and she knows she probably looks like a complete and utter mess right now—her hair is basically out of it's bun and it is sticking up everywhere—but she doesn't care because Ginny has just spoken to her which means they are friends (maybe) and now Cress has more than one friend (probably). Yay.

"Hey, Ginny." Cress smiles. Ginny is seated at the Gryffindor table (of course), stuck in the middle of George Weasley and Neville Longbottom.

Ginny says, "You look out of it."

It's not a compliment, but it isn't an insult either—and at this point, Cress takes what she can get. She yawns loudly and her eyes hurt because she still has sleep in there, and she wants to die because now George and Fred Weasley are staring at her, along with fucking Lee.

"Long night," she tells Ginny, ignoring her cheeks heating up under the scrutiny.

Lee whistles. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, pud?"

"Fall in a fucking hole."

Cress crosses her arms and sneers. Lee just smirks at her like he knows something she doesn't. She hates his stupid face.

"Anyway," Ginny gives Lee a stare, "How was the rest of your break?" Ginny gives Cress a friendly smile and Cress is warmed by it. She hadn't been too sure if her and Ginny would actually speak after the World Cup but her she is, in all of her fiery glory, talking to Cress. Making conversation with Cress.

Cress ponders over how to answer because, in reality, the rest of her summer sucked majorly but there is no way she can tell Ginny that because Fred Weasley is right beside her (okay beside George, but you get the point) and she would rather not look like some kind of idiot who was indoors for the remainder of her break because she got grounded. Fucking grounded because Amos is the biggest wanker to ever step foot on this earth; she knows he made it his life's goal to make Cress's life a living hell.

"The rest of my break was pretty dull," Cress answers, because it's the truth without the truth. She wonders if that phrase makes sense. Probably not. "Just stayed inside, played some Quidditch. The usual."

"You play Quidditch?!" Lee's voice is surprised like he doesn't believe it. "As in you fly?!" Cress looks and sees that both him and the twins look awestruck.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes? I don't know if you've met Cedric or not, but he basically breathes Quidditch."

"But you said you hated Quidditch," George says, narrowing his eyes.

"I said I didn't keep up with it, Weasley. There's a difference."

"What position are you?" asks Fred Weasley. He stares at Cress, and he's eating porridge, and Cress has never seen someone look so perfect, so disheveled.

But then there's the fact that he just talked to her as in asked her a fucking question and she thinks she might. call it there. Cress had been so sure that he was never going to speak to her again because hello, she made a fool of herself the last few times she interacted to him. She fucking blessed him for Helga's sake! She's a disgrace!

"Uh. . ." she says intelligently, "I'm a Beater. Well, not really! But like, I like to play in that position because it's the most fun. . . At least t-to me! Like, Cedric doesn't see the point of being a Beater, but I think it's the only important position—not that they aren't all important—since it's like you're a knight, and I like to think of myself as someone who likes to save people. As in my teammates! People as in my teammates. Because I think if it really came down to it like in real life. . ." Cress trails off and she fucking knows her whole face is burning an intense shade of red. That thought was going nowhere and she's going nowhere—class act like that.

Why she continues? She doesn't know, but dammit if she doesn't need to explain.

"Yes, well, that was a ramble, wasn't it?" She laughs, and it's nervous, sharp and probably sounds a nightmarish creature from hell. Where is Axel to save her? The git, he's probably laughing his arse off right now. "I'm so sorry. Did you know Cedric thinks I also ramble, but he usually says it like a toad, so I can't ever understand him. Like—what I mean is he's chortling, because well, he's making fun of me, fucking arsehole, but that's not like— He's not as horrible as you think, even though I believe he's second house would have been Slytherin. He's suck a tosser, but he's also not, right?"

She looks at the twins, who are both sporting... well, twin expressions of amusement while Lee outright cackles, banshee that he is, and that's when she realizes she's started pleading her brother's case in front of them. Oh, for Salazar's sake, may he rise from the grave and smite her dead.

"Yeah, no, he is a tosser, and you should never listen to me about anything. So—yeah. And. . . scene. I'm done. Promise." She even does the whole zipping lips gesture but her heart's about to explode in her chest, and she hates everyone.

Lee is beside himself with laughter; Fred and George try to conceal their bouts of snickers with coughs. Cress know better though. She's being mocked right now, she knows it. Ginny has an amused, yet understanding grin on her face and Neville Longbottom just looks like he knows what she is going through like he's word vomited in front of his crush before. (Cress suspects that he might have.)

"Beater," Ginny nods in approval, "nice."

Cress mutters a, "Thanks," and wishes the ceiling would cave in on just her. She wonders why it's always Fred Weasley who catches her embarrassing moments. With anyone else she is fine but put her around Fred Weasley and suddenly she's tripping over everything—including her own words.

"Is Diggory entering the Triwizard Tournament?" Lee asks suddenly, like he's plotting something.

Cress says, "Am I his fucking gatekeeper? How should I know?"

She knows she's being bitter about it, but she doesn't want to talk about that fucking tournament or the fact that Cedric is entering it. She wishes she could just persuade Dumbledore to cancel the whole thing but she knows the man would never go for it.

"Woah, there, pud." Lee raises his hands in surrender. "I'm sensing some hostility this morning. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" He sounds earnest but Cress has known him long enough to know that he doesn't mean it.

"Fuck off, Jordan," she tells him with an eye roll. Cress reaches for his toast and blackberry jam that's sitting on his plate and picks it up, smirking when he makes an indignant noise.

Lee says, "Don't eat that." He points a finger at her in warning. Cress brings it closer to her mouth. "Pud, I'm serious." She takes a bite. "I fucking hate you."

Cress smiles brightly as she eats the delectable bread, warm and crisp and possibly the best thing Cress has ever eaten.

"Thanks, Jordan," she says.

"Yeah, whatever." Lee waves her off then smirks. "Now, tell me if Cedric is entering the tournament."

"Why is it so important to you?" Cress asks, tilting her head in confusion. A clump of hair falls out of her "bun" and she pushes it back. "I still don't understand what the big deal is about this tournament."

"The big deal?!" Fred Weasley gasps, hand over his heart like Cress personally offended him. "Little Diggory, have you even heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

Cress frowns at the nickname, but says, "Yes, I have. And people have died, and it doesn't sound like something that would be a good time."

"Those deaths were accidental," George says, waving her off. "Besides, it's not as brutal anymore."

"Yeah, and the prize money is one thousand Galleons," says Fred Weasley, sighing out as though dazed.

Lee nods in agreement. "Think of it, pud. The money. The glory. The girls." He wiggles his dark, bushy eyebrows. "You get all that if you win."

The three of them are far away now, as though they're thinking of a future where they win the tournament and achieve those three things. Cress glances to Ginny, to silently ask if this is actually happening and Ginny shrugs, used to it.

Cress asks, "Are any of you entering then?"

"Merlin's beard, I wish!" George says dejectedly.

Fred says, "But there's an age limit, and we won't reach it until next year."

Cress pretends to act shocked at this news, but in reality, she knew that due to the fact that they wouldn't be seventeen until April first next year. She takes a moment to hate herself for being such a stalker and then says, "Oh, how terrible," sarcastically.

"You could at least pretend to feel some remorse," George says.

Cress shrugs and finishes her (Lee's) toast. "I don't do remorse."

"We can tell," Lee says. "You're more heartless than a skeleton."

"Oh, good pun, mate." Fred Weasley laughs, and Cress stops in her retort, just a little.

His laugh sounds like music, soft and silky and the best thing she has ever heard in her life. It's quiet, but not so quiet that she can't hear the melodic sound as it enters her ears and takes over her senses. She stares at him and his bright, sunshine smile that makes her weak in the knees and wonders how someone so beautiful could exist.

George is staring at Cress like he knows when she snaps out of it and she turns away quickly, hoping her cheeks aren't as hot as they feel. At that moment, Cedric comes into the Great Hall laughing loudly, Hamlin right by his side, dark as night hair an afro on top of his head. Cress bites her lip. It's too late to go to the table now because going over there meant she had to see Cedric and probably talk to him (or worse, Hamlin) and she doesn't need the stress right now.

"As fun as this has been," Cress addresses Ginny even though she spent most of her time conversing with Lee and the twins, "I must depart. Take my leave, if you will."

Ginny says, "I'll talk to you later?" And it's a question, like Cress wouldn't talk to Ginny again.

She nods her affirmation because no way in hell would she pass up interacting with Ginny—even if the girl is two years younger than her, she is still a way better time than the girls in her own year. She hikes her bag up onto her shoulder more securely and turns to walk away.

"What," Lee calls after her, "no 'talk to you later' for us?"

"If I said that to you, Jordan, you'd take it as an invitation to annoy the shit out of me," Cress says over her shoulder. "And I don't fancy having you follow me around everywhere I go, so nope. No farewell for you."

"That was cold, mate," George says loudly.

Fred says, "It's the first day of school, Little Diggory! We don't pick on Lee until the second!"

Cress laughs as she walks out of the Great Hall. Cedric looks at her as she passes him but she does not even give him the time of day. She treks forward and despite the fact that she has detention for the next week and that her first class is History of Magic, today is not a bad day so far.

⋆˚࿔

Axel is looking at Cress from across the room, smirking. Cress narrows her eyes and rubs her forehead, staring at the piece of parchment that hit her moments prior. She looks back at Axel and he makes a gesture for her to read it. Cress does reluctantly.

Saw you chatting up a storm with Fred Weasley this morning. How many years did this put you back in your "Woo Fred Weasley and Get Married ASAP"? OR—the next thing I'll know is you'll be planning your wedding, yeah? ;)

Cress makes a mental note to sign up for a new best friend and then scribbles something back:

The latter is about as realistic as you and Viktor Krum bumping uglies. And even THEN, you have a better chance than me.

She throws it back at him, laughs when it hits him in the nose.

Axel opens the crumpled up parchment and reads the note, sapphire eyes scanning it thoroughly. He stares at Cress when he's done and just. Flips her off. For no reason whatsoever. Cress isn't going to lie, she is a little offended but a whole lot more amused because Axel pouting is really funny even though it shouldn't be. It's just—his bottom lip juts out and he just looks like a child who didn't get what they wanted.

Professor Binns drones on at the front of the room and Cress attempts to pay attention, but when lessons is over she leaves feeling discouraged and more unknowing than before. Her bag is at least ten times heavier than before and Cress wants to cry because O.W.L.s are going to give her hell, she knows it.

"I'm not doing this homework," says Axel as they walk towards the dungeons. "I refuse. I am boycotting. O.W.L.s are stupid and homework is stupid and this is stupid."

"You think everything is stupid."

"Because everything is stupid."

And Cress thinks he might have a point, at least about the O.W.L. thing. They are stupid and a waste of time. Like, why the hell does a series of tests prove her intelligence? Say she fails Charms—her best subject—because she isn't good at the whole test taking thing. What then? Is she going to have to quit school and live on the side of streets as a hermit? She sure as hell doesn't know. Fuck O.W.L.s is all she has to say, really.

"Peyton says hi," Axel tells her. Entering the cool dungeons, they sit at their usual table in the Potions classroom and Cress pulls herself onto a stool. "Says she wished you could have come visited us when we got back from America."

"Francine would have loved that." Cress grins a sadistic grin; she hates Axel's mother (well, parents really, but Francine is worse than Edmund) almost as much as she despises Amos. And that's saying something. But Francine hates her just as much, so Cress loves going over there, just to grate on her nerves.

Around them students murmur and whisper amongst themselves and Cress sees Peeves float through the classroom, like he's looking for something. She rolls her eyes as he smirks mischievously, transparent hands coming together so he can tap his fingers together. Cress watches Axel mess with tiny Viktor from where he's sitting and frowns.

"How is Peyton, though? Still the bubbly girl who wants to be an artist?" she asks.

Axel smiles. "Yep. Just this summer, two of her paintings were submitted to this contest and she won." He gets this faraway look when he talks about Peyton, his twin sister who is the sweetest girl Cress has ever met, like he's with her at that moment, mixing colors together and throwing them on a canvas. Cress loves it.

Aside from Axel, Peyton Jenson is another one of Cress's close friends (or maybe she doesn't count as a friend since she's Axel's twin sister). Cress met her in the summer of her second year when Peyton was in Diagonal Alley with her family. She had loved her instantly. The girl was too kind and polite, hugging Cress tightly and compassionately, as though she were putting every bit of love she has into that one embrace. And when had talked—Helga when she talked to Cress it was like everything was right with the world and Cress couldn't get enough of it.

Peyton speaks in colors; swirls of luminescent gold, yellow, orange mixing in with a deep azure, purple, red and making Cress feel so utterly happy whenever the ebony-haired girl opens her mouth. Peyton paints a picture when she talks, beautiful and mesmerizing, drawing everyone who stops to listen in and never letting them go. There is just something so captivating, something unique that made the girl so approachable. And Cress has said this more than once, but she thinks that if she wasn't so madly infatuated with Fred Weasley, she would totally be wooing Peyton right now.

"Stop daydreaming about my sister, creep," Axel whispers, bitter; Professor Snape entered not too long ago and was starting the lesson.

Cress says, "I'm not daydreaming. I just miss her. It's been, what, three summers since I've seen her." Axel nods discreetly. Cress furrows her brows. "See, I need to see her, like yesterday. My little Pey."

"Don't call her that." Axel grimaces like the nickname is something sour and she just shoved it down his throat. Cress is offended. "Besides, she's got a girlfriend now. No more making moves at her."

Cress gapes because what? Peyton has a girlfriend? And she didn't tell her? Okay, talk about fucking hurt. She says, "Since when does she like girls?"

"Since Bentley Cooper," Axel shoots back, side-eyeing her. "They've been dating almost a year now. I told you when it happened." He narrows his eyes at her. Cress flushes and looks away because now she remembers Axel mentioning it, about Bentley Cooper and how Peyton finally stopped hiding who she was because of her. It was a very soft story and Cress feels proud, even though she's probably too late for that.

"Miss Diggory!" Snape snaps when Cress opens her mouth to whisper back to Axel. "Ten points from Hufflepuff and if I hear you speak one more time, I will give you detention."

Cress clamps her mouth shut and ignores all the sniggers coming from every end of the room. She doesn't respond to Snape because a) she's pretty sure if she did he'd actually give her detention and she doesn't fancy having any more of that and b) she doesn't need any more attention on her than necessary. She huffs and flips her book open to the right page, listening to the greasy git drone on and wishing she Peeves would drop an anvil on her head.

⋆˚࿔

At dinner time, Cress walks into the Great Hall (alone because Axel went off to the Owlery to "borrow" Scout again) feeling exhausted and irritable. Not only did her last two classes (Transfiguration and Muggle Studies) suck, but she also left each of them with more homework than needed and a warning about her upcoming O.W.L.s. Like she hasn't heard enough about those during Potions and History of Magic. She doesn't know how long she's going to be able to continue like this. It's been a day—literally one fucking day—and she wants to fall headfirst into the Great Lake, despite the fact that she can't swim.

Cress supposes, however, that one okay thing that came out of this day was the fact that she hasn't run into Cedric. Due to the fact that she and Axel wanted to start on the one million assignments that they had, they skipped lunch to work diligently (she uses that term very lightly) in the library until their next lesson. Of course, she's seen him around the school and him her, but every time he's called out to her, she would turn a corner too quickly and be gone before he could catch up.

Now, she's unsure of what to do. It's dinner, and she knows she won't be able to avoid him in the Great Hall—not when they sit together. When Cress enters the Great Hall alone, she expects it to be as it normally is; students chatting about here and there and eating dinner as they do their homework. But when she enters, she can feel a certain kind of atmosphere around everyone. The chatter is more excitable and vibrant and Cress can feel people's joy from where she is standing.

Her eyes automatically avert to the Gryffindor table, at where Harry Potter and his two friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sit, all of them laughing about something. She figures that he is the reason for all this hype, or at least part of the reason because it's Harry Potter and he is never not involved in something. She wonders, for a quick second, what in the bloody hell happened when someone throws their arm over her shoulder.

Hamlin's hazel eyes are lit with mirth and his afro's bigger than what Cress remembers, but she begrudgingly has to admit it looks good like that. She knows Cedric would think so—because everything about Hamlin is perfect to him— but Hamlin's not in his face right now. He's in hers, smirking madly. Cress tries to shrug him off, but he doesn't relent; she wishes she would have just went to the common room instead of coming to dinner. Anything to keep her away from the bane of her very existence.

"Baby Diggs," he greets, dragging her past the Gryffindor table. Cress catches Fred Weasley's eyes and gives him a small smile whilst her heart races and silently pleads with her eyes for him to save her. He puts a sympathetic hand over his heart. Fucking traitor. "How pleasant to finally speak to you." He pulls Cress down beside him, dropping his arm from around her shoulder and loading up an empty plate with some beef casserole.

"Yes, pleasant indeed." Cress rolls her eyes, not hungry at all. In fact, she wants to get up and leave the Great Hall to start working on her loads of homework. She knows that even if she gets maybe one subject done tonight, it'll probably multiply by the time tomorrow comes. "Where's Cedric?" she asks Hamlin. She's been curious about it ever since he snatched her up. Usually it's the two of them, together as always, but her brother is absent from the equation.

Hamlin shrugs absentmindedly. "Last I saw him, he was talking to Cho."

Chang. Cress rolls her eyes again and hates her brother for how easily he can just go up and have a conversation with his crush. She glances back at the Gryffindor table and sees that Fred Weasley has taken Hermione Granger's spot with his brother (George) across from him and Lee beside George. He looks elated like he just finished making another one of his projects and Cress feels a jolt of something go through her.

There has always been a difference between her and Cedric. Cress is not shy by any means; she is always up for meeting new people and making friends. It is the fact that new people don't like meeting her. Like, someone will approach her and try to make small talk but when Cress opens her mouth, it's like she's throwing up a sign that says: "LEAVE THIS GIRL ALONE! SHE HATES SOCIAL INTERACTIONS AND WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!" or something around that sorts. She's never understood it because Cedric has it all. When someone comes up and talks to him they don't turn away and shun him when he opens his mouth. They get this sort of dazed look on their face and smile at him like he hung the moon or something. Cress hates it.

She wishes, for once, someone would want to hear what she has to say, to listen to her when she talks. To notice her. She thinks that's why it's so hard for her to talk to others now. The fact that time and time again she has either gotten shut down by the other person or interrupted (usually by Amos when they went out as a family) like what was about to come out of her mouth was nothing but hot air. Insignificant and a waste of time.

(Really, the only time that does not happen is when someone wants to know all about Cedric. What's Cedric's favorite color? His favorite lesson? Favorite food? The list goes on and on. And Cress knows it's not Cedric's fault that he's so popular but dammit if it doesn't sting.)

Hamlin says, "Did you hear what happened with Malfoy?"

Cress shakes her head—at both his question and her absurd thoughts. "No? Something happened?"

"Moody turned him into a ferret. Made him bounce up and down like he was on a trampoline. Funny shit."

For a moment, Cress wonders how that first sentence might sound to a Muggle, then she laughs because of course Moody would do something as outrageous as transfiguring another student into a ferret. This was probably what all the chatter was for earlier. She laughs, and Hamlin gives her a funny look but she can't stop because she's pretty sure if she did, she would start crying, and she doesn't want to cry so laughing it is.

"Say, Baby Diggs—who fancies your pickle? Pickles your fancy?"

Cress has always believed that Hamlin was from a different planet. She swears up and down that he can't be human. What with his weird speaking habits and his fucking crazy gesticulations that he either can't or won't tame (and she's tried spells for it, Hamlin just can't be stopped from elbowing her in the eyes when explaining something). There's no way that he's human. She stares at him; he's got minced pie stuffed in his mouth and is looking at her, awaiting her response. She doesn't know if she can give it to him. Actually, she could. She just doesn't want to.

"Is that even English, Hamlin? Who the fuck phrases it like that?" she asks instead, frowning at him.

Hamlin shrugs. "Me, I suppose. Stop evading and answer."

"Like I said last night: Fuck off," Cress tells him, snagging a roll from a tray and tearing off a piece. She pops it in her mouth and chews slowly, awaiting Hamlin's response.

"Baby Diggs," he says seriously. Cress stares at his furrowed eyebrows then his ten foot Afro and then back at his face. He's wearing an expression that people usually wear when they discover something.

"What?"

"Is it me?"

Cress abruptly chokes on the roll and starts coughing loudly. Tears form in her eyes and she can feel people's eyes on her and she hates Hamlin. Fucking shit, she hates him so bad. He smacks her on the back roughly as she hacks more, the tears falling in fluid motions down her face. She reaches for a goblet of something, anything to drink and downs the cup of water someone hands her.

When she can finally breathe, she turns to the person who gave her the cup. "Thanks." Cress smiles at Mallory Ackerman, wiping away the tears that fell, and the girl nods quickly and gives her a tiny smile and then leaves the table. Cress glares at Hamlin.

"What?" he questions. He holds up his hands in surrender. "It was just a question, don't hit me."

And Cress hates how he knows she was going to hit him. She unclenches her fist and takes a deep, calming breath. One thing about Hamlin is that he didn't have a filter on what he says and sometimes it comes in handy. Other times, it's just a hassle to deal with it.

"I'm just—" Cress shakes her head and stands up, collecting all of her things. "I'm going to bed."

Hamlin grasps her wrist. "Wait."

"What?" Cress looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering what he could possibly want now.

"You haven't answered me!" He sounds indignant, like a small child pouting because they didn't get a cookie. "I need to know if it's me Baby Diggs, because if it is then this is going to be very awkwa—"

"For Helga's sake!" Cress smacks her forehead in exasperation. "Fuck no, it's not you, Hamlin! Never in a million years would it be you, you absolute ninny."

Hamlin looks relieved at the statement and Cress tries not to let that sting her too much. She wonders if she lied to Fred Weasley about fancying him, if he would look just as relieved as Hamlin does at this moment—eyebrows slack and mouth quirked up in elation. She pushes it out of her mind and tugs her wrist out of his hold.

"Goodbye, arsehole." She doesn't wait for a response, just turns around and walks away.

"But you've barely eaten!" he calls after her but food is the last thing that Cress wants right now.

Axel is lounging by the fireplace when she enters the Hufflepuff common room. He looks up briefly from the pile of homework that's laid out in front of him. "Hey."

"Hey." Cress goes and sits beside him, flinging her bag somewhere off to the side. She hears cluttering and it's probably most of the things that had laid in her bag, but she can't be bothered by it. "Hamlin thought I liked him."

"Did he?" Axel chuckles, side-eyeing her. His dark hair is shaggy and unkempt like he's been running his fingers through it, and she smiles slightly. "Wish I could have seen your face when he said that."

"Ha ha." Cress rolls her eyes and flicks his quill roughly so a line marks most of his paper. Axel glares at her in offense. "Oops." She shrugs innocently. "Hand must have slipped."

"Sure it did." Axel rolls his ocean eyes and turns back to his (Transfiguration?) homework, pointedly ignoring Cress.

They sit in silence for awhile and Cress enjoys it, doesn't mind when tiny Viktor plops down on her thigh and makes his home there. She listens to the scratch of the quill on Axel's parchment, the twisting and turning of the vines as they adjust themselves and the humming of the cacti as they settle down. It's soothing, especially after such a hectic day at school. Cress loves this time of day. A time where she can just rest and take a break and not worry about anything for awhile.

Her peace and serenity is broken by booming laughter and in a second she is on her feet, picking up her fallen supplies and throwing her bag over her shoulder. Cedric and Hamlin watch her, she can feel their eyes on her back as she stands up, back to them, and tries to walk to the entrance of the girls' dormitory.

"Cress," Cedric says, soft yet deafening in the silence of the common room. Cress halts in her steps and closes her eyes. She hears Cedric's heavy footsteps get closer to her. For a moment, she wishes she was in a different House because then she wouldn't have a chance to run into Cedric if she was in Ravenclaw or Slytherin.

Cress does not utter one word, even when Cedric places a hand on her shoulder, causing her to tense up in alarm. The atmosphere feels suffocating like someone has drained all the oxygen from out of the space. Cress remains silent.

"Please, Cress," Cedric pleads.

Cress knows he wants to talk to her about last night—about the fact that he's going to enter a tournament that could potentially kill him. Okay, sure, she might be going a little overboard but this is Cedric she's talking about. Cedric, her brother and the only constant person in her life. The one person who has been there for her since she was born and has never strayed far from her side, no matter how popular he's gotten. The one person she loves more than anything.

Perhaps she isn't mad. Cress thinks this anger swirling deep inside her is a cover up for how fucking terrified she is. She knows that the tournament won't be held until after both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrive, but it doesn't stop her from worrying, from fearing the worst even though nothing is decided. She doesn't even know if Cedric is going to be picked for Hogwarts but it still chills her to the core that its a possibility.

That he wants it to be a possibility.

But, still, mad or terrified—or whatever fucking emotion she's feeling—Cress needs time. She knows that whatever she says to him won't matter and that his mind is already made up so it's just the matter of her getting over it. Over the anxiety and fear and every other negative emotion that's running amok in her body. She shrugs Cedric's hand off her shoulder and walks through the door to the dormitories.

Tomorrow. She'll talk to him tomorrow.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Detention is the worst. Cress is going to stand by that statement for the rest of her life. She is dirty and exhausted, her robes browned from the mulch and her face stained. Cress thinks that Sprout wants her dead, really, if that grueling session of detention was anything to go by. Even though it's only the second day—maybe third, Cress isn't too sure because the days have blended together, honestly—she's lost at least thirty years off her life. This is why she loathes Herbology. Plants and her just don't get along. At all.

As she snakes her way through the empty castle, save for some prefects on duty (Merlin help her if she gets caught), she thinks of ways that she could maybe get out of the next detention. She supposes faking her death won't work, so that's out of the question, but perhaps should could throw herself down the stairs and break a limb or something. That's, like, a day in the Hospital Wing which means one less day of detention.

She asks Axel which choice is better when she gets back to the common room. He looks at her, shakes his head, and says, "Why are you the way that you are?"

Cress if offended because hello, she is amazing and her plans for getting out of detention are amazing. Axel can choke if he thinks otherwise. "It's a serious question, Ax! Like, should I throw myself off the Astronomy tower and break a leg? Or just fake my death?"

"You realize that if you throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower, you're going to die, right?" he asks. Cress shrugs. Axel sighs. "Fake your death."

"Is that really going to work?"

"Dunno." He throws his feet up onto the couch when Cress comes over to sit down. She narrows her eyes and throws herself into the chair by the fireplace. Her eyes flutter shut as she gets comfortable. She hears the scratch of Axel's quill on parchment and when she wakes up it's to the sun peaking through the window.

She thinks, What the hell? and looks around.

Axel is gone, all his supplies cleaned up from the night before and there's a weight on her lap. It's Elvis. He's sleeping soundly, curled up and Cress pets him contently as she wonders when she fell asleep. As she's pondering over it, Imogene Norwood, one of her dormmates, comes striding down the stairs, ginger hair almost like fire in the light of the day. She gives Cress a crooked toothed smile and says, "Morning, Cress. How'd you sleep?"

"Okay, I suppose," says Cress, but there's a kink in her neck and she needs a bath so that might be a lie. "How are you this morning?" She pushes Elvis gently off her lap and he jumps off willingly, sauntering over to the couch and hopping on it.

"Never better!" Imogene is a bright, cheery girl who is optimistic about anything and everything and Cress likes her and all, but seriously? It's morning and way too early to be anything but grumpy. She smiles at her anyway.

"That's great!" she exclaims, then points to the door of the dorms. "I should probably go shower now, seeing as how I look like I spent a night in the Forbidden Forest." She gestures to herself with a slight laugh.

Imogene waves her off. "Don't be silly, Cress! You look great! But have fun! I'll see you at breakfast." And just like that, Imogene Norwood is off, tangled red hair flowing behind her. Cress stares at the empty space for a moment, trying to comprehend the enigma that is Imogene.

She sighs and goes into the dormitory where the rest of the girls—Santana Branson, Mildred Payne, and Mallory Ackerman—are getting ready for the day. They all have their uniforms on and wave to Cress as she walks by them and into the bathroom. Cress smiles and nods back and closes the door behind her, turning the shower on and hopping in.

When she gets out, she feels refreshed and replenished. Her hair is clean and the sleep is out of her eyes and she is less grumpy than before. Cress thinks this is an accomplishment. She walks out to an empty dormitory, towel wrapped around her, and heads over to her trunk, opening it and sifting through it until she comes back up with her clean uniform. She throws on her skirt and long-sleeved button up (it was the only clean one left) and pulls her sweater vest over it. After she has her socks pulled up, her shoes secure on her feet, she throws on her robe and walks out of the room with her bag on her shoulder.

"You look chipper this morning."

Cress's smile that had been plastered on her face falls off in a matter of moments when she sees Cedric waiting in the common room for her. He has his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looks hesitant and nervous, his shoulders hunched up. Cress bites her lip and strides forwards, about to pass him without speaking when he catches her wrist.

"Cress, come on," he says. Cress shuts her eyes. "It's been three days. Talk to me."

"Has it already been three days?" asks Cress because wow, who knew. Only four more days of detention now.

Cedric says, "Cress."

"Listen, Cedric," Cress turns around to stare at her brother, "I'm hungry. And honestly, I don't really feel like talking to you right now. I know I said I would talk to you, but I just don't know what to say. You want to enter this deadly tournament and what's worse is you knew. You knew about it beforehand. And you didn't tell me. We tell each other everything, Cedric. Why the hell wouldn't you tell me about something about this?"

Cedric licks his lips, runs his hand through his hair. Cress takes a moment to feel bad about that because once his perfect style is altered, there is no going back. It's like that for the rest of the day. Cress shifts her footing.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be mad," he explains softly.

Cress raises a brow, scoffing. "So you thought not telling me was a better option? That I'd be less angry if I found out from your buddies?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just meant. . ." He runs another hand through his hair. "Cress, you're my sister. I love you with my whole heart. You're my best friend and the person I tell everything to, but I really want to do this. I want to be in the tournament and I knew that you would try and stop me from doing it, so I just. I didn't tell you. I didn't want to hurt you but I also didn't want to hear you try and talk me out of it. That's why I didn't tell you. I'm sorry that I didn't. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but I'm not backing out now."

His eyes are set, determined, blazing grey. Cress stares at him long and hard. She understands where he's coming from because she definitely would have tried to persuade him not to do the tournament because of the fact that he could possibly get hurt and she doesn't want that to happen, at all. But it's Cedric's life and she has no say in what he does. She can only be there to support him and she supposes that's what she's going to have to do now.

She says, "Why are you so sentimental?"

Cedric beams, wide and joyous and before Cress knows it, she's captured in one of the tightest hugs of her life. Cedric has his big, muscly arm around her neck and he's squeezing like his life and hers depends on it. She thinks that she might die, honestly. When he lets go she coughs out (over exaggerating, of course because when does she not?) and Cedric pushes at her shoulder and she almost falls down.

"For Helga's honor, Ced, did you gain eight thousand pounds off muscle in three days?"

Cedric laughs. "Nope. You're just weak."

"Ha ha." Cress pushes past him, but stops short before she can walk out of the common room. She turns around to look at Cedric and her eyes are so serious when she says, "If you're in the tournament, Ced—don't die."

All the humor and laughter that had filled the room's suddenly gone, replaced by a somber feeling. Cress is staring at Cedric and him at her. Her hands shake at her side and she clenches them together in front of her, biting her lip to keep her oncoming tears at bay. She will not cry, dammit. She stares at Cedric, holding her chin up, but her eyes are pleading and she's so, so terrified of what's to come in the future.

"Cress, what the heck?" he asks in shock.

"Cedric, I'm serious." She walks up to him and points a finger into his chest. "Don't. Die."

Cedric laughs nervously. "Why would you think I'm going to die? Cress the tournament hasn't started and we don't even know if I'm going to be picked for it. Nothing is set in stone, sis."

Cress knows this. There is a possibility that Cedric is not picked for the spot in the tournament but she isn't take any chances. She says, "Don't die. Promise me you won't die."

"The tournament is safer, Cress. I'm not gonna di—"

"Promise me."

Cedric stares at her wide-eyed. Cress doesn't relent. He says, "I promise."

The weight in Cress's chest is suddenly one hundred times lighter, and she smiles a hundred watt smile at Cedric. He grins back and they leave the common room together.

⋆˚࿔

"Do you think we broke him?"

Cress knows—she knows she could ignore what Axel is saying in favor of finishing up her Potions essay, but Cress is a procrastinator through and through and she hates Snape and she hates Potions, so really the decision isn't hard. She all but throws her piece of parchment along with the fifty piles of books she acquired to the side and stares at Axel, who is sitting across from her in the library with tiny Viktor in front of him. He's prodding at the figurine, and Cress furrows her eyebrows in confusion. Around them, students hustle and bustle through the shelves of books and Cress wishes she was spending her Saturday anywhere but here.

Originally, she had planned to stay inside her dormitory the whole day and just sleep away her very stressful week, but then Mildred Payne came bounding over to her and all but shouted in her ear the Axel needed her in the common room as soon as possible. Cress doesn't know why she went—perhaps it's because she likes her friend and wanted to spend time with him, or maybe she's just stupid. But she trudged down the stairs and before she knew it, Axel was dragging her to the library to do homework. Bloody homework. On a Saturday.

He claimed that he needed to finish an Arithmancy essay and that she should come with him to finish her ginormous pile of homework, but when they got there, Axel just made her go to work while he fiddled with tiny Viktor. Now, here he is, bugging her about said figurine like she doesn't have a mountain of essays to write.

Cress stares at the blankness of Viktor, the way he's just pacing in a circle, and she frowns a little. "Dunno," she responds to Axel's earlier question. "But if anything has happened to him, it's on you. There is no 'we'."

"One, that's not fair," Axel points a finger at her indignantly, "and, two, you bought him, so technically it's your fault that he's like this now." He pouts at the pacing thing and Cress wants to hit him.

"I didn't take care of him, though. That's all on you," she says.

"Fuck you, Mo. I take great care of little Viktor."

Cress gives him a look. "Really? Because his condition right now says. . ." She trails off and stares at the doll and wonders, for a moment, if her spell that she used on him could have worn off from all those weeks ago. It is a probable possibility considering that she has only ever used it on Viktor so therefore does not know the duration of the effects. She snatches the figurine up.

"What the hell, Mo?"

"Shut up, Ax. I think I know what's wrong with him."

Fiddling with the tiny action figure, Cress pulls out her wand in what she hopes is discretion—not that she can't have her wand out because she can—before mumbling incantations. She watches, with a pleasant satisfaction, as little Viktor comes back to his senses, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed. She hands him back to Axel. He squints at her in suspicion once he gets over his glee.

"What did you do to him?"

Cress rolls her eyes. "He's better isn't he? I fixed him. Show some gratitude, prick."

"But, how?" Axel asks, watching the figurine with curiosity. He looks at Cress, then back at tiny Viktor and back to Cress again. His eyes widen. "Oh my fucking go—"

"Quiet!" Madam Pince shushes them harshly. Cress nods with a smile as Axel puts his head down in shame.

When the librarian is gone, Cress says, "Not a word about it, Ax."

"But you—and he—why?" Axel gives her a perplexed look like he doesn't believe that Cress used her unregistered spells on the action figure. She shrugs and throws her head down onto the table, hair billowing around her in a pool of shimmering blond.

"Amos grounded me. Too much free time. Viktor is now smart. End of story." She yawns loudly and wishes she was in bed, sleeping, instead of discussing unregistered spells with her best friend. Axel hums and then fiddles with Viktor some more.

Hesitantly, Cress pulls her parchment back over to her because it's obvious that her conversation with Axel is over which means that she should probably get back to writing her essay for Potions. She tries not to weep too badly as she scans over the horrendously written essay. It is probably the worst one she has written she since she's been back at Hogwarts.

She asks Axel, "How are you so good in school? You care about this shit less than I do."

Axel shrugs at her. "I was taught to be the best. Guess it never got away from me."

He does that whole little tilt of his lip thing that shouldn't be sad but is anyway. Cress feels bad for bringing it up. She knows about his home life and how he was brought up to always excel in everything he did. She knows how much he hates it too, feeling as though he has to live up to his parents' expectations. But, she also knows he hates when she gets sentimental on him, so she doesn't discuss the topic further.

Instead, she says, "Help me with Potions."

Axel shakes his head. Cress gapes at him indignantly. He sees her and shrugs his shoulder, placing tiny Viktor in his robes and saying, "It's your assignment, Mo. Not mine. Besides, I hate Potions."

He yawns and kicks his feet up on the table. His black hair is shaggy and getting longer by the day and Cress is jealous by how fast male hair grows. She swears on her life that it grows in like three days post hair cut. Meanwhile, she is over here trying to get her hair to grow one measly inch and that's taking about eighteen years as it is.

"I hate Potions, too," says Cress, fiddling with her quill.

"Am I supposed to care about that?" Axel raises an eyebrow. "Listen, Mo. It's the year of the O.W.L.s. The year that makes or breaks us. How would it look if I allowed you to use me to cheat on homework? And what kind of friend would I be if I didn't allow you to be independent and finish this yourself? It would be unjust."

Cress narrows her eyes. "You're so full of it, goodness." She ignores Axel's smirk in favor of scribbling down whatever she feels is necessary for the rest of the essay. She knows Snape is probably going to chew her out after he marks this, but she is past the point of caring.

Axel says, "Your boyfriend is coming."

"I don't have a fucking boyfriend, wanker." Cress rolls her eyes and continues writing on the parchment like he didn't say anything.

"Yes, my apologies." Axel leans in close and drops his voice to a whisper. "What I meant was: Fred Weasley is walking towards our table right now."

"Your jokes aren't funny." But her hand twitches ever the slightest at the mention of Fred Weasley and she wants to die. Part of her wants to turn around in a foolish hope of seeing him because it's been like a day since she's seen him last and she is having withdrawals, honestly. But then the other, more rational part of her screams at her to finish this fucking essay so she can go sleep. She resolutely ignores Axel's defeated shrug (smirk still plastered on his face) and continues her Potions essay.

Burnt cinnamon and musk fill Cress's nostrils not even two seconds later and she halts her actions. Someone takes a seat beside her and says, "Afternoon, Jenson. Little Diggory."

It's Fred Weasley. Along with George Weasley. Cress's heart is about to combust. Her essay's long forgotten because her brain's shut down and she does not know what to do. How does one react when their crush seeks them out instead of the other way around? She bites her lip extra hard and stares across at Axel, who looks very pleased with himself. Arse. Cress tries to smile at Fred Weasley, who is sitting beside her—fucking right next to her, holy!—but then she stops short.

He looks so beautiful, and Cress almost hates him for it. His shoulder length hair is messy as ever and he's in a long-sleeved jumper (it was a cool day today) and she thinks no one has ever looked better than Fred Weasley does in that moment. His chocolate-colored eyes burn mischievously yet they're so kind as they gaze down at Cress. Her mouth goes dry because he's so close and she can count the freckles on his face. Breathtaking, she thinks.

Axel clears his throat—or maybe it was a laugh, Cress doesn't know—and she shakes her head and turns her attention to him and George, who are sitting across from her and Fred. She glares at Axel, a silent command for him to keep his mouth shut, but he just rolls his eyes and looks uncomfortable.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asks the twins. Lee isn't present, and Cress wonders why because Lee is always present.

"Oh, but the pleasure is ours," says George.

Cress says, "Really?" because what could they gain from talking to her and Axel?

"Of course, Little Diggory." Axel raises his eyebrows at the nickname being used and Cress rolls her eyes. He is definitely going to tease her about how she lets Fred Weasley call her Little Diggory later and she isn't prepared. She fiddles with her quill.

Axel says, "Are you going to explain what you're doing here, or do we need to ask?"

"Good question, Jenson." Fred smiles like he just gave him one thousand Galleons. George mirrors his expression. "We actually came here for Little Diggory."

Cress's eyes widen, and she stares at Axel while she tries to comprehend those words. Fred Weasley sought her out because he needed her. He fucking needed her and she is going to die because this is the best day of her life. And she had been fretting over never speaking to him again because the last time she even had a conversation with him is when she almost ran into him in the corridor the other day on the way to Potions (she was late and cursing and Fred Weasley had to help her pick up her books before she had a mental breakdown) and now, here she is, in the library. With Fred Weasley right beside her. Because he needs her.

"What do you want with Mo?"

George raises an eyebrow and asks, "What in bloody hell is a 'mo'?"

Axel points at Cress. Cress waves a hand in acknowledgement. Fred and George both look confused but she does not really desire explaining to them how she acquired such nickname from Axel, so she says, "Not important. What is it that you need?"

Fred lights up. "Yes, well—"

"We were talking with Ginny about something important," says George brightly. Cress frowns in confusion.

"And the subject of Charms came up because while we're brilliant with spell casting, we need someone who is fantastic, yanno," continues Fred. They're both staring at Cress with hope in her eyes. She doesn't like where this is going.

She says, "Sure," but it's more of a question than a statement. She thinks this probably has something to do with their pranks and merchandise and fiddles with her quill again, sneaking a quick glance at Axel, who is not even paying attention anymore but making her parchment levitate with his wand. Cress hates him so much.

"And Ginny—" says George.

"—ever the helper—"

"—suggested someone who would help us without a second thought."

"Okay, well she really yelled at us because we were grating her nerves, but still," says Fred. He looks down at Cress. "She says that you're brilliant when it comes to Charms and that you could help us with our problem." His tone is sincere, optimistic. Still light but not teasing. Not mocking.

She feels a surge of pride swell in her chest at the thought of Ginny speaking highly of her. Bless that bird. Cress stares at the faces of George and Fred and Axel's very disinterested one and thinks, Why me? Because while she would love to help them with their Charms predicament, she does not think she could handle being in the same vicinity as Fred Weasley for more than ten minutes without dying from heart palpitations.

"So, basically, you guys want me to help you cast spells?" she asks.

They nod.

She, mulling over the best way she can say this without total destruction, tells them, "While I'm honored... I'm going to have to decline."

Cress hates the way their faces fall after she says this, but she knows it's for the best. Like, she really wants to do it, honestly, but what with her O.W.L.s and all the extra homework she gets every week, she just can't.

"Wait, wait—" Fred grabs her hand to keep her from returning to her essay that she was about to continue writing. "We'll pay you." He shares a glance with George, who nods.

Cress gapes again, shocked that they would even think that she would need to be paid for her services (or maybe it is the fact that Fred Weasley is fucking gripping her hand). She says, "It's not the fact of money. I couldn't care less if I was paid or not. It just—fucking O.W.L.s, chaps. They're a pain in my arse."

They nod like they understand and Cress suspects that they might considering that they took them last year. She gently tugs her hand out of Fred's grip with a tight smile and tinted cheeks and throws her hair into a ponytail. Axel stops levitating her parchment and steals her quill and starts writing. Cress sends him a grateful grin.

George says, "In my opinion, O.W.L.s aren't important."

"I agree," Fred says, nodding. "Honestly, they're a waste of everybody's time. 'S'why me and George didn't even try last year."

Cress remains silent and ponders over it. She agrees with the O.W.L.s being a waste of time, but she knows if she were to slack off, Amos probably end her life with his glare alone. He wouldn't even have to get to the lecture. She takes a moment to decide that she does not care what he has to say. She shrugs and says, "What the hell. Sure."

"You'll help us?" they say in unison.

Cress nods. The grins they give her are enough for her to feel good about her decision. She wonders why she ever disagreed in the first place. She gives them a smile in return and Fred ruffles her hair—not in that way that's condescending but it's comforting and warm and very nice and it makes Cress's stomach drop—and she thinks she might die.

George says, "Okay, great." He leans in and drops his tone. "Keep in mind that no one knows what we're doing—" Cress doesn't mention that basically the whole school is aware of their in-the-works joke shop idea, "—so you can't tell anyone."

"You realize that Axel's here, right?"

Fred waves her off. "Best friends don't count. Honestly, Lee's been in on it since third year. Don't fret, Little Diggory."

Axel grins cheekily at her like he just won some fucking award. Cress is not amused. She rolls her eyes at him and sends a nod to the twins. "Alright, then. What do I need to do?"

"Well, it's simple, really," Fred says. He whips out a piece of parchment from Merlin knows where and slaps it on the table with a smirk. "There's some products that are nearly finished, but not quite, yanno?"

Cress nods. George continues, "That's where you come in." He points to the parchment that has a bunch of chicken scratch on it. Cress squints to try and decipher the words. "The ones with checks beside them mean they're completed. The ones with the circle around them means to be completed."

"AKA we can't get create the right spell for them," Fred adds helpfully.

Cress asks, "Who the bloody hell wrote this list?"

Fred raises his hand like he's proud. George gives Cress a look. She does not retaliate anymore on the matter. She inspects the list and can't help but be blown away by everything that's on there. Everything on the list looks complicated—there's fucking self-writing quills and candies that make your nose bleed (she doesn't know if those are supposed to be used for good or not)—and Cress doesn't know if she'll ever over down from this shock. Like, she knew George and Fred Weasley were smart, but this is just genius. Never in her life would she have created spells or incantations to assist these products. And the twins did just that.

"Fuck," she says breathlessly.

"I know, I know," says Fred. "We're pretty amazing."

"This isn't just amazing. This is phenomenal. You guys are geniuses." She gives them a wide-eyed stare. "To come up with all of these spells and products takes some impressive fucking skill, which—not surprising, to be honest. How do you do it?"

George scratches the back of his neck and says, "We have a lot of time on our hands."

"Tons," says Fred, but both of them are pink at the cheeks. Cress bites her lip to stop from smiling.

"Finished." Axel throws Cress's essay at her. She catches it and places it in front of her. "I never knew someone could be so terrible at Potions, Mo. But you continue to prove me wrong every day."

Cress blushes because she knows she sucks at Potions but come on, Axel—give her some credit here. Fred Weasley is right beside her, asking her for help because he thinks she's intelligent enough to assist them with their work and here he is, basically shouting about how nonexistence her knowledge of Potions is. She glares at him. He smiles in innocence.

"Potions is shit, mate," Fred says with a chuckle. He pats Cress on the shoulder comfortingly and she forgets how to breathe for a second.

George nods in agreement. "Especially since bloody Snape is teaching it. Plays favorites, that one."

"You're telling me," Cress mumbles, but she feels better when she grins at them.

Fred pushes the parchment towards her again and says, "Here, review this and let us know if there's anything we can do so that our spells will work." He pushes the hair out of his eyes. Cress stares, entranced.

Axel coughs. Loudly. Cress shakes her head and replies with a, "O-Okay, u-uh, I tot—totally will. Do that, I mean. A-As in review these n-notes."

She waves the parchment around like it will prove her point and then hates herself. Across from her, Axel snorts. George looks like he might be holding back his amusement, and Fred just seems confused. Cress wants to die.

"Thanks, Little Diggory," says George brightly. "You're a lifesaver, really. Ever the hero."

"I try, Weasley." Cress folds up the parchment and places it gently into her bag, then stands up from her spot because she was done with the library for the day. Too much knowledge on a weekend. Cress needs a nap. "I'm going to take a nap." She addresses Axel because he was the one who dragged her in here.

He snorts, "Am I supposed to fucking care?"

He pulls his hood up over his head and stares at Cress. She rolls her eyes, then turns to the twins.

"I'll be sure to look at the list of products and see what I can do." She grins, throws her bag over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you guys around?"

"You know it, Little Diggory," says George.

They both stand up.

"We were actually on our way to the kitchens, so we'll walk with you," Fred tells her.

Cress wonders if this is real life. Perhaps she could be dreaming right now because she passed out from exhaustion and is now living out her perfect fantasy wherein Fred Weasley actually acknowledges her existence and wants to spend time with her. Any moment now she is going to wake up highly disappointed because it's, in fact, not real. Cress smiles at them anyway.

"Alright," she says. Then, "Why are you going to the kitchen? Dinner is going to start in a couple of hours."

The three of them start making their way to the entrance of the library. Cress looks back at Axel to see him intently writing on a piece of parchment. She furrows her eyebrows; he finished his assignments a long time ago. What could he possibly be writing for?

"But the desserts aren't as good at dinner," says George.

Fred says, "Yeah, Little Diggory, if you want the good stuff, you have to snag it before anyone else can have a go at it."

Cress feels like a dwarf in the presence of the both of them, seeing as how they tower over her. She doesn't even think she goes up to their shoulders. And having them both on the opposite side of her is not helping. Around them students saunter through the corridors, though it is sufficiently less than the amount that is usually roaming the halls.

"I don't really care for desserts, so I wouldn't know," she admits.

They gasp as though offended. Fred exclaims, "That is slander!"

"Who doesn't like desserts?" asks George, outraged.

Cress shrugs as they walk down the corridor that leads to both the Hufflepuff common room and kitchens. A certain aroma is in the air, the smell of dough and spices entering her senses. She says, "I've never really enjoyed 'em, I suppose. More of a salty kind of gal." She glances between the two.

"Eh—salty things are okay, I guess," Fred says. The grin on his face lets Cress know that he's kidding. "But if you don't like sweet things, it means you haven't found that thing that you love."

George nods in agreement. "Our mum—best cook you'll ever meet—makes the best banoffee pie. It's like heaven in your mouth."

"Merlin's beard, it's the best thing ever." Fred Weasley makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Cress watches him lick his lips as though he's tasting the treat right at this moment. He turns down to Cress. "You have to try it, Little Diggory. You won't be disappointed."

"Uh, sure." Her mouth is dry, and her common room is right there and she needs to be in there right now because she's pretty positive if she does not leave right now then one of the twins are going to have to drag her unconscious body to the Hospital Wing.

They both light up like a child on Christmas. Fred says, "Great! We'll have her make it as soon as possible."

"I don't want to make her go to all that trouble. . ." Cress trails off due to George waving a hand in her face, dismissing her statement.

He says, "Don't worry about it, Little Diggory. The least we could do in return for you helping us is get you hooked on sweets."

"Er—okay, then." Cress still feels a little hesitant about this. She has met Molly Weasley once (she thinks?) when her mother dragged her to Diagon Alley one day. She was younger, but she remembers Molly's kind smile and how quick it disappeared when she scolded one of her children—she doesn't recall which one it was, but she does remember being terrified for the ginger boy. (Really, she went home and prayed for him and his life.) She wonders how the woman is going to react when her sons ask her to make some strange girl a banoffee pie because she said she didn't like sweets.

"We'll see you later, then?"

This is the first time Cress has noticed, but they are stationed in front of the Hufflepuff common room entrance. The barrels tower over her and she hefts her bag higher up on her body. She turns to give the twins a parting grin.

"Yeah, see you chaps later. Have fun with your desserts." She pauses when they don't move. "I'm not entering until you guys are at least fifteen meters away from the entry and therefore, cannot hear me tapping on the barrels."

Fred snaps his fingers together. "Dammit, Little Diggory. And here I've always wanted to see what the Hufflepuff common room was like."

Cress shrugs. "Maybe one day you'll get lucky, Weasley." She shoos them with her hands. "Now run along, boys. I have things to do."

"You're taking a nap," says George.

"And your point is?" Cress raises an eyebrow when they turn back around to look at her.

"Have a nice nap, Little Diggory. Don't dream about me too much." Fred winks and then suddenly they're gone and Cress if left alone with a pounding heart and a searing face.

She barely remembers punching on the barrels but she's in the common room before she knows it, and Cedric is sitting on the chair, a book in his hands. He looks up when Cress enters and smirks. Cress throws herself onto the couch face first.

"Not a word, Ced." Because Cedric somehow always knows even when Cress doesn't say anything. It's unnerving and a little annoying, to be honest.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

Cress rolls her eyes because that tone is too aloof to be sincere. She tries to calm her racing heart and hopes her cheeks have cooled down some. First of all, who the fuck does Fred Weasley think he is? He can't just wink at a girl with that perfect face and perfect hair and perfect everything and expect Cress not to die internally. She doubts she's ever going to recover from this. A weight falls on her back, and Cress is grateful for Elvis. She wishes that Axel were here.

When she pulls herself up, Elvis curls up in her lap and Cedric is still sitting in the chair, reading. Cress says, "It's not fair."

Cedric glances up from the novel. He replies, "Oh, I know, sis. I know."

But Cress doesn't think he does. She pulls the piece of parchment out of the bag and reads it over and over again, memorizing everything they discussed, every product they've created. Her mind whirls as she thinks of tips that could potentially help them in bettering these products and before she knows it, there's a blanket over her and a coldness in the room. The parchment is clenched in her hand and Elvis is snuggled up beside her. Axel is now occupying the chair that Cedric was once in.

He says, when he notices that Cress is awake, "I borrowed your owl."

Cress furrows her eyebrows. What could he need Scout for? "Why?" she asks.

Shockingly, Cress sees Axel's cheeks tint slightly. He bites his lip and twirls his fingers together and seems to be avoiding all eye contact with Cress. She frowns and worries that something might be wrong, that something happened to his family (Peyton, really—the rest of them can go screw themselves) and that he needed to get an urgent letter out to them.

But he says, "I may or may not have been sending letters to someone from Durmstrang."

Cress stares. It's all she can do. Because what in the everlasting fuck? Axel has a pen pal? He's been communing with someone who lives in the tundra? Don't get her wrong, she's happy as hell for him because Axel needs all the friends he can get and if this person from Durmstrang makes his day less stressful, she'll support it one hundred percent.

So, she questions him about it and Axel tells her. And the look on his face is so happy and jubilant that Cress can't help but feel excited with him. His name is Valko, or something and he's in his last year of Durmstrang and supposedly he's coming to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Him and Axel started talking when a letter to Valko's friend was led astray by a vulture (Cress thinks Axel said vulture but she doesn't know what the fuck a vulture is so. . .) and the Valko guy wrote back to him and they just continued from there. They've been talking the whole summer.

"That's wonderful, Ax!" Cress exclaims, grinning when he finishes. "I'm happy that you've found someone." And she sends him a suggestive look because she knows when her best friend is pining, thank you, and he is pining. Hard.

He shakes his head. Cress has never seen him so flustered. "It's not like that. We're—I'm—we're just friends. Not even that."

"Obviously you're something if he continues writing to you," says Cress. "They'll be here soon, anyway, Ax. Then, if you're still unsure, you can go find him him and talk to him in person."

Axel nods but he looks like he swallowed a whole cauldron. Cress understands his nerves because talking to a crush is fucking hard. And Axel has to go through meeting them in person, also. She feels for him, really. She tries to comfort him but every attempt is in vain and when he departs for bed, she fears she made the problem worse.

When Cress finally throws herself into bed (after a long and much needed bath), she snuggles into the duvet and closes her eyes. She is exhausted and hungry, but does not have the energy to go to the kitchen and get a snack so she deals with it. She blanks out her mind in determination because she was not going to let her subconscious taint her dreams with dark thoughts of Cedric dying or irrelevant thoughts like Fred Weasley's luscious hair. Or the fact that he fucking talked to her—a legit conversation! Cress is stepping up—and asked for her help. And then walked her to the common room (granted he was on his way to the kitchens anyway, but still—progress!).

Cress shoves her face into the pillow and when she manages to fall asleep, she is entranced by dark eyes that twinkle in the sun and a laugh brighter than a thousand stars.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

October comes in an assortment of cooler weather and more homework. Cress honestly doesn't know how she managed to make it all the way to October without throwing herself off the Astronomy Tower (a real challenge, mind you) but she did, and she is none the better for it. Because, underneath all her bags of exhaustion and messy hair, is a girl who still wants to fling herself off the tower whenever the opportunity strikes. She thinks that death by falling would be better than death by O.W.L.s, really.

O.W.L.s are going to be the downfall of society, Cress can tell. Like, the professors have loaded her up with so many assignments that Cress doesn't even know where they end anymore; she finishes a Herbology essay, and there's three more for Defense Against the Dark Arts waiting for her. It's agonizing.

Especially when their new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher is a little bit on the wild side and demanded that they use the Unforgivable Curses every time they have a lesson. Okay, well it's mostly just 'Imperio', but still. Unforgivable. And he always makes Cress do something mildly embarrassing and she always leaves the classroom with new bruises every time. Honestly, Cress just wants to know when they're going to move on from this—they learned about the Unforgivables in her fourth year for Merlin's sake—and move on to something more exciting. Legilimency or something. Now, Cress could get under that.

Aside from all the assignments and bruises that Cress has to endure, she is also trying to manage her time to finish these blasted spells that Fred and George asked for. At first, it was a breeze, she went through the spells like a duck in the water, but now it's a struggle. Because no matter what, no incantation or jinx or spell is bloody working and she usually ends up in the Hospital Wing once every week just so Madam Pomfrey can give her a different kind of Potion along with a very long lecture.

But no amount of lecturing or broken noses are going to stop Cress from finishing this for them. She's going to fucking finish and then she's going to shove the parchment in their faces with a gloating face. It'll be great. She has it all planned out. George will be pleasantly surprised and give her an approving nod and Fred Weasley, if all goes well, will just swoop her up right there and declare his everlasting love for her and then they'll ride a hippogriff off into the sunset. A magnificent fantasy, if she's honest with herself.

Cress shakes away from the zooming Bludger just in time. It shoots past her head and Hamlin punts it somewhere, giving her a look.

"It's like you're not even trying, Baby Diggs."

Cress wants to shout that no, she is not fucking trying because the sun's not up and she wasn't prepared to get summoned for Quidditch today. But somehow, someone (probably Hamlin because he bothers everyone) got one of the girls to wake Cress up—why Mildred was up so early is beyond her—and ask her to join Cedric and Hamlin for an early Quidditch session. Cress thinks it's ridiculous, that her brother is still insistent on practicing for a sport that won't commence this year, but she reluctantly pushed through it and now, here she is, trying to escape Bludgers and not knock Hamlin off his fucking broomstick.

(She's having trouble with both of those things at the moment.)

"Sod off, you prat. It's too early for your nagging." Cress flies past him on her Comet 260, a chill running down her spine. Cedric is up above them, looking for the Snitch, but Cress doesn't think he's going to find it considering that the sun hasn't risen, and there's fucking fog everywhere.

When the Bludger comes around a second time, Cress hits it with the force of one thousand men. It flies past Hamlin, grazing his arm.

"For the love of Helga, Baby Diggs!" Hamlin is unamused when he gets right next to her. "I could have just died! I could have gotten hit in the head and then I would have fallen and died."

Cress rolls her eyes. "Maybe you should try harder to not get hit by it, then."

"I am trying. You're the one slacking this morning. What's wrong? Stayed up all night thinking about me?"

"You wish, arsehole." Cress heads into the direction of the Bludger with an eye roll, Hamlin following right behind her. She loudly says, "You're a Keeper, Hamlin."

"Yeah, well someone's gotta make sure that you don't kill a harmless civilian with your mediocre Beater skills, Baby Diggs. And since Ced is busy with the Snitch, it's gotta be me." He punts the Bludger with his foot again when Cress fails to hit it and gives her this, "I told you" look. Cress wants to beat him with the bat.

"It's been a long weekend, alright." And it had been. She was knee-deep in Astronomy homework, staying up until three in the morning to count how many constellations there were and give a brief story on each one.

Hamlin scoffs. "Excuses, excuses. Blame the O.W.L.s all you want, but I know why you're acting like this." He gets up in her face. "It's because of the person you fancy."

Cress groans. Hamlin gives her another look. She turns and flies away from him because this is not happening. It is so not happening. She would rather die than feed into his bullshit. Cress hits the ground and all but runs to the locker room, Bludger be damned. That's Hamlin's problem now. (Read: It should be Hamlin's problem but since he is an unreliable git, it is probably going to fall into the hands of Cedric.)

"Oi, oi—wait up!"

There are footsteps approaching at a quick speed and Cress curses Hamlin for being such an athletic person because he can always catch up to her in no time and she hates that. She tucks her broom underneath her arm along with the bat and awkwardly shimmies into the locker room, trying to close it before he can reach her. Hamlin slams a hand on the door just as she tries to.

"Nope," he says, easily pushing her aside and entering. He gives her a stare. "You know I'm fast, Baby Diggs. I don't even know why you bother running, anymore."

"Whatever," says Cress, putting her broom up and throwing the bat on the bench. She undoes her arm guards and takes off her Quidditch robes, throwing them in the locker in front of her. It's wooden and smells faintly of dirty socks. "You need to go get that Bludger before Cedric bites the dust."

Hamlin waves her off. "He'll be fine. This is Cedric we're talking about." He takes off his equipment also, slamming it into the locker beside hers. "Now," he says, voice suggesting, "give me the juicy details."

"No."

"Come on, Baby Diggs," he whines. Cress takes a seat on the bench and puts her jumper back on, curling into it. "I think I've been patient enough. As your brother's best friend, I deserve to know who pickles your fancy."

"Don't think that's how you word it," Cress tells him with a raised brow. "But as I've told you before, no one. I don't fancy anyone."

"You expect me to believe that? Really?" Hamlin gives her a disbelieving look. When Cress keeps her mouth shut, he shrugs, throwing on his own jumper. "Alright, Baby Diggs. I didn't wanna have to do this, but you've left me no choice."

"Do what?"

"You know what."

"Nope. I'm afraid that I have no clue what you're talking about. But if you ever want to stop being a cryptic arsehole and tell me, I'll gladly listen." Cress stands and then pats his head. He gives her a glare—he has never liked people touching his mane (or so he calls it) unless it's Cedric, sometimes her.

Cress smiles, when he huffs bemusedly.

Hamlin says, "Always the hair with y'all. I love it and hate it simultaneously."

Cress nods. "You continue to tell me this like it's actually going to make me stop touching it. Not when you like to yank my braids." She runs her hand over it once more just to prove her point. Hamlin doesn't bat her hand away, so she figures this means something. "Also, tell me what the hell you're going to do."

"Nope." Hamlin pops the 'p' on it and Cress rolls her eyes.

Grabbing her broom, she tucks it under her arm and then throws the bat at Hamlin. He catches it with his stomach and huffs out a breath. Cress laughs. She walks over to the exit, ready to leave and go back to the Hufflepuff dormitories to maybe get ten more minutes of sleep before she has to get back up for lessons, but then Cedric is there, looking vengeful and wild with his hair sticking up in every direction. He glares at the two of them. Cress can see the box of Quidditch supplies in his arm. There's mud all over his face.

Her and Hamlin lose it. She clutches at her stomach, and there are tears running down her face; Hamlin isn't breathing she's pretty sure, but they can't stop because Cedric looks so fucking ridiculous.

Until Cedric snaps, "Detention. Both of you."

And suddenly it's not so funny anymore.

⋆˚࿔

Cress walks into breakfast feeling betrayed. She keeps her head down and ignores the chatter around her. Axel walks beside her silently, his hand clutched on his Walkman that she knows he wants to listen to, and she kind of wants to talk to him, but she doesn't know what kind of reaction she's going to get if she does. See, these past few days, he's been tense—not only due to the enormous amounts of homework that they have, but because his friend (read: friend whom he fancies) has not responded to his last letter. And although Cress isn't too sure as to what was included in the last letter than he sent, she thinks it was probably crucial enough for him to be upset over not getting a response about it.

She attempts at a simple, "How was your night?"

Axel sighs out like it was the worst thing she could have asked him. She thinks it probably could have been worse.

"Fine," he says then leaves her standing alone while he mopes along to the Hufflepuff table, pulling out his headphones and slapping them over his ears as he does so. Cress watches him with a frown. She can almost hear Elvis Presley's most depressing song from over here.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Lee Jordan gives her a teasing smirk when Cress turns her attention to him. He's sitting beside Fred Weasley—who is looking very cuddly in the morning sun, thank you—and eating a muffin. Cress rolls her eyes.

"Jordan, keep your nose at your own table, please," she tells him grumpily.

"But, pud, I thought we were friends." He puts a hand over his heart, wounded. Cress rolls her eyes.

George is sitting across from them and he turns around and gives Cress a cheery grin. "Morning, Little Diggory."

"Hey, George. Can you please not call me Little Diggory? Also, Jordan, we're not friends. Who ever told you were were?"

"Uh, you did," Lee replies.

George says, "No can do."

Cress rolls her eyes at both of them because they're completely ridiculous and she hates them. She glances down the table and sees that Ginny isn't there yet. Dammit all. She hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder and adjusts the elastic in her hair, pulling her ponytail tighter.

"Hey, Little Diggory, you're a bird, right? Like, you get crushes?" Fred Weasley asks suddenly. He's picking at his plate, and she's going to lose her mind, because—what? "Not that people who aren't birds don't get crushes—'less they don't. I'm not the judge of that, but Little Diggory. Crushes? You have them right?"

Cress furrows her eyebrows because what? Either Fred Weasley has suddenly gone blind or he just hasn't been paying that much attention to Cress (a sad thought that she would much rather not thing about) because the last time she checked, she was, in fact, a girl. A female. A bird, if he so pleases.

(Internally, she prays to Helga herself that this isn't what she thinks it is. This isn't him fancying someone, this isn't him doing that cliche thing where he has a girl who's a friend and he asks her for help, right? Right?!)

"Well, yeah," she says awkwardly, fidgeting on her feet. Her face feels like it's on fire, which is embarrassing but cut her some slack. Fred Weasley just questioned her gender. It's a normal response to such an embarrassing question. (And the crush, Mo, the devil in her subconscious sings like Axel. Cress officially hates her life.)

Fred Weasley licks his lips and looks almost nervous for a second. Cress thinks it's fucking endearing and she wants the ground to swallow her whole because no one should look that fucking cute, okay?! Not when they're about to say. . .

"Okay, so say I fancy this girl—"

"Nope. Nope. Nope." Cress shakes her head and flails her arms around because fucking no. Those fucking demons will be gone, Axel be damned. She won't do it. She absolutely will not be that girl. She refuses. Not in this lifetime or the next. Cress won't be that girl who has to sit by and watch the man of her dreams pine after another bird. She doesn't have the heart for it. "I am not Cupid, sir. Nope. Absolutely no asking for love advice. Nope. NO."

"Merlin's beard, okay." Fred Weasley holds up his hands. "Won't ask you again. But I thought you dated that Hamlin guy last year?"

"Hamlin?" Cress asks, incredulous. Because she can't say anything else, she says, "Hamlin, Fred?"

Fred looks abashed, but Cress is past thinking he's cute. All those years pining after him and it means shit all when he's thought she liked Hamlin this whole time! She almost gags, almost pukes right there.

Hamlin!

"Ugh, fucking Hamlin" says Cress. She sighs and closes her eyes, and it says something about her life when she doesn't automatically combust on the spot during these dire times. When she opens them again, Lee is staring at her. "Jordan. Stop staring."

Lee shakes his head. "Sorry, it's just. . . You've got mud on your face." He gestures to his cheek.

Cress slaps a hand on her face so hard that it echoes throughout the Great Hall. She rubs at it roughly and really wants the ground to swallow her whole when the stuff flakes off. Just fucking peachy. Her morning is going fucking terrible and she just wants to go back to bed.

"Fucking Hamlin man," she growls under her breath. Ruining her chances with Fred, ruining her attire. He's a menace.

Fred Weasley says, "Quidditch?" like he understands. Cress scratches her last ire out; she has heart eyes. She nods begrudgingly, and he gives her a small smile in return. Cress could honestly die, fuck—why does he have to have a crush?

George says, "You definitely should play with us sometime." He gives her a giant grin. "It'll be fun. We'll get a whole group and play on the weekend sometime."

"Yes!" exclaims Lee, looking really excited at the thought of a Quidditch match. "Yes, I want in. I need to be in. Let me play. I will play so fucking hard. You won't be able to stop me. I want to be a Chaser, too, by the way. If I'm not Chaser, expect blood to be shed and a whole lot of tears to fall."

"Godric, Lee, you can be a bloody Chaser," Fred says exasperatedly but there's a smile tugging at his lips, silent chuckles escaping his lips.

"Hell yes!" Lee throws a fist into the air and Cress thinks it's a little dramatic but it's Jordan, and he's always been dramatic. "And Little Diggory can be a Beater." He wiggles his brows at her.

While that might be a good idea—the whole Quidditch match with a whole group of people—she doesn't think she would be able to play around Fred Weasley without falling off her broom and dying a fateful death. Or, she would be too busy staring at his beautiful face too notice the Bludger coming right for her face until it was too late, and she had a swollen face and then Fred Weasley would find her ugly and then no one would ever like her and just (not that he would anyway, because well—he fancies someone else). It would be awful. Just fucking awful.

But before she can say anything, there's an arm around her shoulder and a voice saying, "Baby Diggs is playing Quidditch? I want in."

The three Gryffindors seated give Hamlin this look like they're not too sure whether to kindly tell him to sod off or just pretend to be polite because while they're still bitter about the whole Quidditch tournament, they don't want to seem it. Cress thinks they should just tell him to sod off—and not kindly either.

"We're not playing Quidditch," she tells him blankly.

Lee looks crestfallen. "We're not?"

George says, "Oh, we most definitely are." He looks at Fred for an agreement.

"Yep. It's happening. Probably next weekend or something."

Hamlin seems pleased. "Good. How about an unofficial slash official rematch between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?" He still has his arm slung around Cress's shoulder and when she tries to pull away, he tugs her in tightly.

George and Fred seem to like that idea very much. So much that they ask Harry Potter to join in on it, then Angelina Johnson and basically anyone else until they had a whole team formed — with Lee as a Chaser, of course.

"Can't wait," Hamlin says when the twins look back at him with a challenge in their eyes. "I'll round up Cedric and everyone on the Quidditch team and we'll meet you there."

"Little Diggory's playing," says Fred Weasley and his eyes catch hers for a second before she turns away. "She's Beater or it's off."

"I agree one hundred and fifty percent," George tells them. Lee nods his agreement.

Hamlin shakes Cress jokingly. "Ah, so Baby Diggs made some friends? Congrats." He ruffles her hair so hard that her ponytail falls out, sashaying down her back in knots. She glares, and he laughs. "Hey, no problem. She's a Beater. Maybe this will even motivate her to join the team next year with Cedric and I."

"Doubtful," she responds with an eye roll. She finally manages to shake his grasp away. "Merlin, have you ever heard of boundaries?"

"'Fraid not, Baby Diggs." He brings her back to his side. "Not when it comes to you."

"Shocker." She rolls her eyes and pushes him off. "You're supposed to be Cedric's shadow, not mine. Back off."

Hamlin sucks in a breath, whistling low. "Can't do that," he says like he's sorry about it. Cress knows he's not. "I told you I was going to have to take extreme measures, Baby Diggs. And you know what that means."

Dread fills every fiber in her body and she looks at Lee, George, anyone for some help out of this because yes, she does know what that means. And it means nothing good because now Hamlin is going to fucking follow her around day and night until she tells him who she likes and Helga, she doesn't want to go through having Hamlin by her side during the whole school day. It's already enough that he's in her House (well technically, she's in his), she doesn't need him socializing with her between lessons.

"No," she snaps, backing away from him. "No, no, no. You stop this. Hamlin, I swear on my whole entire fucking life, if you do this I will never forgive you. Ever."

Hamlin pauses, like he's weighing his options, then shrugs. "I can deal with that."

Cress honestly wants to cry. Curl up in a ball right there in the middle of the Hall and cry. She hasn't had breakfast yet and at this rate, she is going to have to wait until lunch to eat all her sorrows away. She glances at George, Lee, and Fred, giving them all an apologetic grin.

"So sorry," she says hurriedly as she dodges Hamlin, "but I'm going to have to find you guys later because I really need to talk to you about something important, okay?" Cress gives them a meaningful glance, and the twins nod in understanding.

"Yeah, sure," Fred says, and there's a glint in his eyes, when Hamlin grabs Cress's neck and pulls her close to him, and yeah—okay, she can tell where he may have thought that, but still. It's Hamlin, ew. "We'll catch you later. Good luck with whatever is happening right now."

"What is happening?" Lee asks.

Cress sighs. "Too hard to explain. Tell you guys later. Maybe." She waves at them over her shoulder. "Bye."

"Bye, Little Diggory!" she manages to hear George yell out before she's out of range, darting around a corner and into a girl's lavatory before Hamlin can catch up with her.

Ignoring his insistent knocking, she slides down the back of the door and sighs out deeply. She officially hates October.

⋆˚࿔

Cress races through the corridor after Charms class a week and a half later, a giant grin plastered on her face as she swivels through students. She clutches the piece of parchment in her hand and she feels weightless and exuberant and it's a great feeling. It's chilly and bitter air snaps against her face as she takes the stairs two at a time until she's on the floor where Defense Against the Dark Arts is held. She sees them, and she shouts their name and they turn and she almost runs into one of them, but he holds his arms out to catch her.

"Woah! Steady there, Little Diggory." Fred Weasley clutches her upper arms firmly and all Cress can do is stare at him in a stunned, panting daze while she tries to catch her breath. "Are you okay?" he asks when she starts wheezing her breaths out.

No, Cress wants to say because her sides are hurting like a bitch now and her legs are cramping and her heart is racing like she's on a broom. But Fred Weasley is right there and his hands are warm on her arms, and she thinks she might be in heaven.

"Yeah, no—I'm okay! I am most definitely okay." Cress puffs out breath after breath and resolutely does (not) take advantage of the support Fred is giving her. "I'm great, chaps! Thanks for asking. How are you?"

The twins glance between each other for a moment, almost with a confused sort of endearment on their faces—Cress does not fade out for a moment when this happens, no that'd be crazy—before staring at Cress with identical dazzling smiles.

"Doing alright, Little Diggory," says George, clutching his bag on his shoulders. "Didn't much need all that homework in Defense, though."

Fred nods an agreement. "I mean, I know about Inferi as much as the next person, but writing an essay is a bit much, if I do say so myself." He gives Cress this smirk again, and she just about dies because her heart is already beating pattering in her chest and he is definitely not making it better, crush be damned.

"Homework is the worst," she responds, trying to get her lungs under control. "Helga, I hate homework with a passion. But that's not what's important. Homework is pointless and such a dreadful topic that we don't need to talk about, okay? No more homework talk or I will go nuts."

They both nod.

"Okay, great." Cress grins, huge and illuminating. She pulls away from Fred Weasley with a sense of resentment and regret and holds out the piece of parchment that was clutched in her hand. It's wrinkled and mangled, but she thinks it'll do. She hands it to them. George takes it.

"Is this. . .?" He raises an optimistic eyebrow and grins at her.

Cress nods, much too excited. "Yes! I just finished! And I thought that I should find you guys because it's really important and you should probably see it as soon as possible." Which is the truth, kind of. Really, she just wanted to see Fred Weasley since she's been evading Hamlin for the past week and a half and therefore couldn't seek them out in fear that he'd interrupt them. Also, she's missed them. Which she doesn't think she should, considering she is not friends with the twins—and what a fucking let down that is—and should not miss them.

But then she thinks that it's kind of hard not to miss the Weasley twins once you know them. Cress thinks it's something that runs in the Weasley blood because she's been wanting to seek Ginny out, also. She doesn't think she's spoken to the girl in quite awhile and honestly, she misses her, too. Which is why she thinks that it's a genetics thing. Something in their blood that makes them irresistible to anyone they meet. Totally unfair.

She shakes her head and looks at the twins in front of her, pushing her blond hair out of her face, thinking that she might need a trim here soon. Fred and George are huddled together and when they look at her again, there are radiant beams on their faces, chocolate-colored eyes warm and welcoming. Cress's knees go weak.

"These are bloody brilliant, Little Diggory!" exclaims George, patting her on the back. "You've managed to create spells for every one of our products! Amazing!"

Cress looks away and tries not to blush too hard. Being praised or complimented has never suited well with her. She coughs and waves him away, saying, "It's not a big deal, George. Nothing you guys couldn't have done."

Someone scoffs (she isn't sure who since she isn't looking at them) and pulls her into their side. "Nonsense, Little Diggory. While Georgie and I might have figured it out, we would have never done it in such a short amount of time. Especially since they were so complex. You did these so smoothly and swiftly, it's astonishing. You're astonishing."

Cress is pretty sure her whole face is beet red and she wants to hide but she can't move and her heart is beating so fast in her chest that she's pretty sure it might explode. Fred Weasley hugged her. Fred Weasley pulled her into his fucking side to hug her. To embrace her. And he called her astonishing. He said that Cress was astonishing. She's going to put those words on her gravestone. (Here lies Crescent Hope Diggory: In her fifth year at Hogwarts Fred Weasley said she was astonishing.)

"U-Uh," she manages out, breathing in deeply because apparently Fred Weasley not only renders her speechless but also breathless. Pretty soon he's going to be the cause of her death, she's sure of it. "I—Thanks. I mean, thank y-you for the opportunity? Just—thank you."

And she finally risks lifting her head up and then she's staring into Fred's warm eyes, and he's so close and he's so tall. Like a fucking giant, Cress thinks, but she doesn't care because he looks amazing and kind and beautiful. His eyes are dark on the inside, a warm chocolate brown that melts her, but they're rimmed with a lighter, hazel color on the outside and she loves it. Loves his eyes so much.

She thinks she might be gaping at him (or drooling) and she really does not need him to think that she's fucking creepy, so she glances at George. He's staring at them already and his eyes are gleaming. Literally gleaming with mischievous and knowledge and he's smirking and Cress hates that she's so easy to read. But then there's something else in his eyes, a hidden emotion that Cress cannot place right now, but she thinks it looks something like sadness. What he could be sad about, she doesn't know. She coughs and breaks away from Fred quickly, trying to make it seem nonchalant instead of panicked. If Fred Weasley notices, he says nothing.

The corridors are starting to quiet down now and that's when Cress realizes that everyone is probably at lunch. She pulls her sleeves down over her hands, feeling chilly in nothing but her uniform skirt and cardigan (she forgot her robe this morning). George and Fred are still smiling at her and the latter opens his mouth, but she doesn't get to hear what he says because there's shouting from down the hallway and she knows the voice.

"Baby Diggs! Oi, Baby Diggs! I've been searching for you everywhere!" It's Hamlin and when she turns back around, he's dragging Cedric by the sleeve and waving over at her impatiently.

Cress groans, irritated. She had thought she was in the clear until dinner time tonight. She had a plan and all and here Hamlin comes, sauntering down the hallway and ruining everything. Defeated, she glances at the twins with apologetic grins.

"I'd run if I were you," says Fred. "That Hamlin guy can run."

"You're telling me," Cress mutters, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll see you guys around then."

Cress doesn't wait for a response, she takes off down the first flight of stairs that she sees. She runs and she thinks about Hamlin and his stupid chase for knowledge. She thinks about Fred Weasley and his big, brown eyes and his beautiful smile and amazing laugh. She thinks about it and her heart is pounding and it's a good feeling but then she remembers what he told her a week ago, about fancying someone—someone who is definitely not her—and she runs harder and faster and she was happy and light because she finally finished what they asked her to finish and it was nice talking to them but now she just feels like lead. Like her feet are dragging.

Her feet are lead and her heart is thudding and it hurts and she hurts. Cress thinks it's not supposed to hurt this much, the sorrow and pain that comes along with the person you fancy liking someone else. She thinks that so far she's been good at keeping it from her mind (late nights doing homework with Axel have certainly helped) but now it's just running around in her head, eating away at her brain and clenching at her heart.

Cress runs and runs and she thinks she might be outside because it's really fucking chilly out here and even her cardigan can't keep the cold away but she pumps her legs harder and faster and just wants it all to go away. Hamlin's nagging. Fred Weasley's crush on someone else. Her homework. The stress of Cedric entering the tournament. She wants it all gone and she wants it gone now.

After what seems like an eternity, Cress stops running and she breathes in short, quick breaths, and tries to catch her breath, but she can't seem to get any air in her lungs. She crouches on the ground, her knee-high socks browning from the mud, and lays a hand over her chest and tries to breathe. In and out. In and out. Slow and steady until her heart calms down. She does this for who knows how long but when she finally manages to get her breathing under control she lays down on the ground, back to the ground, face to the sky.

The sky is cloudy and grey today and the humidity of the air makes Cress feel disgusting. But there's a breeze and it's cool against her warm face and she allows it to assist her in chilling down. Birds chirp and somewhere in the distance, there's a roar of something, probably a creature in the Forbidden Forest, and she wishes, not for the first time, that she could be at home right now. A nice break would do her some good.

After a few minutes someone lays down beside her on both sides and she immediately knows who it is. Hamlin sighs, says, "Merlin, you've gotten quick, Baby Diggs. Thought I wasn't going to catch you this time."

Cedric tells him, "It's not the time, Hamlin. Come on."

Something is draped over Cress, but her eyes are closed and she doesn't know who put it there but it's warm and she is cold so it works out. Fingers brush her hair out of her eyes and she knows that it's Cedric's doing. She quirks a small smile of thanks and he pokes her in the forehead.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, mate," says Hamlin reproachfully to Cedric. To Cress, "Look, Bab—Cress, I'm sorry I bugged you about who you fancy. It isn't my business. I was just prying into business that wasn't mine." He sounds regretful and sad, like he didn't really understand that butting into Cress's business was a bad thing to do, but he still felt guilty for bothering her.

Cress quirks another smile, wishing she didn't feel as drained as she does. "It's fine, Hamlin," she tells him quietly. "I know you're only saying this because Cedric squealed about it." She opens her eyes just in time to see Cedric gape.

Hamlin laughs and Cedric squawks, but he's blushing and looking away so Cress knows he actually did tell Hamlin who she fancied. She pats him on the forehead awkwardly, their positions too difficult for her to actually land her hand on his head. She ends up smashing his nose in accidentally.

"Oops," she says, not at all apologetic.

Cedric groans and sits up. "I didn't tell him a thing, Cress! What in the world?" Cress gives him a deadpan look. He looks indignant, but after a few moments, he sighs out and says, "Okay, fine! I told him, but it was because he wouldn't stop talking about it! Everyday it was 'Do you think it's this guy?' or 'What about this one, Ced? We have to find out so we can make sure he's good for Baby Diggs!' It was maddening!"

"Should have invested in some ear plugs then, brother," Cress responds in a singsong voice. "Because I know if someone wanted to know who you fancied, and you didn't want them to know then I wouldn't squeal, no matter what."

"I am a victim here, Cress! A victim," Cedric exclaims, flailing hands and all. Cress rolls her eyes. "No, don't do that. It's true and you know it. Hamlin will do anything to figure something out and you know it. Stop looking at me like that for Helga's sake!"

Cress sniggers into her hand and sits up herself, pulling Cedric's robe tighter on her. Hamlin follows suit. He says, "I did pester him until he gave it up, Baby Diggs. I'll give him that. But I thought it'd take about two weeks at the most, but he squealed like three days ago."

"Cedric," Cress says, "where is the loyalty? You're just going to throw me under the bus because you can't deal with a couple of questions? What kind of brother are you?"

"Throw you under the bus?" Cedric mutters.

Cress waves him off. "Muggle saying. Hamlin should have told you. Don't worry about it." She stares at him. "Well?"

"I have no excuse," he sighs out, lowering his head. "I can try and make it up to you though. What do you want?"

Cress ponders on this for a moment, then shares a glance with Hamlin. They both grin when they meet eyes. Cress tells Cedric, "Undo the detentions you gave me and Hamlin. Do that and this whole thing will be forgotten."

"Fine." Cedric nods, looking crestfallen. Cress pats his thigh once in comfort then twists her hands around in her lap, feeling oddly small in the spacious outdoors.

Hamlin says, "So you do fancy Fred Weasley then?"

Cress nods but doesn't say anything like how she wishes she didn't like him. How she wishes she could take all of her emotions away and not think of his stupid ginger locks or his perfect smile for once in her life. She doesn't say this because she can't. At the end of the day, she can't help but let kind, compassionate Fred Weasley, who helps anyone who needs it and makes friends with anyone who's willing, trail through her mind, weaving through her thoughts like a snake through the forest. She hates it but at the same time she loves the warm, fuzzy feeling she gets when it happens. She loves it but she hates the dreading sense of bitter jealously she gets now that she thinks about this other bird whom Fred Weasley fancies. It coils around her whole body like a cold, heavy blanket and weighs her down until she feels like she can't breathe.

"What's that like? Fancying him, I mean," Hamlin asks her after a few moments.

Cress shrugs, unsure how to word it. She stares at Hamlin for a second, then says, "It's like scoring the winning goal in Quidditch then getting hit by a Bludger right after. There's the joy winning the game for your team but then the pain of getting hit by that bloody Bludger. At first you're warm, elated and you feel like you're on top of the world and then that stupid Bludger comes in and it knocks you down and it hurts, but it's okay because it's worth it. He's worth it." She smiles and it feels all wrong on her face but she sees Hamlin nod in understanding.

She doesn't tell them that she doesn't want to talk about the subject anymore, but they seem to know and she is grateful when they let silence take over. Cress rests her head on her legs and she hears the bell ring but she doesn't make any move to get up because the cold is numbing but it feels nice and it's exactly what she needs.

An unspoken sort of agreement resounds through them and Cedric and Hamlin stay. Cress tries not to feel too moved by this, but she's pretty sure she tears up. She hides her face in her knees, but she feels Cedric rest his hand on her head and she thinks she'll be okay.

Pushing everything from her mind, Cress allows herself to let the bitter cold swallow all of her senses and she sits there, in the damp grass, underneath a willow tree, tired and so, so sad.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

"So, you're telling me that if someone—say my brother—called you 'Little Weasley', you'd just sit down and take it?"

Ginny stares at Cress as though she's mad in the head, but Cress thinks that she is asking a very valid question. She looks at Axel for conformation, but he doesn't even look up from his giant textbook to nod, which is very unhelpful, thanks Axel. Looking back at Ginny, she sees that the freckled girl is twirling her quill around in her hand and Cress doesn't know how she does it, but the girl looks like she could kill someone three different ways with that quill. And she's only in her third year. It both scares Cress and makes her respect Ginny so much more.

(Cress does not want to see what her future years are going to bring her. She takes a moment to feel bad for any male or female specimen who gets in Ginny's way and feels lucky that Ginny [maybe?] considers her a friend.)

Finally, Ginny shakes her head. "If someone called me 'Little Weasley', they probably wouldn't see daylight again." Cress swallows down a nervous laugh and fiddles with her own quill. "But I suppose it's better than 'Fred and George's baby sister' or 'Harry Potter's best friend's baby sister.'"

And okay, that might be true, but still. "Ginny, come on! Work with me here."

"I am, Cress." Ginny rolls her eyes and pushes her thick, fiery locks over her shoulder. (Menacing.) "What you're asking me to do is just ridiculous, however, and I will not do something so stupid."

Cress pouts. "It's not stupid." Ginny glares at her. "Okay, so it's a little stupid, but I can't tell them to stop because then that'd be me—actually, no. I've told them to stop calling me 'Little Diggory, but they never heed my warnings and I just don't have the patience in me to do it anymore. Which is why I need you to strike the fear of Salazar into them and get them to stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname."

Ginny rolls her eyes again and Cress wonders how someone could be so much younger than her and still a lot scarier. It's mind blowing, really. Ginny scribbles something down on her parchment and then stares at Cress with narrowed, brown eyes. Around them, students pass their table and move through the bookshelves, hurried and frantic. Most of them are fifth years, like Cress, and they're stressing over their O.W.L.s and all their extra homework for the preparation of the O.W.L.s. She understands their pain considering she's been in here since the crack of dawn.

"Yes, I understand that you want them to stop calling you that horrid nickname, but it's not really my problem is it?" says Ginny. When Cress stares at her, offended, Ginny shrugs. "Sorry, let me rephrase that: Not really a problem that I care about."

"You are heartless," Cress says in outrage. "A heartless, heartless person."

"That's the result of growing up with six brothers," says Ginny, nonchalant and unfazed.

Cress narrows her eyes because she knows better. She knows that Ginny shows emotion and she knows that Ginny has a heart. But then again, Cress knew shy Ginny who was in her first and second year and still adjusting to the new school and the fact that the person whom she was in love with (Harry Potter, of course) went to the very academy she did. However, she also knows that this Ginny, this third year with french braids who smiled brighter than anything in the world, is still shy and reserved and doesn't really speak much to anyone besides her closest friends—a thing Cress has come to notice first hand.

But Ginny is compassionate and lovely and definitely not heartless.

Cress gives her a look. "Just do it, Ginny. Please."

"No." Ginny gives Cress a Glare that chills her to the bone. "Stop asking me."

"I'll pay you."

Axel picks his head up. "You don't even have any money, Mo. You spent it all on stationary at Scrivenshaft's."

Cress opens her mouth, breathes out, and closes it again. "That's because all of mine was used up."

"Only because you keep using it for fucking paper airplanes instead of your bloody schoolwork."

"Whoa." Cress raises her hands up. "Paper airplanes are good for this world and I make them because I love them and plus, I always send them to you so don't act like you don't love it."

Axel looks irritated, but Cress can see his lips quirk up from where she's sitting, so he can't be too angry. Ginny just looks done and Cress thinks she can understand why.

"Too bad your paper airplanes don't look anything like what a paper airplane is supposed to look like," says Axel with a smirk on his face.

Cress is offended because her paper airplanes are aerodynamic and fucking majestic, okay?! The whole masterpiece and Axel has no right to say that they're hideous. They look exactly like what a paper airplane should look like. Except for maybe her wings are a little bit uneven sometimes and she always ends up bending it too much or too little and it just. Okay they might be ugly but still. Aerodynamic.

"Aerodynamic," Cress tells him.

Axel groans out and she thinks he probably wished he would have stayed out of the conversation by now.

"What are you even talking about?" asks Ginny like she wants to know but also doesn't want to know.

"My planes." Cress flicks her quill around. "They're aerodynamic and beautiful."

Axel shakes his head and resolutely goes back to whatever essay he was writing. Ginny stares at Cress for a long moment, probably deciding whether or not she made a good choice on befriending Cress or not, before shaking her head.

"You're a little uncanny," she says, but her lips twitch.

Cress says, "You're telling me, mate." When Ginny smiles wider, Cress asks, "So, you'll do it?"

And Cress doesn't think she's ever seen someone shut down so quickly. "No."

"Ginny, please. I'm basically begging you here. Just tell them to stop before I go mad."

Ginny points her quill at Cress. "Pretty sure you're halfway there, Cress. But, honestly, what makes you think they're going to listen to their baby sister if they won't listen to you?"

"Blackmail, Ginny! You have blackmail!" Cress exclaims, ignoring Madam Pince's shush from the front of the library. "You have all those nitty gritty secrets that they don't want anyone to know about! Use that to your advantage and help. Me. Out."

Ginny places her hand on her chin. There's a contemplative expression on her face and, for a quick second, Cress hopes that she's considering the option of blackmail. Which would be a really horrible thing for her to do because blackmail is bad but Ginny looks like she could get under it and Cress is getting desperate now. Axel blows out in frustration from across them. Cress shoots him a look, and he rolls his eyes and throws his head down onto the table.

"Fine," says Ginny in defeat, throwing her hand down onto the table. "I'll strike the fear of Godric—Salazar, whatever, doesn't matter. I'll get them to stop calling you 'Little Diggory.'"

Cress resists the urge to shout out in joy and just shoots Ginny a very vibrant grin. "You're the best, Ginny!"

"Yeah, yeah." Ginny waves a hand at her, scribbles something onto her parchment, says, "But you owe me one."

"Definitely." Cress nods. She is going to owe Ginny a big one if she actually manages to get George and Fred to call her by her given name instead of 'Little Diggory.' Perhaps she'll by her some chocolate—no, scratch that; Ginny Weasley is worth more than a measly box of chocolates. Cress is going to have to think about this more it looks like. For now, she is just going to bask in the victory that she just scored.

"What even is this bullshit?!" Axel all but shouts a few moments later, running his hands through his hair in frustration. The black locks are almost down to his shoulders and Cress can almost see the look on his mother's face if she were to see it. Honestly, that woman is all for a clean-cut head, and if Axel (unlikely) goes home for Christmas this year, she'll have his hair shaved.

She frowns at Axel and peers at him, concerned and a little apprehensive. Also a little irritated. It's been like this for over two weeks now, Axel's attitude. Ever since that Bulgarian piece of garbage didn't letter him back, he's been sour and inconsolable, throwing himself into his lessons and whatnot. Cress really wants to help him because she hates seeing her best friend ache so noticeably, but every time she tries to help him, he shoos her away or makes up some excuse to go off on his own. She wishes he would just talk to her.

"I think it's Arithmancy, Ax," Cress tells him, glancing at his paper.

Axel sends her a look equivalent to death. "I know that! What kind of imbecile doesn't know what homework their doing, Mo?" He rolls his eyes and adds, "I just can't quite comprehend why it's so simply complicated! Like, it's fucking easy but then I get to this one part and my brain just shuts down! Ugh!" He clenches at his hair, looking put out and very defeated. Cress hates the look he's wearing.

Quickly and quietly, she pulls out his Walkman, ignoring the look of confusion plastered on Ginny's face. Honestly, Cress doesn't have time to explain it and while she is sure Ginny would be understanding and even sympathetic about it, she is certain that Axel does not really wish for anyone else to know about his problem that is definitely not a problem, shut up, Mo.

She hands the Walkman to Axel with a small, attempt at a comforting grin, and says, "Perhaps you should take a break. Maybe go visit the Owlery. I'm sure Scout's back by now." Which she honestly better be because her owl has been gone for the amount of time that Axel's been irate, so if Axel goes up there and there's no owl (or letter), Cress is going to have to kill a Bulgarian arsehole.

Axel takes the Walkman with a tiny lift of his lips. He still looks doubtful about the Scout being back but Cress can see past that. Beneath the pessimistic, blank look in Axel's ocean eyes is a spark of a childlike hope, a hope that she doesn't think she's seen in his eyes since first year when he found out that he could stay at Hogwarts during breaks. It almost brings tears to her eyes because she wants him to be happy so, so bad. Like, more than anyone in the world. Axel deserves everything and more and he's been through way too much—him and Peyton alike—to let something worth grasping onto slip through his unwilling hands. He doesn't need to be hurt anymore.

"Thanks, Mo." He closes his eyes for a brief moment when he encases the headphones over his ears. A button is pressed and Cress can hear the faint words of the famous Muggle singer Elvis Presley sift through his ears, a calming presence to his rampant mind.

He packs up his stuff, throwing his jumper over his shoulder when he stands. Axel sends Ginny a nod then gazes at Cress, meaningful and thankful. Cress smiles back and he walks away.

"You guys are close," says Ginny.

Cress doesn't take her eyes off the entrance to the library. "He's my best friend. I'd do anything for him."

Ginny whistles low. "Wish I had a best friend like that."

Cress looks at her for a moment, taking in her freckled face and fierce eyes. Ginny Weasley is going to be someone amazing when she matures more. She is going to surpass everyone and become the world's greatest whatever and Cress can't wait to see it. Because while Ginny may be shy (she uses this term loosely) now, there's a fire stirring up in her, relentless and eager to be released. It's just the matter of Ginny allowing it to blaze.

So, Cress knows deep down in her that Ginny is going to find a best friend (or friends) who balance her out, help her keep control of herself. She knows that Ginny is probably going to shock everyone and befriend the oddest, wildest group of people she knows. Ginny, who has hair that shines so brightly in the sun, who is great at Charms without even really trying. Ginny, who is kind, charismatic and so fucking brave but also so, so terrified.

Somewhere out there, someone is hunting for someone and they're just like Ginny but yet so, so opposite in the same ways. And Ginny's going to meet them and she's going to realize that she's found her best friend for life. It's only a matter of time now.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," says Cress.

"M'not," mumbles Ginny. "I mean I have friends and stuff. So it's not— I don't much care if I don't find my best friend."

Cress nods, unbelieving. "Sure, Ginny, sure."

"Uncanny, isn't it? How you can look like you're plotting something huge and sinister just by the way you smile." Ginny furrows her brows.

"Plotting?" Cress asks, tilting her head. "Ginny, please. This is just my face."

Ginny looks unmoved. "Sure, Cress, sure."

"Touche."

Cress grins, sniggers then Ginny's laughing too and it's nice and relaxing and Cress doesn't even know what was funny in the first place. She just knows that she's here, in the library with her friend and she's beaming and her face is red from laughter and it feels so, so good.

⋆˚࿔

When Fred, George and Lee all planned a Quidditch match with Hamlin, Cress was all up for it. She was ready, pumped full of adrenaline the whole week after they got the match settled. But then she realized that they weren't going to play it until the twenty-fifth, the only day where everyone was free. Which was two weeks or so away from when they initially planned it. Cress had hated everything.

And then the time passed and passed and she found herself busier and busier as the days passed on. Some days she barely talked to anyone but Ginny and Axel, too swamped with work to give Lee a remark on one of his comments he usually threw at her in the hallways anytime he saw her. He would shout at her, even as she walked away, lost in her textbook and work, but Cress paid no mind and she thinks he stopped trying after his umpteenth attempt.

Not to mention the fact that she hasn't spoken to the twins since that day in the corridor when she had to cut their conversation short because of Hamlin. And it wasn't because Cress was sulking because Cress doesn't sulk, okay? She doesn't sulk and Fred Weasley's doe brown eyes don't make her weak in the knees, thank you very much.

She has just been up to her pits in assignment after assignment, scrawling out essays and studying constellations in her free time. There has been no time to socialize or hang out or anything, which is why, on the day of Quidditch match, Cress almost forgets about it.

She's in the library, Axel across from her, of course, and she's working on a Divination essay—a prediction about how many rabbits are going to die this year or something—and Axel's writing faster than Cress can keep up with. She doesn't mind, though, because he seems happier than before and even though he hasn't told her about it yet, she knows it's only a matter of time before he spills and she gets the details.

But anyway, Cress is working diligently and making good time on her essay and there's not a thought on her mind because if she allows herself a distraction then she'll never be able to get her work done. Procrastination is her best talent, honestly, so she has to stomp it down before it can even surface.

Which is why, when a broom flies past the window at a speed almost faster than what she can see, Cress allows herself to focus on it and stops in her movements. She tenses up and looks towards the window and fuck, fuck, fuck. She forgot. She actually forgot and they are probably about to start and she's so screwed if she doesn't get down there.

Axel gives her an exasperatedly fond smile when he sees her scurrying around, trying to throw parchment into her bag. He sounds smug when he says, "I tried to remind you, Mo."

"Shut up, Ax, I forgot anyway. My minds been a big jumble lately. Too much knowledge for one girl is not a good thing. I'm about three more essays away from combusting on the spot, so sleep with that on your conscience."

"I will do so with joy," he says.

Cress gives him a look then throws her bag over her shoulder and doesn't even say goodbye to Axel because he's rude and doesn't really deserve it. Luckily the corridors are empty and she gets to the Quidditch pitch in due time. Everyone's already on the field, flying around and practicing, obviously waiting on Cress. She gulps and books it to the locker rooms, changing into her Quidditch robes so quick that she almost gets whiplash.

Grabbing the bat, she hoists herself onto her broom as soon as she's out of the locker room. Cress flies into the sky and over to where her team is, decked out in Hufflepuff yellow and black. Cress's own colors whirl behind her, swaying in the wind like a misshapen flag. She loves it. The air chills against her face soothingly and she swallows her nerves and flies right up to Hamlin, who is giving her the iciest glare she's ever seen.

"Where the bloody hell have you been, Baby Diggs?!" he asks in outrage when she reaches him. Luckily, no one else has noticed her yet and for that she is glad. She doesn't need the whole Hufflepuff team chewing her out. Hamlin will suffice pretty nicely, if she says so herself.

"I was studying," she tells him, grumbling with an indignant pout.

Hamlin doesn't look swayed. If anything, she thinks his glare intensifies as he stares at her. "Studying? You? Yeah, right. What were you really doing?"

"I just told you." Cress has an urge to take the bat that's in her hands and beat Hamlin to a pulp with it. She refrains herself, though, because they don't have a backup Keeper and Hamlin is really the only one she trusts to guard the hoops.

Hamlin squints his eyes at her and she thinks that this is getting a little ridiculous because she really was studying and not anything else. He should know this. The past few weeks, she's done nothing but study. Because while she told Cedric that she wasn't going to worry about her O.W.L.s until the week before the exams took place, she knows that if she did that, she will most likely fail each and every one of them and she does not need that on her conscience. So, studying it is.

"Little Diggory!"

Someone comes up and pats her on the back rather roughly and Cress can feel it reverberate through her entire body. She winces, gripping the bat in her hand extra tightly so it doesn't fall out of her grasp, and looks up to see Fred Weasley, along with George and Lee, on his broom, looking rather pleased and content. Cress wishes he wasn't so fucking beautiful. Like, what's with those eyes?! And his cheeks are flushed and he's smiling and she doesn't think she knows how to breathe anymore, a pulse of heat shivering down her spine when he grins at her, soft and easy. Her lungs have stopped working and all she can think about are the freckles scattered about his face.

Hamlin coughs and shoots her a look. Cress feels her face heat up and she glares at him. He smirks, says, "I'll leave you to it," and flies off.

Lee says, when she looks back towards them, "Thought you weren't going to make it."

"Mhm. Nearly had to use the back up Beater," says George, almost looking relieved. "And don't get me wrong, Rickett isn't a bad guy. I just wouldn't have wanted to have played against him again."

Cress nods. "Well, here I am. In all my not-Rickett glory."

Since they have no reason to, she wonders, for a moment, why they're over here talking to her. She hasn't spoken to them in weeks, too immersed in her studying to really give them the time of day. Plus, she finished their little project thing and really, she thought that that was where it all ended. But here they are, speaking to her as though they never stopped. It does things to her heart.

"Plus, after the match, we have a surprise," Fred says, wiggling his eyebrows around in a suggestive manner.

"I don't think I want to see that surprise." Cress raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

Lee laughs. "Are you always this apprehensive, pud?"

"Can it with the nickname, Jordan, or I swear on Helga, I will end you," Cress says, glaring at him viciously. Lee doesn't look threatened at all. In fact, he smiles wider and throws an arm around her shoulder, pushing their thighs together. Cress has to keep a tight grip on her bat so it doesn't go flying. She glares at Lee.

"Your glaring is rather cute," he says, teeth glinting in the blazing sun. "It's as though you're trying to be menacing but can't quite get it down. A kitten trying to be a lion."

Cress rolls her eyes. "You're insufferable, Jordan."

"You know, I bet you twenty Knuts that, by the end of this term, I can get you to call me Lee." Jordan wiggles his eyebrows at her, a suggestion. She looks up at him and rolls her eyes once more because it's Lee, and she at least rolls her eyes one hundred times whilst she's in his presence.

"Oh, I doubt that, mate," says George. "I'm pretty sure you're stuck with Jordan for the rest of your days."

Cress nods in agreement.

Fred says, "Oi, let's have a little faith. Our little Lee is very charming, I'm sure Little Diggory will be calling him Lee by the time Christmas comes."

Cress highly doubts that. Lee looks at Fred Weasley like he just hung the moon and she wonders how she even became acquainted with him—Lee, that is. She shakes her head and gives George a glance and he just looks like he understands. She's grateful.

"I'll call him by his given name when you guys stop calling me 'Little Diggory.'"

Fred and George both whistle lowly as though she just said something surprising. The sun shines in her face and the wind blows her hair around madly and, not for the first time, she wishes she would have just stayed in the library.

"No can do, Little Diggory." George looks apologetic, but Cress thinks it's bullshit.

Fred says, "Yeah, you're stuck with it for life."

Cress nods, shakes Lee off of her. She is by no means done with this conversation—she really needs to know if her and Ginny's conversation was all for nothing—but Hamlin (and Cedric) are sending her identical glares that could curdle dairy. Even the makeshift Gryffindor team are giving them heated glances.

"Oi! Lee! Fred! George! Get your arses over here so we can start the match!" Angelina Johnson, a sixth year Chaser, yells loudly at the three of them.

They don't look bothered in the slightest.

"Merlin, Angelina, we're just chatting!" Lee grumbles at her, but starts flying over to where their team is.

Cress bids them ado and flies to her own team.

Maxine O'Flaherty, the other Beater besides Cress, gives her a tentative smile when she reaches them. Her eyes are shining, though, full of determination. Obviously this match was important, even though it wasn't official. Everyone had the same looks of determination on their face, looking as though they were walking into the battlefield rather than into a game of Quidditch. Cress grins back.

"Okay!" Hamlin claps his hands together. Jackson Whitefield, a Chaser, shoots him an exasperated glare. Hamlin ignores him. "What's the game plan?"

Everyone looks at Cedric.

His eyes are set. "We go out there and we win. That's all there is to it."

"And we show them that we can win even without Dementors!"

Shouts chorus through them. Cress watches with a sense of resolve flooding through her. For once, she wants to win. Wants to win a match for her team, her House. She holds her bat up high and does not mind when everyone turns their eyes onto her. Instead, she feels as though a fire has stirred up in her, hot and blazing, igniting every part of her body as she stares at the team.

"Show no mercy!"

Cress yells it like a battle cry and the team shout back at her, "No mercy!"

And then there's yelling in the stands and Cress finally sees that there's a big crowd filling up the stadium. Holy fuck. Most of the Hufflepuff House is there and on the other side, there's the Gryffindor House, each decked out in their own House colors, shouting for their respective team. Cress sees Axel in the crowd, a book in his hand as he looks at her, and she smiles, grateful that he came, even though he would probably be reading the whole time.

He grins back and Cress glances through the crowd until she spots Cho Chang, decked out in Hufflepuff, and wait—was that Cedric's scarf around her neck?!

Cedric sends her a look when she wiggles her eyebrows at him. "Cress, oh my goodness, stop. We're about to start a match."

"Oh, brother, don't I know it." She laughs. "I won't say anything until after, but I just want you to know that I will pester you until you tell me."

Cedric groans but shrugs anyway and they fly down to where the Gryffindor team is, getting in their specific spot. Since Madam Hooch declined Hamlin's request at observing the game, Anthony Rickett and someone from Gryffindor whom Cress doesn't know have agreed to do it together. When everyone is where they are supposed to be, Rickett glances around, sticks his whistle in his mouth. The Gryffindor throws the Quaffle up just as he blows it.

It's a blur, really. Cress flies around, hitting the Bludger whenever she had the chance, going for each of the Gryffindor's Chasers. She flies and the wind blows through her robes and she sees passing colors of crimson red and molten gold mixed in with sunshine yellow and night black. It's not too hard, working with the Hufflepuff team. As soon as the whistle blew, her and O'Flaherty were working together as though they've been doing it their whole life.

Jordan, Cress has to admit, is a greater Chaser than she had thought he was going to be. He is on a Cleansweep and he has managed to dodge every hit Cress has sent towards him, leaning left or feigning right just at the right movements. Her and Maxine try, a futile attempt, but Jordan is too fast for them.

She clenches her teeth because Hufflepuff is down by forty and Hamlin is starting to get antsy at the Hoops. Cress clutches her bat tightly, sees the Bludger heading for one of her own teammates, hit by the one and only Fred Weasley, and she soars over there, knocking it away before it has a chance to hit Jackson.

Fred Weasley shoots her a wink, but Cress is too deep into the match to be affected by his cheekiness right now. (She does, however, store it away so she can freak out later. After Hufflepuff has won.)

"Not too shabby, Diggory," he says when she passes him.

Cress smirks. "Could say the same, Weasley."

She smacks the Bludger away from another Chaser just as Hufflepuff shoots the Quaffle past their Keeper, a seventh year whom Cress does not know. The people in the crowd cheer and now they're only down by thirty. Cress grins and Maxine smacks the Bludger to her. Cress knocks it into Angelina Johnson and Tamsin gets the ball back. A pass to Richards and Hufflepuff scores again.

Cress hopes they can win this.

⋆˚࿔

Hamlin picks Cress up with a beam, and his textured curls rub on her face. She laughs, happy and exuberant, and soon enough, Cedric is joining in and then it's the whole Hufflepuff team and they're on the ground, laughing joyously. There's dirt in Cress's face and she knows she's probably a mess, but she feels so great, so amazingly light that it doesn't even bother her.

They won.

Hufflepuff actually won.

There were no Dementors or rain or anything that could have made the Gryffindors question their loss this time. It was a fair game, with Cedric catching the Snitch in the nick of time, even though Potter had that quick-as-lighting Firebolt that he uses. They won, the final score 290-280. Which is not a big margin by the least, but that doesn't matter, because Hufflepuff fucking did it, and Cress is so fucking happy right now.

"You were amazing out there, Baby Diggs!" Hamlin exclaims, throwing an arm around her shoulder. Cress doesn't even try to push him away. "You definitely need to try out next year!"

And Cress is seriously considering that now. It was fun, being up there, flying around and hitting Bludgers. She felt useful and content, the breeze blowing her hair back, the crisp air fresh and comforting.

"Maybe," is what she says to Hamlin.

He gives her a knowing look, anyway. Cress tries to suppress her grin.

"Good work out there!" Maxine tells her in passing, running to the locker room.

Cress yells back her gratitude, and Cedric fills the slot on her other side. She beams up at him. He looks like he's on top of the world, hair all mussed up and mouth tilted into a crooked grin.

"You were great out there, Ced," says Cress, patting his arm. It was the only thing she could really do, considering that Hamlin's arm was still around her.

Cedric absolutely lights up. "Really?"

Hamlin nods. "Magnificent, mate. Especially that catch." He whistles. "Impressive."

"Thanks, guys," Cedric tells them. He pats Hamlin's head lovingly, ignoring Hamlin's fond and exasperated glare, sending Cress a big smile. "Has anyone ever told you guys that you're my best friends?"

Cress groans. "Why do you always get so sentimental, Ced?" She shudders, making a face.

Cedric laughs. Hamlin says, "Don't be a buzzkill, Baby Diggs! I, for one, love the sentiment. Please, Cedric, praise me more. Tell me how great I am! Tell me that I'm the most brilliant, most beautiful person you've ever met and that you'd be nothing without me!"

"Your jaw looks like it was hand crafted. I could cut my hand on it," Cedric says.

Hamlin hums. Cress looks between them because what the hell? She doesn't know if she's in the middle of some kind of moment or not, but it's getting uncanny.

"And Merlin, your hair. I get distracted by it all the time. So soft. So beautiful. It's one of my favorite things about you. Just wanna get my hands up in it."

Cress raises an eyebrow. "What is the matter with you guys?"

"I'm just stating the fact, Cress. Don't try and pretend that you haven't thought about petting Hamlin's hair the way he does yours all the time," her brother says.

Hamlin tells her, nodding, "Yeah, don't. Every one has thought about it, Baby Diggs. You are no exception."

"I'll admit it's soft," Cress says begrudgingly, "but I disagree with the whole jaw thing."

They both pull these faces, like Cress just told them she had a contagious disease. Cress really wishes they weren't so weird. Also, she needs more friends.

The sun is almost set when they enter the locker room and Cress immediately changes into a tan sweater that her mother knitted her and her uniform skirt, pulling her knee-high socks up her leg and lacing up her black shoes. It's only her and Cedric in there by the time she's done. Everyone else went to celebrate, but Cress has a suspicion that Cedric has someone waiting for him when leaves. She tries not to smirk at him.

"Stop making that face," Cedric demands when he turns to her.

"Face? I'm not making a face."

"You definitely are. You look like this." Cedric mimics her.

Cress bites her lip to keep her laughter in. She says, "Tell me, dearest brother, why does Cho Chang have your scarf?"

A blush crawls up the back of his neck and onto his face, making him red and flushed. Cedric hunches his shoulders up and mumbles, "S'not my scarf." When Cress just gives him a deadpan look he throws his hands up and says, "Okay, it is! But look, there's nothing really happening. She's just my friend."

"But you're working on making it something more right?" Cress asks.

Cedric shrugs and Cress stares at him for a long moment. His lips are turned down ever the slightest and he looks so young in that moment. She wishes she knew what he was thinking, what made him look so forlorn and let down.

"I dunno," he says, small and almost a whisper, but his eyes only linger on the door, where Hamlin left with Tamsin.

Cress frowns. "Ced, if you're worried about her not fancying you then—"

"It's not that," he hurriedly interrupts. "It's just— Academics are important and maybe. Maybe I just don't have time for a girlfr—"

"Bullshit, Cedric!" Cress stands up, voice loud and irate. Cedric stares back, shocked. "That's the biggest load of crock I've heard in all my years of living! If you fancy the girl, go for it! Don't let anyone hold you back, not even bloody Amos!"

"How did you—?" Cedric pauses, runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, and shakes his head. "Never mind. Doesn't matter. You've always been too observant with me." But he doesn't sound mad. Just exhausted.

Cress is livid, though. Because she understands that Amos wants Cedric to be the best he can be through academics, sports, whatever, but that doesn't mean that Cedric should stop being a fucking teenager. He deserves a girlfriend, to have someone that makes him happy and she'll be damned if she's going to let Amos ruin that for him.

"Ced, you like Chang?" He nods. She says, "And she fancies you. There's nothing stopping you. You're a good student, a great Quidditch player, and a perfect son, Cedric. I know Amos thinks what he tells you is for the best, but if you want her, go for her. Don't let anyone hold you back. Not even yourself."

Cedric grins a secretive grin that Cress can't really decipher but she smiles back anyway. He says, "Thanks, Cress. I appreciate it." He kisses her on the forehead and then he's out the door.

Cress follows after a short moment, bag hoisted over her shoulder. It's dark when she exits the locker room but the stars are shining brightly in the indigo sky, twinkling at her. She knows Axel's probably in the Astronomy Tower right now, gazing at the millions of stars littered in the sky. She grins.

There's a breeze and her skirt sways with it, but Cress doesn't really mind because it's a nice night, full of hooting owls and howling wolves. The moon shines down at her, a crescent the only visible part of it. Cress treks forward. Then she screams.

The person who just grabbed her screams, too. They let go and Cress whirls around, her wand out of the waistband of her skirt and in their face. Lee holds up his hands in surrender.

"I swear, I didn't mean to scare you! I was just trying to get your attention!"

Cress wills her heart to stop pounding. George is flanked beside him, smiling with windblown hair and a freckled face. Fred is the only one missing.

She says, "Did you think shouting my name was a bad idea or?"

"Lee wanted to see if you would jump. Don't let him fool you, Little Diggory."

"Oi, George! Don't throw me under the rug like that!"

Cress rolls her eyes. "As I've said. Insufferable."

George laughs. "He's not that bad."

"I'm a joy to be around, pud!" Lee exclaims, looking put out.

"Sure you are." Cress nods sarcastically, putting her wand pack in the waistband of her skirt. She pulls her sweater back down and asks, "So, where's Fred?" She tries to make it sound casual, but it comes out too casual to be casual if that makes sense. Probably not. But Cress figures that she never makes sense so it's okay.

George gazes at her apprehensively, like he isn't sure whether or not to tell her what he's about to tell her but Lee just gets this teasing glint in his eyes, smirking. And before George can say anything, Lee all but shouts, "Probably trying to woo Angelina! Prat's been trying to shag her since the beginning of the year." He wiggles his eyebrows. "So Georgie and I, being the best friends anyone could ask for, left them in the locker room to bond."

Oh, Cress thinks. Oh.

"That sounds like fun," she tells them because she doesn't know what to say. "I actually forgot, though—I have to go help Axel with something! Sorry guys, surprise is going to have to wait for another night." Cress hoists her bag up further onto her shoulder and clenches her hand around the strap.

George gazes at her, knowing and a little sorrowful. Cress has to look away. She stares at the moon and thinks that the night isn't that nice. She wonders how such a wonderful day could turn so sour in the blink of an an eye.

Lee, oblivious to everything, says, "Well damn, pud! That's unfortunate! It was a really nice surprise, too!"

"It was the banoffee pie we promised you," George says with a snort of laughter, softly, like he's trying to lessen the blow of Fred missing something he was so happy to show her. "Mum finally made it and we just received it today. We can pass it onto you, if you'd like."

George Weasley is a perceptive person, and Cress admires it. She nods gratefully and he tries to muster up a grin in return. Lee pouts, obviously angry that the surprise is ruined, but Cress has a feeling that he'll get over it in no time. She pats him on the arm and gives George one last smile before bidding them a good night.

Cress knows the common room will be packed if she goes down there, so she heads to the Astronomy Tower. It's quiet and cool and there's no one there but Axel when she enters. He's looking through a telescope, immersed in whatever it is that he's doing, his Walkman blaring Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love." Cress curls up in the corner of the room and stares up at the millions of stars, all so beautiful to look at but impossible to touch.

Soon enough, the stars blur together and Cress, against her better judgement, falls asleep, the echo of Elvis Presley filling her ears.

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Chapter Text

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Turns out, Cress and banoffee pie do not go well together. Well, technically, Cress and cinnamon do not go well together. She looks at the potion that Madam Pomfrey gave her and tries not to cry. Madam Pomfrey stares at her, hands on hip and that strict, do-not-try-to-disobey-me-or-I-will-end-you look on her face. Cress swallows it in one go. It tastes like sour milk and mud.

"Oh, the taste isn't that bad," Madam Pomfrey says. Cress squints in disbelief. "It's over, now, so stop your pouting."

"Not pouting," Cress mumbles, but it's a lie. She is definitely pouting and she really hates desserts.

Madam Pomfrey leaves her in all her sulkiness and Cress pulls the covers over her bed because her face is rather horrendous right now and she would rather not have any of the other tenants looking over at her.

There are angry splotches of crimson dotted all over her face. All over her body. The rashes are dark red and very itchy, but they're bandaged up so Cress can't scratch at them. The ones on her face are not covered up in bandages, but Cress still doesn't touch them—no matter how much she wants to—because she is pretty sure that Madam Pomfrey has some sort of special power that allows her to see when children are disobeying her very stern orders.

(She saw a Slytherin third year poke at a growth they had and Madam Pomfrey came in the room seconds later, eyes angry and voice loud. The third year never went near their injury again once she left.)

Cress hears Madam Pomfrey come out moments later and then she's talking softly to someone, who's apparently in the Hospital Wing often. Mallory Ackerman says something to Madam Pomfrey and the woman chuckles, lighthearted and not at all strict or mean. Cress wonders what her secret is. Every professor in the school is kind to Mallory Ackerman. Not even Snape's all that hostile towards the Hufflepuff girl which is saying something.

(Cress really wants to know her secret.)

Said girl coughs again and it sounds so terribly life-threatening that Cress peeks out of her curtain to look at her. Mallory Ackerman is a girl with soft, doe eyes that are painted an emerald green. She is always smiling, whether it be to herself or at her cat. Cress doesn't think she has seen her talk to anyone.

Today, Mallory Ackerman is not smiling, however. She looks deeply sick, like one more coughing fit could actually be the end and Cress's heart does a thing as she stares at her. Pushing her curtain back further, Cress makes herself known, trying to muster up a grin when the girl turns to look at her.

"I'm allergic to cinnamon," Cress says as a ways of greeting her.

Mallory laughs quietly, a melodic thing that makes Cress grin. "I heard," she says. "I thought Madam Pomfrey was going to have a spell when your brother carried you in here."

Truthfully, Cress has no recollection of ever being carried to the Hospital Wing. The last thing she remembers is Axel waking her up before he departed to the common room, leaving the Astronomy Tower, and then accepting a whole pie from Cedric when she got back to the common room. Her and Axel dug into it and then Cress thinks she might have seized out but then it all went black, so that could have been a dream or something. She woke up staring at a white ceiling with Madam Pomfrey fussing at her.

It's safe to say that Cress will not be eating banoffee pie ever again.

Mallory coughs again and then sneezes something into a tissue. She grins at Cress. Cress says, "You're in my year, right? We're roommates."

Mallory nods. "Yep. I'm Mallory Ackerman." She ponders over something for a moment then shakes her head. "I would try to shake your hand, but Madam Pomfrey says I'm really contagious right now."

Cress shrugs, holding out her hand anyway. "I'm Crescent Diggory. You can call me Cress if you'd like." Mallory stares at the hand for a moment then back to Cress's smiling face. Hesitantly, she shakes Cress's hand and Cress beams.

"Nice to meet you, Crescent." Mallory smiles then looks panicked, as though she's said something wrong. "I hope that doesn't offend you, me calling you Crescent. It's just—it's not that I don't like nicknames, I just prefer using the whole name. I can call you Cress, though, if it's really that important. I don't mind." She sneezes again, coughing wildly afterwards.

Cress shakes her head and tries her best to soothe the girl from her cot. "No, it's alright. Crescent works just fine. I don't mind."

"Are you sure? I don't want to offend anyone."

And isn't she just the cutest little thing? Cress wants to squeeze her tightly and never let her go.

"It's perfectly okay."

Mallory sneezes again. "If you're sure." She smiles again, shy and small, crimson creeping up her cheeks and making her look bashful.

Cress is certain they're going to be the best of friends.

Axel and Cedric come in around lunchtime, and Axel tries to contain his sniggers as he takes a seat beside her bed. Cedric gives her a sympathetic grin and Cress wants to throw a paper bag over her head because she's hideous, and no one needs to see her in this state. Beside her, Mallory is snoring away, dead to the world with her curtains drawn on her own bed. The third year Slytherin is looking at them weirdly. Cress shoots them a look.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Mo?" Axel actually allows himself to laugh this time, shaggy black hair falling into his face as he leans forward.

Cedric suppresses a grin. "Ax, come on. She's wounded."

"I'm not fucking wounded, you fucking ogre!" Cress snaps, crossing her arms over her chest in anger. A stray piece of hair falls out of her ponytail and into her face and she huffs out to get it to go away.

Madam Pomfrey, from wherever she is, says, "Language, Miss Diggory!"

Cress isn't even ashamed. She turns back to where Cedric and Axel are now laughing freely, seemingly amused to see her basically dying in the Hospital Wing. Or maybe it's the fact that Madam Pomfrey just scolded her for her language. Cress doesn't know. Doesn't really care. Her face is still tingling and her skin itches everywhere and she really hates banoffee pie.

Axel says, "So, the rest of the pie was absolutely succulent."

"I hope you choked on it," gripes Cress angrily, frowning hard. Axel seems to find this absolutely hilarious, for he laughs and laughs and she hates him. A lot.

Cedric, still grinning, tries to calm Axel's laugh, pointing at the sleeping girl as a warning. Axel muffles his laughs with his hands, but Cress can tell that he's still sniggering. Prick. She huffs and she almost asks Madam Pomfrey to kick them out just because. Cedric stares at her like he knows what she's about to do and she turns away, harrumphing.

"Merlin, I forgot what a child you are when you're sick or injured," Cedric says like he's thinking about something from the past. He sounds far away and she wonders if he's thinking about when she clung to him for a week while she had the flu. "It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten what it was like." He ruffles her hair, grey eyes gleaming.

She rolls her eyes. "I do not act like a child when I'm sick."

Axel even gives her a look that states he believes none of the words that flew out of her mouth. "That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. You're like a fucking koala bear that clings onto everything. And then you pout because you think it's the end of the world." He sighs out. "You're more dramatic than me, Mo."

"As if anyone could be more dramatic than you, Ax." Cress scoffs, rolling her eyes. She pulls down the sleeve of her sweater from last night (and really? Madam Pomfrey couldn't have spared some pajamas for her? Cress is offended) and tries her hardest not to scratch at her rashes.

Cedric says, "We can argue all day about who's the most dramatic out of you two," —he glances between the two, grey eyes narrowed in exasperation— "but we don't have all day, so you'll need to work this out in your free time if you don't mind."

Axel and Cress share a glance. Simultaneously, they roll their eyes and just like that—it's over. It's like the whole discussion is over, like it never happened, and Cress has to commend Cedric for his skill. Almost every time her and Axel got in a debacle, when Cedric opens his mouth suddenly it's forgotten. Something about him butting in just makes them draw a blank or something, Cress doesn't know.

She shakes her head, stares at her brother because she can see that even though he was joking around earlier, he's honestly worried for her wellbeing. Cress wonders how bad she freaked out last night. She wants to ask but can't, because Cedric has her in a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. He smells like warm bread mixed with cologne and it kind of makes her nauseous, but she grips him back.

"It was horrendous," he says quietly in her ear. He sounds choked up, a little and Cress hates that he might actually cry. She hopes he doesn't. "I've never seen you so choked up. Never seen you struggle to breathe like that before. It was bloody terrifying." His grip is tight but reassuring and Cress leans into it like it's a lifeline.

"It's okay, Ced," she soothes, pats him on the back. She doesn't know what else to say; situations like these always make her uncomfortable.

Cedric seems to understand this, too, for he pulls back, gives her one more comforting grin and leans back against his chair. Cress smiles back then looks at Axel, who is currently messing with the utilities on her bedside table. He smirks when he catches her looking.

"Not many things to do over here." He's sifting through the pamphlets that Madam Pomfrey gave her because Cress told her she was bored earlier. "There's even one about safe sex in here, oh my god!" Axel laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever experienced. Cress tries not to blush too hard.

"Get out of my stuff," she gripes, pushing at his hands with a frown on her face. "Stop being a nosy sack of shit."

"I'm not being nosy." Axel doesn't deter in his search, eyes focused like he is really looking for something. "There's a lot of informative things in here. I wanna brush up on the important things, Mo. Let me live."

Cress rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

She gives up in trying to stop him because he's nose deep in some pamphlet about unicorn attacks and what people can do to prevent them (which was something that happened very rarely, said Madam Pomfrey, but when it does happen, the results are catastrophic).

She turns back to Cedric, wiggles her eyebrows just like she did yesterday on the Quidditch pitch until Cedric heaves a loud sigh.

"Please don't," he says it like he's pleading for his life to be spared.

Cress goes on, anyway, "What happened with you and Chang last night? Did you two get into trouble?" She wiggles her eyebrows once more, makes smoochy faces with her lips. "Did you do the hanky panky? Play tonsil hockey?"

"I regret the day you ever made friends with Axel, oh holy Helga." Cedric shakes his head (and ignores Axel's indignant "Hey!"). "The kind of things you say—tonsil hockey? Really? What does that even mean?"

"Well," Cress singsongs, smirking, "Ax says that it means two people stick their tongues dow—"

"Forget it," —Cedric looks like he might be sick— "I don't want to know anymore. Keep it to yourself but never—I mean, never—use that phrase ever. In your life. I am traumatized."

Cress highly doubts that but she heeds him anyway. "Okay," she tells him, "drop the juicy details. Tell me what I want to hear. I need the good stuff. If I feel like you're holding back on me, hell will rain down on all that you love, understand?"

"Your empty threats are none better than when we were younger, Cress. I don't know why you keep trying with them." Cedric pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He looks completely put out with this conversation but she does not care.

Cress scratches at her face without care, then, realizing what she's done, shoves her hand underneath her bottom quickly. She hopes, prays, that Madam Pomfrey won't come out and chew her out for doing something so idiotic, especially when her rashes were starting to go down—what with that nasty mud milk potion thing that the nurse basically shoved down her throat every three hours or so. Cress grimaces and turns to Cedric, awaiting his continuation of the story.

He sighs. "We just talked," he mumbles, but there's a tint to his cheeks, crawling up his ears, that wasn't there before. "She told me she was happy we won, that we played good and we just talked. Until Fred and George Weasley found us and informed me to give you a pie. I was so confused, to be honest. What was that all about anyway?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. His hair is mussed up, probably from sleep and the fact that Cedric doesn't really care to fix his hair on the weekends. Says it's too much work just to do nothing.

"A story for another time, my dearest brother." She waves him off, even though explaining it would take little to no time. But it's like, she heard Fred and her brain kind of short circuited and she didn't really want to talk about him because her heart was still hurting at the fact that the girl whom he fancied was definitely not her. "And I don't, for a second, believe that you and Chang just talked. You snogged her—had to have. There's no way you didn't. You fancy the bird too much not to try and smooch her. And, prior to popular belief, you're not a gentleman, so don't try to use that excuse to get out of telling me."

Cress is lying about the gentleman part because Cedric is a gentleman, kind and polite, smiling at everyone with that charming grin of his. He says thank you when needed, never pushes the boundaries that some people might have built up, and has these eyes that just scream how much of a proper gentleman he is. But he splutters when she says it to him, so she's sure that she might be on to something.

"I didn't— we just," Cedric mumbles, tripping over his words. His whole face is completely crimson now, looks like he might overheat soon, and Axel glances up from his pamphlet to give him an interested gaze. "I asked her first..."

Axel and Cress exchange glances and then they're cheering for Cedric (softly because they don't want Madam Pomfrey to chew them out if they wake up Mallory), Axel clapping him on the back with a broad grin on his face. Cress feels elated herself, doesn't reach, though, because her body is irritated and she's pretty sure if she tries to move then she'll end up scratching at herself. (She knows Madam Pomfrey will be out in a quick second if that happens.)

"You little scoundrel, you!" Axel exclaims, sapphire eyes gleaming in the hue of the sun. "I didn't know you had it in you, Cedric, honestly. Thought you were going to dance around her until she made the first move."

Cress nods. "Your pining was becoming pretty ridiculous." She fiddles with a stray thread on her sheets, asks, "So, how was it? Was it everything you dreamed of and more?"

"I don't pine," Cedric grumbles, face red. He looks away, but there's a pleased set in his jaw, a softness in his eyes when he glances back at Cress. "Cho is amazing. Hamlin really likes her, which is important, and she just—she really makes me happy, y'know?"

And Cress does know. She sees it in the way that his grey eyes seem lighter, in the way that his shoulders relax as he goes on and on about what she likes and what they've discussed in their time together. She sees it in the way that he perks up, remembers that they were supposed to be meeting today, and hurries out of the bedroom with a kiss on Cress's forehead and a pat on Axel's shoulder as he bolts it out of the Hospital Wing.

Axel says, "He's already whipped, Mo. What're we going to do?"

Cress shrugs because she knows it's true. Cedric is most definitely far gone for the Chang girl, probably writes her pathetic poems and sings her silly love songs when they're together. But he's happy, he looks relaxed, like he doesn't have the legacy of Amos Diggory (who really doesn't do anything yet pushes his son like he has so much to live up to) weighing him down.

He looks free, like the shackles that have been chained to him have suddenly broke off.

(Cress makes a mental note to thank the Chang girl in person when she has a chance.)

To Axel, she says, "We tease him relentlessly about it."

Axel laughs. "Good idea." He fiddles with the pamphlets in his hands, looks around awkwardly. "So, the other schools are going to be here soon." He whispers it like it's something sacred, like he shouldn't even be talking about it in the first place. Cress can see his cheeks grow darker and she grins, ecstatic.

"Oh my Hufflepuff! Does that mean you're going to meet Valky?" she asks excitedly, sitting up straighter.

"It's Valko, Mo. Valko."

Cress waves him off. "To each his own." She gives him a heated glare, thinking that he might be avoiding the subject because Axel liked to do things like that. "Seriously, did he write back? Are you guys okay? Is he coming to bloody Hogwarts?"

Axel's ears get faintly pink and he looks so small in that moment, a shy smile on his face, hands clenched in his blue cardigan as he thinks about it. Cress knows he likes whoever his pen pal is, wants to be more than companions—more than friends—and she hopes, Helga she hopes, that he gets what he desires in the end. That whoever he's speaking to, whoever makes him smile the most yet frown the hardest, is worth it.

Because Axel most definitely is.

"Yes," he says it so lowly that Cress almost misses it, but it's there and it's conformation and she's so fucking happy for him. She grins wide, smile feeling as though it might split her cheek into two and, even though moving irritates her skin, she moves and throws her arms over Axel's shoulder with a pleased snort of laughter escaping her mouth.

(She flicks the Slytherin off behind Axel's back when the third year sends her a look that should be menacing but barely passes for a glare with all the baby fat on their cheeks.)

"You get to meet him, Ax! That's fucking tremendous! I'm so happy for you!"

Axel grips her back and when he pulls back, he seems pleased, his blue eyes soft and so much like the ocean as he stares at her. "Thanks, Mo." He wrings his hands nervously in his lap. "I'm actually really excited to see him." He glances out the window, gazes like a teenager in love and Cress feels her whole body relax into the sheets, skin still irritated, but mind at ease.

The two most important men in her life are happy and that is really all that matters to Cress. Her allergy to cinnamon doesn't matter, nor does the fact that Fred Weasley fancies someone else. None of it matters because Axel and Cedric are finally reaching for something they've wanted for so long, something they've tried grasping for some time only to come back empty-handed and discouraged. They finally have their hands on it, and they're holding on tightly (from what she can see, at least), taking what they yearned for and making it their own. It is something to behold, something amazing, and Cress is glad to be part of it as it happens.

"I'm sure he'll love you, Ax," she says lowly when he looks like he might combust from thinking too much. "You're hard not to love, okay? You're compassionate, selfless, and amazing, even if you curse like a pirate. You're my best friend and anyone with eyes can see what a catch you are."

"Yeah," mutters Axel, "but, like, what if he sees me and I'm not—I dunno. What if I'm not good enough?"

"Don't say that!" Cress exclaims, not caring how loud she is. She hates that he's talking down on himself. "You're too good, if anything, Ax! You love stars and space and a Muggle singer named Elvis Presley and you're headstrong and you never let anyone deter your passion! Not even your parents! You're extraordinarily brilliant, Axel! And this Valko guy will be lucky if you even give him the time of day."

Axel gives a short laugh, looks at Cress with a small smile. "I knew, underneath all those taunts at your brother about being sentimental, that you, yourself, were a sap. Just like him. Must run in the family or something." And he laughs, at the expense of Cress no less, but it's okay because the doubt that was swirling in his eyes like a hurricane seems to have disappeared.

Cress feels like she can breathe a little easier.

When Axel leaves (with the promise of meeting Cress's new friend later, once they're both awake), Cress sighs out, snuggles into her bed that is too thin for her liking, and looks to the side, at all the white lining the Wing, at the bareness of it all.

She lets her mind wander aimlessly for awhile, tries to keep her thoughts off a certain person but it's futile.

Cress sees it in her head like she's watching a one of those Muggle movies that Axel loves so much. It's Fred Weasley and he's smiling so bright, eyes crinkled warmly at the corners and teeth showing as he grins and grins. But it's not at her; she can see Angelina Johnson there and they're in the Quidditch locker room, giggling and talking and Fred's hand is intertwined with hers and Angelina looks so utterly at peace, her dark features relaxed as she grips him back.

It's as clear as day, a big 'ole reminder of what Cress wants, what she, herself, yearns for, but can't have.

She sees it, wishes she would stop with the whole self-destructive thoughts, and closes her eyes tightly. Cress hopes that she doesn't dream, but when she falls unconscious she's met with cold brown eyes and a sneer that tells her to stay away, to stop trying to chase after something that she can never reach.

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Chapter Text

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Fred and George come visit her just as she's about to check out of the Hospital Wing. There's still a bandage on her arm, the worst form of rash she's had, says Madam Pomfrey, but the rest of her is healed up and her throat is no longer swollen or scratchy so she counts it as a win. The nurse is about to send her off when the two ginger boys come sprinting in there, looking out of breath and in need of some water.

"Merlin, Little Diggory," pants out Fred, hands on his knees as he bends over. "You gave us quite the scare!"

"Almost thought we had killed you when your brother told us where you were." George places a hand on his heart as he bends down, resting his hand (the one not clenching at his chest dramatically) on his knee.

Cress just stares at them because she's pretty sure there's nothing else she can do. They're here and that's great, but they're out of breath and looking at her like they actually did kill her and are now attending her (very) sad funeral. Before she can say anything in response, Madam Pomfrey comes over and shoos all three of them out. Cress gapes as the huge doors to the Hospital Wings slam shut in front of her.

"I was going to get some chocolate from her," she whines pathetically, staring at the wooden doors like they'll magically open for her. They don't. She pouts some more.

Someone throws a hand over her shoulder. "Now, now, Little Diggory," George says, "we'll get you some chocolate." He raises his eyebrows suggestively when she looks up at him.

"But," Fred speaks, "what in Merlin's beard was in that pie that was life-threatening?! I'm at least eighty percent sure Mum didn't poison it, Georgie."

"She didn't," George agrees brightly. Cress doesn't feel too reassured. Her stomach rolls and she fiddles with her day old sweater, wishing she could just go to her dormitory and sleep.

"I'm allergic to cinnamon," Cress explains. "Makes my throat swell up, rashes appear. The whole shebang. It's not pleasant, honestly." George's arm around her shoulder is warm and companionable as they walk towards the basements. She almost falls asleep, he's emitting so much warmth.

Fred makes a surprised noise. "Allergic to cinnamon?! That's like being allergic to life, Little Diggory!"

"Erm. . ." Cress trails off, wondering what on earth Fred is talking about because she doesn't speak in riddles and she's not exactly sure she wants to start. She doesn't look at him though because she knows if she does she'll be gone and she doesn't need to act like an idiotic fool right now - especially when it's just something that'll be ignored. Something that'll be brushed off his shoulders.

George hums in a agreement. "Honestly, that means you can't have like-any desserts! No wonder you don't have a sweet tooth." He shakes his head. "You poor, poor girl. I didn't know you were suffering this much."

"I'm not suffering."

"Ha!" Fred sounds incredulous. "'Not suffering,' you say? Rashes and swollen throats don't exactly sound like a walk in the park, mate."

Cress shrugs. "S'why I don't eat cinnamon, chap. Helps me avoid these kind of situations."

"I just can't wrap my head around this blasphemy." George shakes his head with a dazed look on his face.

"What kind of god has cursed you with a life full of no sweets?" Fred asks, voice sounding awfully sympathetic.

Cress says, "The kind of god who was looking out for me."

"Blasphemy," mutters George.

Cress's mouth quirks in a smile as she turns her gaze towards him. George gives her a playful grin back and nudges his shoulder with hers.

"Sorry for almost killing you, though," Fred tells her with a pat on her back. It's harder than she expected and she jolts forward with the force of it.

"No problem," she manages to croak out, trying to get her lungs working again.

George exclaims, "Nice one, Fred! Now you've gone and winded her with those giant man hands. The poor girl can barely breathe! What a way to send her off!"

"Not going to lie," Cress says before Fred can respond, "I'm a little put off at the way you guys mention me dying so easily. Little uncanny, really."

"Honestly Little Diggory that should be the least of your worries," Fred says breezily, a too confusing grin plastered on his face.

Cress's stomach flips when she stares at him. How can someone be so utterly beautiful? The way the low torch light is reflecting off his ginger hair, his chocolate eyes so soft and warm that all Cress wants to do is fall deep into them and never come out. Oh, how badly she wants.

But you can't, a voice in the back of her head nags. She shushes it because she'd rather not be an emotional wreck in front of them, thank you very much.

"Doubtful," she says. "You two are always up to no good. I'm honestly surprised I'm still in one piece, really."

"That's offensive." George holds a hand over his chest. "We are nothing if not angels, Little Diggory."

Cress raises an eyebrow. She sees what they do to unsuspecting victims. Too many students have suffered from dyed skin (totally not harmful, calm down) and water buckets on the head as they walk innocently through the hallways. Thankfully, she hasn't been on the receiving end in any of those but that does make it any less pitiful when she watches other people get hit.

(Also, she's pretty sure Fred and George were losing their touch. Like, water buckets? Really? They couldn't have done trick wands or something else?)

"Absolute menaces is what you are," Cress grumbles.

Smells of freshly baked bread and chocolate assault Cress's nose. They have arrived at the basements. She stops at the door leading to her common room and George gives her a confused look.

"You wanted chocolate, did you not?" he asks.

Fred says, "Can't send you off without it, Little Diggory. What kind of people would we be then?"

Cress fiddles with her sweater. "I did want chocolate," she responds. "But I'm kind of tired and that's a long walk."

"It's literally two meters away," Fred points out.

"Too far," Cress whines. "We'll try again tomorrow."

George gives her a look. "If you insist." He nods once then gives her a bright grin, bowing. "I bid thee a farewell, princess. May your night be fair and your dreams be plentiful."

Cress giggles despite her exhaustion. She bows, also. "A good night to you as well, my great valiant knights," she says with a smile. Fred bows at her, too. "May you never accidentally almost kill someone again." She salutes them.

"An effortless task, milady," Fred says. George nods in agreement. "We knights only wish the best amongst our brethren! No one shall fall to the clutches of cinnamon ever again!"

"Unless, of course, Malfoy happens to be allergic. . ." George trails off. "Be a shame if Mum made something with extra cinnamon and somehow Malfoy ended up with it. A real tragedy."

Cress laughs. "Can't say I disagree there, mate." Though she doesn't have any qualms against Draco Malfoy personally (except for that time when he fucking punched her best friend in the bloody lip and called him a Mudblood), Cress has seen the way he treated people whom he believed to be inferior to him. An allergic reaction was a mild punishment for what she thinks he deserves. Which is nothing short of a Dementor's Kiss.

"Perhaps we could just turn him into a ferret," Fred suggests. "Worked for Moody. Maybe we can make it a permanent arrangement this time."

Him and George exchange these glances that make Cress believe they're having a telepathic conversation right now. Twins tend to do that. She's seen Axel and Peyton have a stare off in Diagon Alley too many times for it not to be real.

For a moment she fears for poor Draco Malfoy—Cress has seen what the twins can do when they put their minds to it and while she thinks Malfoy will make a terrific ferret, she wouldn't want him to be cursed to an eternity as one. Except for that's a lie because even though Axel told her to drop it, Cress is still livid and being a ferret is a probably better than any form of punishment Cress could give him. She does, however try to show restraint every now and again—for Axel's sake.

She says nothing because what is she supposed to say when she hears two people plotting a scheme in front of her?

When they disappear down the hallway, still scheming on making Malfoy a permanent ferret she knocks on the barrels and enters the common room. Axel is sitting by the fire, scribbling on parchment when she enters. Cress wonders if he ever sleeps. She thinks probably not.

"Hey," she says.

He nods at her, shaggy hair pulled back into a low ponytail. "Hey, Mo." Axel clicks his pen when he's done writing and folds the letter with a sigh.

"Letter for your boyfriend?" Cress teases with a smirk.

"Shut up," Axel mutters but his cheeks are pink so Cress thinks she hit the mark.

Cress takes a seat beside him on the couch and curls up underneath the blanket with him even though she's dirty and in need of a bath. Axel sends her a distasteful look like he can't quite believe he disgraced her with this unpleasantness. Cress beams at him, curling her feet underneath her bum and leaning on him. He sighs but makes room for her, setting the letter in his bag. Elvis patters down from the chair and joins them.

"So, is Vako still coming? Did he give you an exact date? Or was he not allowed to tell anyone? Want to keep you on your toes? Are you guys going to embrace each other romantically when he arrives?" Cress asks.

Axel groans. "It's Valko, Mo. How do you keep mispronouncing it?"

"Dunno." Cress shrugs. "But stop deflecting. Give me the juicy details. Why did he take a leave of absence and take my owl hostage for, like, two weeks?"

"He didn't take her hostage," Axel protests petulantly. Cress sends him a look. "Okay, so he did. But it was only because there was a bad blizzard and he didn't want Scout getting hurt. He said she would have never made it back alive."

Okay, not something that Cress wanted to hear, but at least that problem is cleared up. She's glad this Bulgarian arsehole is not so much of an arsehole but more of a considerate arsehole who doesn't answer because he's too busy worrying about the well-being of animals.

"But," Cress says with a frown, "he couldn't have sent one of his owls to you? Wait, do Bulgarians even use owls? Or do they have like a vulture or something that sends messages for them?"

Axel looks at her like he regrets his whole life. "How the hell am I supposed to know, Mo? We've only sent letters with Scout or one of the school owls. Besides, a vulture lives in the desert, Mo. Not the cold."

"You should definitely figure that out, then. It'll ease my mind if I know there's a bird out there immune to harsh winds and coldness who sends letters for them. But do they even send letters via air? What if they use, like, some kind of boar or something? A bear? They're hardcore enough for that."

"I honestly don't know where I went wrong with you," Axel says, forlorn.

Cress waves him off. "It's okay, I'll find out when they get here. Ask your boyfriend if I have to."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Axel denies.

"Sure, Ax. Now, stop trying to avoid the subject and give me details, mate!"

Axel rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Cress thinks he's overreacting because she managed to keep her mouth shut for at least a day and he should respect that and spill the beans. It goes against the best friend code if he doesn't. She'll dock major points if she goes without any more information than before. Axel will have to grovel before he can gain them back.

(Just kidding, but really. She needs the details—more than what she got earlier, even though his cute, blush-y, in-love face was adorable—and Axel obviously needs to talk about it so it's a win-win situation.)

"We're just friends," Axel starts, petting Elvis and staring at the fire. His ears are red. "But, like, I think I could fancy him? He apologized for leaving me with absolute silence for so long, said that school was getting to him along with the blizzard hitting them, and like, I understood. Because lessons are the worst and no one should stress over them. But I still let him know I was angry with him. And he didn't stop apologizing until he knew that I wasn't angry. He said he was really guilty about it. I couldn't stay mad. . ."

He's fiddling with his fingers, chewing on his bottom li—his nervous habit. Cress smiles fondly at him, feeling very warm.

Axel swallows, then continues, "He just—gets me. Like, he knows that I'm rich, a bad mistake on my part, I know, I know," he adds, sending Cress a look when she frowns disapprovingly at him. "But he doesn't care, Mo. He honestly couldn't give less fucks about me being rich or my family being moderately famous around the world. And I think—I think maybe that's what made it so easy. That he didn't care about the materialistic part of me; he just cared about me. Wanted to get to know Axel Axel instead of Axel Jenson, son of Francine and Edmund Jenson."

"That's great, Axel," Cress says softly when it's obvious that he's not going to say any more. "I'm glad you met someone who likes you for you. I can't wait to meet him," she admits, surprised that she means it. She had had her suspicions about Valko but he seems genuine enough. She thinks he's perfect for Axel.

"Me either," he whispers like it's some kind of secret. Cress thinks it might be.

She grabs his hand and holds it tightly, petting Elvis with her other one and they remain silent, fire crackling even though it put off no heat. Axel has a far-away look on his face but he seems content so Cress is okay to let him daydream. She leaves him when her eyes start drooping and her clothes feel a little too grimy and Axel kisses her on the forehead before she goes into the dormitory.

Cress goes to bed with a grin on her face, wet hair falling in her face.

⋆˚࿔

Her hair is blue. Her hair is blue. Like, straight ocean water blue with the added bonus of the purple streak due to her birthmark. She wonders why it got darker instead of the lighter shade it always makes the blond in her normal hair. She thinks it's unfair either way.

Cress narrows her eyes in the mirror as though sheer willpower will change her hair back to its normal color. She is highly doubting it because her life sucks and no amount of wishing will change that fact. She can hear Santana cackling as she leaves the dormitory and Cress almost weeps.

Her life sucks.

The hair doesn't change back when she finishes brushing her teeth. It doesn't change back when she changes into her uniform. It doesn't change back when she points her wand at it and tries a simple, Colovaria! on it. It doesn't change back when she actually does weep.

It stays the same old blue, vibrant as it curls down her back. Cress sits down on her bed and contemplates her life. She wants to take a hoodie and wrap her head up in the hood because although she doesn't care what color her hair is, a sapphire (plus purple) this loud is sure to bring attention to her and she does not need all this attention on her. Especially when she murders the twins.

She knows it was them. Is absolutely sure of it. They were acting too sketchy last night for it not to be their doing.

Which is why she's going to find them and drag them to the Forbidden Forest by their ears and leave them for dead. Something that probably won't do much because they're the Weasley twins and nothing in the Forbidden Forest will harm them before they can prank them, but a girl can only hope.

When she gets to the common room—hoodie on, hood on her head securely—Axel is pacing in front of the fireplace with an irate expression on his face. Cress winces, considers going back upstairs so she doesn't have to face his wrath. Then she remembers it's not concentrated at her so she treks on.

He whirls on her when she reaches him, magenta locks flying around with him. "What is this, Mo?! What have those dolts done now?"

"You don't know it was them," Cress defends even though just a few minutes ago she was planning a murder in her head. "It could have been anyone."

"It was that banoffee pie," Axel continues like she isn't even there. "Of course it was! You and I were the only ones who ate it, it had to be that. And before you try to say you don't know what I'm talking about," he adds, sending her a dark look, "there's blue sticking out of the hood, Mo. Please. Anyone with eyes can see that your hair is most definitely not blonde."

"Is it that bad?" Cress asks worriedly. She presses her hood on more, wishes there was a spell to undo this.

Axel snorts. "It can't be as bad as my hair. It's pink. Bloody pink!"

"It looks more like fuchsia. Perhaps a deep magenta."

"Oh, Helga." Axel groans with an eye roll. "Like I need you to tell me what color my hair looks, Mo."

"Just trying to help a friend out," Cress mutters.

Axel brings out his wand and conjures his own hoodie from nowhere. He tugs the black hood over his head, making sure to cover every inch of his hair then makes for the doorway. Cress thinks they both probably could have used their robe hoods but those fall off too easily. And hoodies have drawstrings.

Drawstrings.

They walk into the Great Hall, taking extra care not to bring any attention to themselves. Cress sits down at the Hufflepuff table quickly and chomps on a banana as Axel piles porridge into his bowl and adds like three goblets of sugar to it. She grimaces but he just sneers at her, spooning it into his mouth like a savaged animal.

When the owls come, Cress gets a letter from her mother along with her weekly allowance of 15 Galleons. She gives Scout (who miraculously was able to retrieve the message from Blythe this week) a bite of her toast and her owl munches happily before flying off with all the other owls. Cress hunches down when she's gone and pointedly ignores Hamlin when he sits across from her.

"What's with the hood, Baby Diggs?" he asks because he's Hamlin and he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

"Axel is wearing one, too," Cedric points out, taking a seat beside Hamlin. They both look fresh, like they just got out of the baths and Cress wishes they would just go back to the Quidditch pitch.

"Oh, wow," Axel mutters, "hadn't noticed that, Ced. Thank you for pointing that out for me." He chomps on a pancake that's swimming in maple syrup. Cress is honestly scared he's going to pass out from a sugar rush soon. Probably in one of his lessons.

"Has anyone told you what a ray of sunshine you are?" Hamlin asks.

"No," Axel says, rolling his eyes. "I don't quite get that compliment, but thanks, Hamlin."

Hamlin hums. "No problem, Axel. Really, the pleasure is all mine."

Axel huffs and feeds tiny Viktor a piece of bacon. Cress feels like maybe he shouldn't because she still isn't sure if the doll is supposed to be fed anything, but it hasn't affected him yet so she thinks they're in the clear for now. She nibbles on some dry toast and wishes the Great Hall wasn't so loud.

"Seriously," Cedric says, "what happened to you guys?"

"Pretty sure the twins pulled a prank on us," Cress relents, pouting.

Hamlin and Cedric laugh, as expected. Cress hates them a lot. She wants to shove an apple down their throats because they're loud and obnoxious and has Cress mentioned that she hates them. Because she does. Passionately and violently.

"Let me guess," Hamlin says through wheezes, "your hair. It's the hair, isn't it?"

He makes grabby hands for Cress's hood and she shies away from him with a glare. Hamlin doesn't look moved in the slightest so her threatening glare must not be the best, which okay. Fair. But still. She doesn't need him to expose her very vibrant hair to the whole Great Hall. There will be more tears if he does.

"What color is it?" Cedric asks curiously but there's a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Fuck you," Axel says.

Cress agrees.

Her hood stays up throughout they day and when professors ask her and Axel why they have a hoodie on in the first place, they tell them they have terrible dandruff. Which isn't exactly a great lie—especially with McGonagall and Snape—but somehow they manage to keep them on without any complaints.

When dinner comes there's another certain buzz in the air and Cress knows it has something to do with the Triwizard Tournament. Hamlin tells her that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are coming at the end of the week. Friday.

And okay, Cress should be excited. She is. For Axel (and herself, a little). But them coming means that the tournament draws nearer and then Cedric's going to enter it and she's going to have to endure her brother participating in something that she doesn't want to see him participate in.

She doesn't say anything, only inhales her clam chowder—one of her favorite comfort foods—and goes to sit with Ginny at the Gryffindor table.

Cress throws herself down with a dramatic sigh. Ginny side-eyes her, unimpressed. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas all peer at her curiously. Cress tightens the hood on her head.

"Yes, Cress?" Ginny says, taking a bite of her shepherd's pie.

Cress just sighs.

"Are you okay?" Ginny tries again with a raised eyebrow. Her other friends, the third years, have averted their attention to something else. Cress wishes she could turn back time to when she was a third year. Times were much simpler. There were no tournaments or broken hearts, only pining from far away and a secret chamber that had a basilisk in it.

So much simpler.

"The other schools are coming soon," Cress mutters.

Ginny snorts. "Yeah, they are. And that's why you're moping at my table? Because Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are coming?"

"Yes!" Cress exclaims with a whine. "Bear with me, Ginerva. I need you to support me here, not tear me down."

"How do you know my full name?" Ginny asks with skepticism. Cress sighs and grabs a roll from the table, chomping down on it.

"Don't ask me a question I can't answer," Cress says.

Ginny rolls her eyes. She pulls a piece of cake towards herself and starts picking at it. "You're weird," she says like Cress doesn't already know this. Cress wants to drown herself in the Black Lake. Ginny is not helping her situation. "What's wrong with the other schools arriving, exactly?"

"It means the tournament is coming," Cress whispers like it's a conspiracy theory that no one else should be able to hear. Ginny stares at her for a moment.

"Yes, and?"

"Cedric is signing up for the tournament!"

"Oh."

"Yeah." Cress throws her head back down on the table and tries not to cry. Too many tears have been shed today. Ginny pats her awkwardly on the back because Ginny is still the best even if she probably despises Cress right now.

She says, "There, there," as Cress eats too many rolls to be humanly possible. Cress is thankful she found someone like Ginny Weasley.

"Well, well," someone chirps, a shadow falling over Cress, "what's going on here?"

She doesn't need to turn; it's Lee, of course, because when is it not Lee? He seems to enjoy making Cress's life worse than what it is.

"Cress is pouting," Ginny supplies.

"M'not pouting," Cress says, indignant. She pulls her head off the table and stares at Fred, George, and Lee, who have taken Ginny's friends spots. Cress huffs at them and secures her hood around her. They smirk at her.

Lee says, "Definitely pouting, pud."

"Don't call me that," Cress mumbles.

Lee acts like he doesn't even hear her. "It's okay, though. Nothing to be blue about."

And, oh my Godric, is he serious? She had been so careful at keeping her luminous hair covered up the whole day. There's no way. . .

But George and Fred are laughing and Cress wishes she could hate them. Especially when Fred's warm laughter sends her whole body into overdrive, like she's stuck her hand into one of those electrical sockets that Axel charges his Gameboy in. (She's done it before and it wasn't fun.) His grin's bright and infectious and Cress wants to watch him laugh for the rest of her life.

He's not yours, the little, nagging voice in the back of her head supplies. He'll never be yours. Your not her.

Which, rude. Cress likes to hold onto a sense of false hope, thank you very much.

"How'd you know?" Cress asks in favor of divulging into her thoughts.

George says, "Some was showing earlier. It was hard to miss."

"Like, terribly hard. It's so bloody bright, Little Diggory," Fred says. "We did good." He high-fives Lee and George.

Cress glares. "What did you do exactly?"

"We like to call it 'A Sprinkle of Color,'" George explains unhelpfully.

"Original," Cress grumbles sarcastically.

"Thank you," Fred tells her brightly, either ignoring her jibe or not catching it. "Now, anyway, we tested it out on you—after we made sure it was okay," he hurriedly adds when he sees her horrified expression. "Merlin's tits, Little Diggory, do you honestly believe we'd do anything to harm you?"

Cress fiddles with her drawstrings (another convenient thing about hoodies) and shrugs. "No," she mumbles because even though they're a little too nonchalant about her biting the dust, they'd never harm her.

"Good," Fred says, eyes earnest and warm in the light of the Great Hall, "because we'd never hurt you."

"Except for the pie," George inputs.

"Ah, yes. The pie was not our most memorable moment," Fred says, grinning.

Cress nods an agreement, ignoring the way her body seems to have relaxed when Fred claimed they'd never hurt her. She bites her lip to ward off the smile and stares at them in what she hopes is disapproval. (Ginny gives her a look that says she's missed the mark.)

"Anyway," George says, "we made a new product that's supposed to dye hair temporarily. And until recently, it hasn't worked and then—"

"And then, Little Diggory, you helped us solve the riddle!" Fred exclaims, all bright eyes and cheerfulness. Cress's heart palpitates.

George glares at his brother. "Yes, you did. And now it works wonders. Tried it out on Lee and his hair turned bloody orange!"

Lee grins. "It was mad, pud! I looked like a fucking pumpkin! So wicked!"

"Sounds like it." Cress rolls her eyes. Ginny snorts. Cress loves her for the moral support.

"Don't be rude, pud," Jordan says, flicking her forehead. Cress stares at him, highly offended and wondering how this became her life. She wonders how much detention she'll get if she hexes him and then finds out that she doesn't really care.

Fred Weasley stops her, saying, "Alright, chaps, that's enough."

Cress glares at Lee once more, just for measure, but the dark-skinned male only grins at her cheekily. Cress wants to punch his teeth out.

George says, "We decided to test it out on someone else and seeing as how Mum's pie came in and we had enough to sprinkle over top. . . well it just seemed like the best option."

"But then you ate it and went to the hospital wing," Fred continues. "Which, like, makes us feel so bad, by the way. Gonna think about that forever."

"Uh huh," Cress says, disbelieving.

"At first the sprinkles didn't work," Fred says. "We were certain that your hair would be a different color when we saw you last night, but it wasn't. There was a lot of disappointment after that."

Cress snorts. "My apologies."

"Not your fault," says George. "We still have some work to do on them. Get 'em to change into the color the user wants and all that. But we were still slightly shocked when it seemed as though nothing had effected you last night. It should have kicked in immediately."

"Of course it should have."

Fred tells her, "But that's okay. Water under the bridge and all that. Because now it's blue and it works and that's another job well done." He gestures at her head. "Can we see it?"

"Doubtful," Cress denies, both because there's still a good bit of people in the Great Hall and she doesn't need them to see the extra bright purple streak tainting it.

George pouts. Lee exclaims, "Come on, pud!"

Ginny even looks like she wants to sneak a peek at her new style which is definitely not moral support. Cress debates making a run for it because they all look really eager but she doesn't think they'll catch her if she throws food at them before she leaves. (Except for Ginny. Cress doesn't doubt Ginny's running skills.)

When they continue to stare at her expectantly, Cress just grumbles under her breath and pulls her hood down carefully. Her hair tumbles down her shoulders in tangles. The three males gasp like she discovered a worldwide phenomenon and Ginny just hums in interest.

"Merlin's tit look at the purple!" Fred exclaims with a cute noise of surprise. Cress wishes she didn't fancy the little upturn his nose did when he does that.

"It actually looks pretty nice, Little Diggory," George says with a smile.

"Thanks," Cress tells him with her own grin.

"Why is there purple?!" Fred asks, confused but also a little dazed. "I feel like no one's understanding the purple. Or why I'm so intrigiued— Can we just—"

"I think I could pull it off better than you, pud." Lee smirks.

"You wish," Cress gripes.

"Guys," Fred bemoans with a pout, gesticulating at Cress's hair, "if no one points out the blasted purple in her hair, I'm going to scream. My head is going to explode!"

Ginny simply says, "Blonde suits you better," then finishes off her cake.

Cress sends her a grin. Ginny pats her back again and stands, claiming that she has homework she needs to finish and that she'll be taking her leave now. Cress bids her goodbye and when she turns back around she's met with Fred Weasley's face inches away from her own.

From here, she can count little flecks in his eyes that are darker than the other. They seep out of the irises and then get lighter the farther away. Cress thinks they're beautiful, wants to drown herself in the warmth of them. There's a tiny freckle under his eye that makes her throat dry and his lips—Helga, his lips—are the most luscious pair of lips she's ever seen. His bottom one's jutted out in a pout but Cress still wants to grab him by his (very magnificent and long) hair and attach his lips to hers because holy shit.

Only when he rasps, voice surprised and low, "Why is there a purple streak in your hair, Little Diggory?" can she calm herself enough to snap out of her daze. Her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest, it's racing so fast.

"Erm," she says intelligently. "I have—my, uh. . . there's a birthmark. On my head. That changes the color of my hair. Makes it brighter. But, I mean— I guess in this case, it made things darker, but still. Birthmark."

Cress officially wants to drown herself in the Black Lake. She wonders how much fish she'll have to bribe the Giant Squid for it to drag her to the deepest, darkest pit at the bottom of the Lake. She'll have Cedric pay him once it's done. He'll understand her reasoning when she tells him about her atrocious conversation skills.

Lee outright laughs because he's a little shit who can't contain himself when he's humored. George looks like he feels sorry for Cress but can't help but be a little tickled himself. She wishes he wasn't so considerate. Makes being annoyed a lot harder. Curses.

Fred looks confused, bless him. He doesn't know that he makes Cress a jabbering mess with one word or the fact that the very thought of him has her distracted for hours on end. An oblivious git is what he is, but Cress can't blame him. Though everyone but Fred seem to know about her obvious crush on him, she hasn't been bold about it to said crush (crusher? crush-ee?).

"You have a birthmark on your head?" Fred asks. Cress nods numbly. "That's so wicked," he whispers, awed. Cress almost whimpers.

"It is pretty sweet," says Lee.

George nods in agreement. "Never heard of a birthmark on someone's head before."

Cress shrugs, shying away from their eyes. Around them, people bustle out of the Great Hall, the place almost cleared out. She thinks maybe they should leave soon before someone yells at them to go. Most likely Snape since he seems to get off on telling students off. And Rowena knows she can't deal with him right now.

She stands, says, "Yeah, I mean, it's the only part of my hair that's, like, usually white blond."

"White blond?! Seriously?" Fred asks excitedly, following suit. Lee and George do the same and together, they start trekking out of the Great Hall.

Cress nods. "Mhm. Pretty weird, innit?"

"Weird?" Fred scoffs. He takes a hand and pinches the purple beneath his fingers, petting her. "It's the best thing ever. I want a birthmark on my head. I wonder what color it would change the hair. Perhaps blond, maybe brown."

"Or," Cress squeaks out, "it could most definitely just be a dark shade of ginger."

"That's also true," Fred says, continuing his assault on her hair. He's surpassed the purple all together and is now touching the blue strands of it, his touch gentle and soft as though he's caressing something fragile. Cress is going to throw herself off the Astronomy Tower.

She wants him to take his hand off because his touch is muddling her brain until it's nothing but mush and that is not okay. But, on the other hand, his hand's big, fingers nimble as he almost mechanically strokes her hair so much that Cress is fucking gone. She wants so, so bad and she knows she can't have but she wants. There's so much want there it makes her exhausted trying to keep it all in.

Cress has to remind herself that he fancies someone else, that the touch he craves isn't her. She doesn't turn his brain to mush, doesn't make him turn into a gibbering mess when he speaks. She does not make him nervous, doesn't make his knees shake or heart pound and that's okay. It's okay.

But it doesn't stop her from wishing he did crave her touch the way she does his.

She ends up shaking his hand away to save herself from hurt when she would inevitably got her hopes up to get them crushed sooner or later. Fred doesn't seem to mind and she reminds herself that it's okay. It's always going to be okay.

(Until it isn't.)

George tells her that her hair should return normal before the week is over and Cress gives him her thanks and mumbles a quick excuse before fleeing to the Hufflepuff common room, seeking solace.

And solace, surprisingly, comes in the form of soft afros and reluctant smiles, but Cress doesn't care. She hugs Hamlin tightly and hopes that the deep ache gnawing away at her fades away with the color of her hair.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

The blue fades out of Cress's hair before the end of the week, much to her relief. Axel all but cries when she finds him in the common room one morning, hair the usual black it normally is instead of a rich magenta. He does still threaten bodily harm on the twins, which is justified, but Cress manages to keep him under control so there are no mysterious happenings when the other schools arrive.

Speaking of schools arriving—Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are arriving today. Cress doesn't think she's seen the castle is as big as a panic as it is now.

Statues have been dusted and polished, no longer looking like they're a million years old and about to crumble. Portraits and paintings have been cleaned and Cress swears the gold finish on a painting of a rather rude princess gave her temporary blindness. Not to mention, Peeves has been a real pain in her arse because apparently no amount of persuading from the professors can stop him from world domination.

(Axel says, whenever Peeves comes at him with goop-filled balloons or water buckets, that he would love to go to the afterlife just to wring Peeves's neck. He ends up bribing the Bloody Baron in the end.)

Point is, Hogwarts is squeaky clean and ready for an onslaught of students from two foreign schools. Cress wonders, as she heads to breakfast that morning, what would happen if Hogwarts went to say, Beauxbatons. Would all the students go? Or just the older ones who are eligible to participate in the competition? Would the other school worry about looking fancy for them or would they say fuck it and leave it as is because Cress totally thinks Beauxbatons would. They sound like they're made of freshly picked lilacs and line-dried linen. She doubts they would need to clean.

"Why are you thinking about this?" Hamlin asks her when she brings the topic up with him. She's wagering the options with Durmstrang because whilst they're extremely hardcore, Cress doesn't know what kind of academy she would see should she ever visit.

(Her mind pictures a humongous castle with giant dragons guarding the gate inside. And to enter the school you have to slay one—but not really because they're mother fucking dragons and they deserve respect. So maybe just knock it out with a Stunning spell and then book it into the school before it can awaken. She thinks they probably eat nails for breakfast—assuming they know what nails are—and have sword fights to the death before lunch everyday. Because they're hardcore.

Which is completely besides the point because Cress was talking about if they would clean for Hogwarts or not. But it doesn't really matter because she doesn't think so. Durmstrang would probably fight people who they think are worthy of entering their prestigious and slightly terrifying school and then throw them in their giant dungeons for them to waste away with the rats.)

"It's something I feel needs to be discussed," Cress explains, biting into a bowl of plain wheat cereal. Her mouth purses at the stale taste but she figures this is what she gets for being allergic to cinnamon. Nasty cereal and a whole lot of grimacing.

Hamlin gives her a look. "Why do we need to discuss going to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang?" He nibbles at a bran muffin and Cress thinks he looks like a horse doing it.

"Because, Hamlin," Cress sighs out because when is she ever going to find someone who gets it, "we could have been the ones going to a different school. It didn't have to be this way. But now we have professors breathing down our throats just to make sure we look presentable for a bunch of vampires and veelas."

"You think the Durmstrangs are vampires?" Hamlin snorts.

"Either that or werewolves but both seem pretty accurate because of the whole coldness thing," she says with a shrug. Hamlin can shoot her theories down all he likes but she's positive there's some vampires mingling in that academy. There are rumors.

"Werewolves aren't immune to the cold, you git," Hamlin tells her with another insufferable snort. Cress wishes he would have went to the pitch with Cedric this morning instead of letting him and Chang have some much needed alone time, you'll thank me later.

Axel isn't here either because him and Mallory—Helga, bless her soul—are, like, best mates now. They hit it off when Cress introduced them on Wednesday, Mallory all shy smiles and formalities and Axel about fell down on his knees praising her. Said she reminds him a lot like Peyton but cuter—but if Cress ever mentioned that to his sister she would never see another day. Cress laughed. Axel hugged Mallory and claimed her as his new best friend, which, come on, disrespectful mate.

But he didn't mean it—him and Cress are platonic soulmates and no amount of denial is going to change that—and Cress is kind of glad he loves Mallory because it would have made hanging out with the girl a whole lot harder.

Anyway, both of them are in the library, Axel catching Mallory up on things she's missed since she's been gone. Cress was invited but her brain is fried and she doesn't need any more education than what this half day is going to provide.

So, she's stuck with Hamlin, who apparently thinks they're best friends now that he's held her in her most weakest moment—something she doesn't regret now but probably will in the future to come. He's followed her around every chance he's gotten, eats lunch and dinner with her and then goes back to the common room with her to work on homework. Cress is starting to become concerned for his well-being. Merlin knows what's happening in his head if he's willingly being nice.

"But it's highly unlikely that they catch hypothermia in those mountains," Cress points out as a means to distract her from unwanted thoughts. "So, my point is, werewolves could totally be a thing up there on Mount Everest."

"Oh, good god." Hamlin shakes his head with a groan and his voluminous hair shakes with it. Cress watches, entranced at how massive it is getting. Cress is pretty sure it's two more inches away from growing a consciousness and overthrowing Hamlin altogether. She loves it.

Cress finishes off her cereal. "You know, you could at least be supportive of my thoughts. If you want to be my second—wait, no fourth because Ginny and Mallory are second and third—best friend then you'll have to listen to my every woe. My monologues. My rants. The whole shebang." She looks at Hamlin seriously. "Are you ready for this?"

Hamlin rolls his eyes. "Ced is going to be pissed that he's not included in your best friends list."

"That seriously all you got out of that? Honestly?" Cress scoffs and shoves at his shoulder, offended. She had poured her soul out and he just— worries about the best friends comment. How fucking rude.

Hamlin laughs. "Lighten up, Baby Dig—"

"Second rule," Cress interrupts with a huff, "no more Baby Diggs. Either call me Cress or don't talk to me at all."

"Damn, harsh." Hamlin pouts. Cress snorts but levels him with a glare. Hamlin sighs. "Fine, fine. No more Baby Diggs. Just Cress." He says it like it's sour on his tongue and Cress is offended to the highest. Her mum gave her that name (well, not Cress but still) and Hamlin is going to love it even if she has to force him to.

She gives him another glare just as Cedric plops down across from her, beside Hamlin.

"Morning," he chirps, oddly cheerful. A look to behind him shows Chang going to the Ravenclaw table with a similar smile on her face.

Cress is disgusted.

"Mate," Hamlin says as a way of greeting, "tell Cress that werewolves aren't immune to the coldness."

Cedric tells Cress, "Werewolves aren't immune to the coldness."

Cress thinks that Hamlin could tell Cedric to say that the world was flat and Cedric wouldn't even bat an eye. They're relationship is weird like that. She bites her lip and rolls her eyes, giving Hamlin the bird because they've established that werewolves aren't immune, dammit, don't bring Cedric into this.

"But wait," Cedric says, eyes wide as he turns and stares at Hamlin, "did you just call her Cress? As in not Baby Diggs?" Cedric honestly looks as though he's about to keel over and die—maybe even cry.

Cress is so done with today.

Hamlin nods, unpleased. "She said I had to or we couldn't be friends."

"Wow," Cedric gapes. "Just, wow. I'm so proud of you guys. Now we can all go to Hogsmeade together and it won't be awkward."

"It was never awkward," Cress points out because it never was. Hamlin was always there, sure, but there were never any awkward moments. Just moments where Cress honestly re-evaluated her life and her brother's choices.

(And then there was the incident with the butterbeer, but that's a story for another day.)

Hamlin snorts. "Bab—Cress is right, Ced. We've never been hostile because heaven knows you'd smite me if I was rude to your sister, but there was never any tension between us. Deep down, Ba—Cress loved me and now, she has decided to open up about her deep affections for me. It's okay, mate, don't blow a gasket."

But Cedric honestly looks like this is the best day of his life and, oh Rowena, are those tears? For Helga's sake, Cedric has bloody tears in his eyes and Cress physically cannot. She cannot and will not because her life is too complicated for this. It's barely eight in the morning. And the other schools are coming today. She doesn't have time for Cedric to have a mental breakdown because she and Hamlin have accepted each other's presences.

She sends Hamlin a look and just picks up her heavy as hell bag (because apparently visiting schools does not mean that they don't have homework) and attempts to flee from all the bright decorations and chattering students.

Cress says attempts because she doesn't actually succeed in leaving the Great Hall. Someone calls out to her, angry and determined; Cress kind of fears for her life when she sees Hermione Granger glaring in her general vicinity.

Bloody hell, she thinks, walking over there forlornly, I just want to go to Potions.

"Yes?" Cress says, basically squawks because that's Cress for you. Quivers at the sight of her juniors.

Her, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and the twins stare at her, all of them but Hermione looking sorry for Cress. Cress wonders if this is where she dies. Death by a bushy-haired fourth year with a smile that strikes the fear of Salazar into Cress doesn't seem like a bad way to go. She prays for it to be quick.

"Crescent, is it?" Hermione says politely.

Cress nods, confused. "Er, yes? You did just call me?"

Ron snorts. Hermione sends him a glare. He shovels sausage links into his mouth and doesn't say anything else. Cress can see Fred eating (read: inhaling) bacon from where he's sitting and she can see a little crumb hanging at the corner of his lip. She somehow manages not to swoon.

Hermione says, "Yes, well, how do you feel about house elves?"

"How do I feel about house elves?" Cress repeats.

George snorts. "Save it, Hermione, her father works in the Department for the Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures," he says like it's a fact and not something that highly offends Cress.

"What does that mean, George?" Cress asks with an arched eyebrow.

Ron snorts again and Fred joins him, muttering something along the lines of, "Good luck, bro." Hermione looks oddly proud whilst Harry just seems put out by this whole endeavor. Cress kind of feels bad for him.

"Nothing," George says hurriedly. "Just that since he works in that department that it was likely for you to have a house elf." He's giving her this sad kind of smile that isn't really a smile and Cress doesn't think she could be mad at him even if she tried. She leans over and pats his shoulder.

"There, there, Georgie," Cress says, grinning. "Don't hurt yourself, chap."

Fred outright laughs this time while George just stammers and stares at Cress like he hates her but is also glad that they're friends. Cress squeezes his shoulder and then lets go before turning her attention back to Hermione, who incidentally, she hasn't spoken to really.

"House elves?" She repeats.

Hermione nods, looks passionate as she stares at Cress. "Yes, house elves. As you know, they're mistreated and uneducated and deserve a much better life than what they're getting?" Cress nods for her to continue. "And well, did you know that there are house elves slaving in the kitchen here? Making our beds, doing our laundry and cooking our food while they get paid nothing? Absolute zilch! And they're treated terribly for their efforts!"

"You're telling me." Cress snorts. She's glad someone else is saying it besides her. She complained to Cedric for years about the laundry and sheets situations and while there's nothing they can really do about the cooking or classroom cleaning, Cress makes Cedric do their laundry so the elves don't have to.

"See!" Hermione points at Cress excitedly. "Someone gets it! I knew Crescent would!"

"Well, that's kind of you," Cress says, touched. "I'm glad you could tell me about your problems. Though, I'm not quite sure what this means for anyone."

"Just you wait," mutters Ron darkly.

Hermione sends him a glare before rounding on Cress again. "Listen," Hermione pulls out a colorful badge and Cress thinks she's probably going to join a cult, "join S.P.E.W. and together, we can put an end to this cruel treatment used on house elves."

And dammit if Cress isn't totally sold because a fucking club to help house elves? Sign her the fuck up. But first. . .

"What's S.P.E.W. mean?" Cress asks.

"Society of the Promotion for Elfish Welfare," Hermione supplies. Cress can see Ron mocking her behind the girl's back and wow, Ron—simmer down there, buddy.

"Sweet," Cress comments with a smile. "How much to join?"

"Two Sickles."

Cress reaches into her pocket and blindly hunts for some spare change. Two Sickles wouldn't be much except for the fact that Cress wasted all her money in Scrivenshaft's again because paper airplanes are the best and she's somehow convinced that if she makes them enough then Axel will realize her amazing talent, too. So far, it hasn't worked out but still. She'll get there. Hope has not been lost.

When she gets her hand on some change, she isn't expecting a tiny hand to pinch her but Cress's life is full of surprises and she's learned just to roll with it. She pulls small Viktor out by the nape of his neck and rolls her eyes when he stares up at her, petulant and oh so grumpy. His little eyebrows are pulled down into a scowl. Cress snorts.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathes out, amazed. He's staring at the action figure with a certain kind of dazed expression. Fred and George look the same. Harry is still clocked out, and Cress wonders what the boy could be thinking about for so long.

"Holy Hufflepuff, Little Diggory, what is that?" Fred asks.

Cress tries not to blush underneath all the gazes but her cheeks heat up unwillingly. She bites her lip and shoves tiny Viktor back in the pocket of her robes because she doesn't really need him brooding over the fact that Axel has a new friend right now. He can save his fits for later.

"Just something I got from the World Cup," she says and then hands Hermione the money. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Hermione says, handing her a badge. Cress pins it on her robes proudly.

"You basically just joined a cult, Little Diggory," Fred says with a resigned sigh. "Good luck getting your life back."

Cress frowns. "You make that sound like a bad thing. A cult for helping house elves sounds pretty great to me, honestly."

Ron gives Cress a once over. "They like they're jobs, you guys, give it a rest."

George leans into Hermione. "Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," Hermione replies with a shake of her head, "I hardly think students are supposed to—"

"Well, we have," George interrupts, gesturing to himself and Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them and they're happy. They think they've got the best jobs in the world—"

Hermione snapped, "Thats because they're uneducated and brainwashed!"

Which is taking it a little far because Gadby was totally smart as hell and he reads, okay? Granted, they're picture books but still. He reads and he's educated, dammit Hermione.

But the posts come in at that time and the subject is lost when a snowy owl drops onto Harry's shoulder. Hermione and Ron gravitate towards him anxiously while Cress is left standing there like a fool.

"Don't worry, Little Diggory," George says, "the elves down there are happy. There's no need to worry about them."

Fred says, "Yeah, especially Gadby—"

And wait, what?

"Excuse me?" Cress coughs, stares at Fred Weasley like he didn't just ruin her life with one word. "What did you say, Fred?"

The twins exchange a look, probably perplexed at the wild look in Cress's eyes but she can't really worry about it because he just said Gadby. And Cress doesn't know a lot of Gadbys which means it has to be her Gadby unless there's one she doesn't know about.

But if it's her Gadby. . . oh, her Gadby is a blabbermouth, will talk your ear off it you'll let him. Cress doesn't mind, but some people get annoyed with him in public, especially when they're eating in establishments and Gadby makes it a point to gesticulate (she knows he knows they hate it). But that's not the problem.

The problem is—Gadby knows. Knows about Fred and all her embarrassing secrets.

And Gadby is a blabbermouth, oh Helga.

Do you see her dilemma? The reason she's panicking?

"Gadby," Fred says slowly, chewing on bacon. "He's a house elf who's always working in the kitchens. A curious one, he is."

George snorts. "He always had on a sweater and mittens and a hat and socks—and Merlin's beard, Freddie that elf is free!"

"What?" Hermione asks sharply, re-entering herself in this conversation. "There's a free house elf working here? What kind of injustice is this?"

"Holy shit," Cress says, hand to her head because no, no, no. Gadby can not be here. He simply cannot. Because if he's here, he's met Fred Weasley and Gadby knows. Fuck, he knows and Gadby loves to talk, to yammer on until he's breathless, which is okay but come on. Really. It's just her luck. "Holy shit."

"Are you okay, Crescent?" Hermione asks.

Cress shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut and then says, "Gadby!"

He appears instantly, standing in the little space between Fred and George. Cress automatically goes to block him because even though he only goes up to their shoulders and he has a hat on, people might see him, and Rowena knows what kind of gossip will get around.

He smiles up at her with wet, topaz eyes. Cress is happy to see him but she wishes it wasn't under these circumstances. Fred and George let out surprised yet pleased noises and Hermione makes a strangled sound.

Gadby exclaims, "Miss Cress! Gadby has missed Miss Cress!" He tries to jump up and hug her but Cress can't really risk that right now so she pats him on the head instead.

"I missed you, too, Gads," Cress mumbles. She has missed him, quite a lot, and she thought about summoning him on more than one occasion but it made her feel bad because it would make it seem like she has a claim on him when he's a free elf. And she wants him to stay free forever.

"What is this, Crescent? You have a house elf?" Hermione is outraged which is fair, considering that's how it looks.

"Gadby is an elf!" Gadby tells Hermione, whirring on her with a determined look, pointing a gloved, knobby hand at her. "Gadby is free elf. Miss Cress made Gadby free elf when Gadby fled old masters! Miss Cress is good friend! Miss Cress is family!"

Rowena, Cress was going to turn into a sappy mess if Gadby didn't stop this. Like, almost as bad as Cedric's weeping. She clamps Gadby's shoulder softly and ignores the looks of awe everyone seems to be sending her because that's just too much.

"Er—I, uh," Hermione stammers, looking pink in the face.

"Gadby," Cress says with a sigh. "You can't just go off on everyone if they send me the wrong look. Please apologize."

Gadby pouts. "Gadby will not apologize to someone who thinks Miss Cress is a bad person!"

"I don't think she's a bad person!" Hermione protests but Gadby glares at her and she clamps her mouth shut.

Cress can feel a headache forming. "Gadby, please. She was only looking out for you, is all. It was my fault, anyway. I joined this cult and then you pop up and it kind of does make me look like a hypocrite."

"Miss Cress is in a cult?" Gadby asks, aghast. His tiny head shakes, her mum's hate sparkling with star enchantments. "My, my, what is Miss Blythe going to think? Does Gadby need to fake Miss Cress's death?"

The twins are besides themselves with laughter. Even Ron and Harry crack grins at that. Hermione looks at Cress a little thankful that the conversation is not on her anymore. Cress smiles back and shakes her head fondly at the elf.

"No death faking necessary," she tells him. "But, if you happen to see her soon, can you tell her I need some Galleons? I'm running low."

Gadby shakes his head. "Miss Blythe says that Miss Cress wastes her money on trivial things and therefore Miss Cress will have to suffer."

Cress groans. Fred says, "Great to see you again, Gadby!"

"Mister and Mister Weasley!" Gadby exclaims with an excited squeal. "Gadby has missed his new friends in the kitchen!" He whirls on Cress, bouncing on his feet. "Miss Cress, it is Mister and Mister Weasley. Gadby talks to them in the kitchen. But don't worry, Miss Cress, Gadby hasn't mentioned Miss Cress's hug—"

"Gadby!" Cress interrupts, one hand cupping his mouth, jostling the elf tenderly."My huge load of stress over O.W.L.s he means, right Gads?"

Gadby giggles. George looks at her knowingly and Fred, bless the oblivious idiot, is still confused. But smiling. Always smiling. Cress thinks he's so beautiful. She wonders how weird it would be for her to reach out and touch the freckles dotting his face.

Hermione sends Cress another smile and the bell rings, signaling first lessons. Cress wants to groan because whilst she wanted to go to Potions earlier, it seems unnecessary to go now. She wishes she had him last so it could be cut an hour short but alas, she must suffer through Snape's boring lectures and make a semi-acceptable potion just to scrape by. She thinks it'll be fun; maybe Axel will throw a boiling cauldron on her.

A girl can only hope.

She quickly says goodbye to Hermione and company after Gadby disappears after a wet kiss on Cress's cheek and a promise to see her later. She grins at him, giant and a little sad and promises that her and Cedric will come visit him in the kitchens sometime.

Hamlin meets her at the entrance and Cress rolls her eyes but lets him chatter her ear off as he walks her to the dungeons.

⋆˚࿔

In hindsight, Cress doesn't understand why the professors made them go to lessons today. It's clear that no one in their right mind gives two shits about antidotes to deadly potions (something that is going to be useful on your O.W.L.s, stop daydreaming Miss Diggory or I shall dock ten more points from Hufflepuff) or the difference between a broomstick and a car and Cress doesn't understand how the school can't comprehend that. She sits through her lessons, though, and when the time comes for them to wait outside like weird creeps who are trying hard not to be anxious but are anyway, she makes her way to the entrance hall, mumbling and whispering with Axel and Mallory about the new meat.

"I definitely need some new eye candy," Axel purrs with a faraway look as he adjusts his tie. Professor Sprout sends Cress a glare, and she grudgingly pulls her skirt down. Mallory giggles.

"You don't need any more eye candy," Cress tells Axel with an eye roll. "Your boyfriend's coming and that's what you should be focusing on."

Axel bites his lip, ears turning pink. His hair is pulled back into his hat for the occasion because Professor Sprout declared that it was too unruly to show the guests. Cress wishes he would have left it down anyway.

"Oh, that is right," Mallory says softly. "Axel did tell me about a male friend of his. He'll be here today? That's so amazing!"

"It's nothing special," Axel mutters.

Cress scoffs. "Please. I'm expecting them to run into each other's arms and snog each other until they can't breathe."

"Shut up," Axel gripes and Mallory smothers a giggle when Professor Sprout sends them another look.

Cedric, ever the example for the children, sends Cress a long suffering look from beside their Head of House. Cress smirks because, really? She's expected to behave now? Honestly, he should know better. She sends him a wave and he sighs but turns around.

"Your brother looks stressed," Mallory states.

Cress looks at her. Her frizzy hair is pulled back into a French braid and her eyes are rimmed with red, a side effect from them always being irritated. Her skin is brown, but pale from being sick, and looks fragile almost. Cress thinks she looks gorgeous. Better than most of the students here, with one kid having his hand up his nose before the Slytherin Head of House has to swipe at him angrily. He doesn't dock points, and that pisses her off because she was punished for her attired in Potions one day—the git.

"It's his default face," Cress explains in a whisper, turning to Mallory before she goes and ignites Snape's robes aflame. "He always looks like he has a stick up his arse."

Mallory smiles at her. Axel snorts loudly, and Professor Sprout makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat as they walk outside into the crisp autumn air. It's evening, the moon already peaking over the Forbidden Forest. Cress takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, basking in the glorious outdoors that she never sees due to too much homework and studies.

Cress can see the first and second year Hufflepuffs talking excitedly amongst one another and she smiles, glad they're enjoying this. Axel looks like he's about to turn and run back in the castle, so Cress throws her arm around his shoulder, whilst making sure her hat doesn't fall off, and squeezes him. She does the same to Mallory and pulls them both beside her companionably.

"So," she says curiously, "how do you think they're gong to swoop in? My money's on Beauxbatons shimmering out of the moonlight and Durmstrang riding in on giant boars, swords drawn, battle cries loud."

"Why are you convinced Durmstrang is full of a bunch of barbarians?" Axel asks with a sigh.

"Not barbarians," Cress corrects. "Vampires or werewolves. And maybe some barbarians."

"You're insane," Axel says. "And that's a little rude, assuming they're like that because they live in the mountains."

"But I bet they assume we're a bunch of frilly arseholes who drink a lot of tea," Cress points out and smirks when Axel doesn't say anything. "See."

"I think Beauxbatons will come in on a carriage," says Mallory. "They seem very elegant from what I've heard."

Cress nods, even though she thinks it would be pretty cool if they combined the two of their ideas to bring them to a carriage simmering out of the moonlight. Or—the carriage is giant but it doesn't come out the moonlight. Perhaps one of them will shimmer from the moonlight. Whatever it is, Cress thinks it'll be spectacular. She hopes it takes her breath away with its sheer elegance and beauty.

But she hopes that being late as hell isn't part of the act because Cress has been standing out here for, like, ten minutes, her legs growing cold. She can feel her leg hairs growing back and—why did she have to be a girl who is supposed to shave her legs everyday? She doesn't have the time for this kind of care. Honestly, she's lucky she even gets her hair in a messy bun.

The grounds continue to grow darker and the moon raises higher in the sky and Cress is still waiting for a shimmering carriage to appear or something. Anything. She just needs some action so she doesn't feel like this is all a waste of her time. Axel is shivering next to her and Cress had to conjure up a winter cloak for Mallory to wear because she gets cold easily. Professor Sprout brings her a cup of hot cocoa—which Cress is not jealous of.

When all hope seems lost for Cress, Dumbledore, ever the man to point out the obvious, says, "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" a bunch of students chorus simultaneously.

Cress hears someone shout, "There!" but she's too busy looking at the large shape zooming over the forest to pay them any mind. She hears Axel suck in a breath even though it isn't Durmstrang and watches as a giant carriage—good job, Mallory—flies through the dark sky and towards Hogwarts. It's a pastel blue and looks very beautiful as it glints off the moonlight.

Elegant, indeed.

What really gets Cress are the horses—pegasi—pulling the house-sized carriage. They're huge and gorgeous, all palominos with tan fur and manes as white as the moonlight. Cress is in love with them and their huge hooves and giant snouts.

The carriage comes down so fast and so hard that students in the first three rows have to jump back to avoid being squashed. Cress watches Cedric slam into Hamlin, her heart in her throat. When the horses finally lands, the horses neigh and Cress sees crimson eyes roll in the back of their heads. She loves Beauxbatons.

A door, the one to the carriage, opens before Cress can get a good look at the details on it. A boy in robes matching the color of the carriage hops out and crouches forward, producing golden steps a moment later. He jumps back and stands with deference. Then from the deep void that is the carriage, a huge shoe, like the size of a broomstick, emerges from the entrance, all black and polished with a heel on the end. Attached to it is one of the most giant women Cress has ever seen in her life. Axel gapes from beside her.

Okay, aside from Hagrid—who, in comparison to this lady is kind of short—Cress has never seen another giant in her midst. (Well, half-giant, but you get this gist.) And this woman is a half-giant and boy, is she proud of that. She scans the crowd with a certain air of confidence that makes Cress want to bow down to her and swear her loyalty. Her olive complexion and obsidian eyes make it all the more better and Cress is seriously debating on moving to France just to attend school there.

Her dark hair is pulled back into a knob, low on her neck. She's decked out in all black satin like she's the walking personification of night. Cress loves it.

Dumbledore claps politely and students follow suit. Cress joins in happily and she can see Axel and Mallory doing the same, although they still seem to be shocked by the woman's appearance. Cress understand their awe.

The woman walks towards Dumbledore when she sees him, a relaxed yet elegant grin on her face as she meets him. She holds out a big hand, decked with emerald rings and pendants. Dumbledore kisses it and it shocks Cress that he doesn't really have to bend down to reach it. Oh, what a night.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he greets pleasantly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Madame Maxime's voice is an octave lower for a woman's when she says, "Dumbly-door, I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore replies.

"My pupils," says Madame Maxime, fluttering her hand behind her nonchalantly.

Cress's eyes widen when she takes in the students standing behind the giant woman. Girls and boys, all of them who look like teenagers, are shivering in silk robes that are a powder blue. None of them have cloaks on, but some had on scarves and shawls around their heads and Cress doesn't think she's ever seen a group of perfectly-crafted people in her life.

Aside from Fred Weasley, of course. No one will ever beat Fred and that's a fact.

Speaking of—her eyes trail across the crowd and she sees him with the rest of the Gryffindors, gawking with George and Lee. His lips are parted and she can almost see his breath from here and Merlin—there is no one as beautiful as him.

Axel clutches her sleeve tightly and when Cress turns to look at him, he's white as snow and looks like he might be sick. Cress threads her fingers through his and lets him catch his breath.

When he does, he says, "Dumbledore says Durmstrang is coming soon! Bloody hell, Mo, I'm not ready!"

"Oh, yes, you are," Cress says with determination. "Scout did not fly through those ghastly storms and deliver letter after letter for you to get cold feet now, Ax! You will meet your pen pal and you will embrace each other with hugs and snogs and I will weep proudly on the floor as I watch."

Mallory supplies, "There isn't anything to worry about, Axel. You're lovely and I'm sure once you meet Valko, he'll think the same."

Axel nods, takes a deep breath, then swallows. He gives Cress a look. "See, even Mal can remember his name, Mo. How pathetic are you?"

"Pretty pathetic," Cress concedes just as the students part for Madame Maxime and her students. Cress watches them go and Hamlin comes to a standstill in front of her, Cedric by his side.

"I'm going to marry them all," he says longingly, looking past them and into the entrance hall where the Beauxbatons clan disappeared. "Each and every one of them. I'm in love, Cress." He leans on her dramatically and Cress unthreads her hand from Axel's to catch him.

"Get a grip," she chides even though she has no room to talk because she was ogling them not too long ago. Cress sends Cedric an apprehensive look, but his gaze is faraway and Cress doesn't have to look to know that he's making puppy eyes at Chang.

(Except his eyes are locked on Hamlin, and that faraway gaze doesn't seem so puppy-like. She grimaces anyway.)

Hamlin sighs out against her hair, body warm against her side. "I'm serious, Cress. I am in love. Listen to my woes. We're friends now. It's what you're supposed to do."

"I'll listen to you in the Great Hall when you're head's on straight," Cress grumbles and pushes him off her.

Hamlin huffs but relents and sags against Cedric who makes a good leaning post, almost yanking Hamlin into his side. Cress gives her brother an odd look, but he's always loved Hamlin, so maybe his best friend duties are taken very seriously. She shrugs, because she can never figure the two of them out and honestly, at this point, can't take the time and try.

Not today, she decides, shaking her head in exasperation when Cedric glares at a Beauxbaton student. She doesn't even know if he knows he's doing it. Helga, not today.

Mallory sneezes from Cress's left and Axel gives her his robe without second thought. Mallory takes it with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," she says. Cress huddles closer to her so the girl doesn't get any colder.

Axel waves her off. "Don't worry about it. I can't have you getting sick when I need moral support." He sends her a soft grin, though, and huddles against her, too, so they're all getting warmth from each other.

"So," Cress says, "Mallory was right about the carriage. Now, Durmstrang. What's their plan? Are they going to try to one up the French? Will there be gymnastics? I think we're going to get gymnastics."

"I think it's boars," Mallory says with a small grin. "Boars seem like their style."

Cress sends Axel a look like, see, someone agrees with me and he just rolls his eyes. For a moment, Cress wishes she would have studied more on vampires and whether or not they have bat wings and use them to fly because, not going to lie, she thinks that would be pretty amazing. Or maybe werewolves coming out of the forest—no matter what anyone says about them, werewolves are the best and Cress will stand by her notion until she dies.

(Also, her mum is, like, very lively on the topic regarding werewolves. Apparently, she has a close friend, whom Cress has never met— that's a story for another day, Crescent—that is a werewolf and receives all kinds of discrimination against himself. And Cress will be damned if she lets herself be swayed by any of those ridiculous arseholes. No one deserves to be treated like they're scum, werewolf or not.)

More minutes pass and it brings nothing but coldness and nervous horses and Cress is considering calling for Gadby to get her a mint tea for various reasons when a deep, gurgling sound disrupts the calmness that everyone had settled into. It is pretty skeptical, the sounds—all wheezes and sucking, like it's taking in water and spitting it back out.

"The lake!" Jordan yells and Cress glances down at the Black Lake. "Look at the lake!"

And holy Helga almighty, Cress didn't prepare for—for this. She was thinking vampires and werewolves this whole time. Was thinking of them coming in on wild boars that only they could control by sheer willpower alone with their swords drawn. But nothing could have prepared her for fucking pirates.

She watches the ship slowly rise out of the lake, mast first, basking in the light of the moon. The onyx color of the ship gleams with the beads of water and Cress can see torches lit above deck from where she is. Axel clenches her hand so tightly she fears she might lose circulation. Mallory looks at the ship in fascination and Cress kind of has to agree if, you know, she wasn't so caught up on the fact that they were fucking pirates.

Honestly, she should have seen it coming. Leave it to Durmstrang to go against all odds and fucking smash that stereotype down into the ground like the savage barbarians they are.

"Fucking pirates," she says.

Axel lets out a strangled, "What?"

Cress waves him off and focuses on the fact that people have disembarked, holy shit this is not a drill, and are coming towards them, figures wide and bulky like they lift two hundred and fifty pounds for light work. Cress thinks they might, pirate discovery aside. She thinks they still eat nails for breakfast and have battles to the death because this is Durmstrang she's talking about. Hardcore.

When they get closer, Cress realizes that, no, they are not all that bulky, it's just the cloaks they were wearing. Cloaks probably made from the boars they skinned for dinner.

Mallory snorts in her hand. Cress realizes she just said that out loud and smiles herself, squeezing Axel's hand when he starts to tense up madly. Cress's heart is beating a little faster because Axel's future husband is in that crowd somewhere, probably looking for Axel because they're fucking soulmates — Helga almighty, Axel's soulmate is a fucking pirate — and are going to have the cutest meeting in the history of meetings.

A man in silver furs—probably from a unicorn, the fucking arsehole—exclaims, "Dumbledore!" He treks up the slope with his students following behind him. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore responds earnestly and Cress is probably never going to learn how to spell that man's name, so help her.

Axel's breathing deep through his nose from beside Cress, so she and Mallory both take one of his hands and console him until he can stutter out a sentence. He sends them both a smile of gratitude and then stands up straighter, looking all regal and proper like he belong with Beauxbatons and not Hogwarts. Cress pats him on the back and her and Mallory step away from him as his eyes scan the crowd.

"Dear old Hogwarts," old man who kills unicorns says, glancing up at the castle that he probably wants to burn to the ground. Cress wouldn't put it past him. He looks like terrorizes children for fun. "How good it is to be here, how good. . . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth . . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold. . . ."

The ugly professor dude from hell gestures a student forward and Cress only makes out familiar thick eyebrows and a grumpy expression before Axel is on her.

"Mo, oh my fucking goodness! It's Viktor fucking Krum!"

Axel is shaking visibly and Cress has to reach out a hand to steady him. She frowns, takes in the grumpy expression and the way tiny Viktor peeks out of her pocket upon hearing his name. She shoves him back in gently because she is pretty sure he gets honest to Godric jealous when Axel is with (and/or talking about) someone else. She'll fix that later but for now.

"I can see that, you twit. And stop cursing—there are ladies present."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

"It's fucking Krum," Axel is saying for the umpteenth time since they entered the school behind the Durmstrang students. "I can't believe it's actually him."

And, yeah, Cress can't either. She thought perhaps the evil man that probably smells like old malt was joking when he beckoned Viktor forward but by Godric he wasn't and Axel and Cedric—Hamlin is still worried about the Beauxbatons, Merlin help him—are not going to ever recover from this. Cress honestly wonders how her life turned out to be like this.

"I'm going to ask him to sign my forehead," Cedric swoons with hearts in his eyes. Cress can see him trying to track Viktor's head in the madness, standing on his tiptoes (he's tall, but Durmstrang students are wickedly fit, boar cloaks aside) to get some kind of glimpse on the Quidditch player. "Do you think he will? Maybe I can give him my first born."

Cress snorts, because honestly? His first born? Cedric has really lost all sense of sanity. She figures she'll have to stop him from giving Krum a kidney at the rate things are going.

Mallory links arms with her. Cress sends her a smile, relieved that there's someone here who knows how to keep a leveled head around pretty boys. Together, they head towards the Hufflepuff table with Axel and Cedric whispering frantically behind them while Hamlin walks up front with a dazed look on his face. Cress sighs out, forlorn and defeated.

Cress, Mallory, and Axel take seats across from Hamlin and Cedric, facing the doorway. Cress can make out the Durmstrang students hovering over it like they don't know what to do with themselves; she's glad the Beauxbatons kids decided to sit at Ravenclaw because that means that she doesn't have to socialize while having a nervous breakdown. She just hopes Durmstrang follows suit.

Axel watches, a kind of bitter hint to his posture, as the students from Durmstrang choose the Slytherin table. She doesn't know if its because Viktor sat beside Malfoy (which totally takes him down, like, eighty points because she has standards for her best friend and Krum sitting with Malfoy doesn't meet them, despite the fact Axel is only his fan) or because he has yet to spot his Bulgarian lover.

She asks, "Where's Valko?"

Axel snorts. "Like I know. 'Lotta good it did me to tell him where to find me, yeah?" He does this little upturn of his lips like he normally does when he's self-deprecating.

Cress almost cries. She swears on her life that she is going to find this piece of shit guy and castrate him. And then she's going to beat him to a pulp just for good measure. (Read: she's going to get Cedric to beat him to a pulp by blackmailing him until he caves which isn't morally acceptable but, oh well—Cress has to get by somehow.)

Mallory sniffs and pulls her cloaks and robes around her tightly. She's still shivering. Cress discreetly pulls out her wand and uses the Hot-Air Charm to warm her up a little. Mallory sends her a small grin.

Hamlin says, "What are you guys talking about?"

"Confidential stuff," Axel says, eyes casted down. "Nothing to worry your little head about."

"Uh huh," Hamlin says, skeptical but he lets it drop in favor of playing with the beautiful hair on his head. "Do you guys think I should cut it? Is it getting a little to out of hand?"

Mallory says, "No, I find it very mesmerizing."

"Bloody hell, no!" Cedric exclaims madly. "If you get rid of your afro, I'm shaving my head bald."

Cress laughs. "You would, you weirdo."

Cedric glares at her and she honestly thinks he might be suffering from some kind of trauma or something because he has tears in his eyes. Again. Like the idea of Hamlin cutting his hair is even worse than the world ending. Cress honestly believes that he thinks that.

"His hair is beautiful, and it's like a cloud and I love it." Cedric pats the Afro even after Hamlin tries batting his hand away. "And I love you, Hamlin. Just don't do this, bro. Not to me."

"Oh my god," Cress moans because now they're making eyes at each other and seriously—what even are her friends? "You make it sound like he's breaking up with you. He would just be cutting his hair."

"And breaking my heart in the process," Cedric points out.

Hamlin looks oddly touched. "For you, man, I'll keep it. I would never break your heart."

"I know, man, I know." Cedric nods and it looks like he's about to go in for a very emotional hug and Cress wishes the Sorting Hat would have rejected her on that stool all those years ago. It would have saved her so much trauma.

Now that everyone was placed at a respectable table, Cress figures it makes sense that the teachers make their dramatic entrance, robes swooping and all. Cress watches, a little disinterested, as the professors come in, followed lastly by Dumbledore, beard shimmering because apparently he sprinkles glitter in there for effect, Madame Maxime, and Professor What's-His-Face with the ugly nose.

The Beauxbatons stand when their headmistress enters and Cress gives them kudos for that. The day she starts showing that kind of respect to Dumbledore is the day the world goes mad. (Not that she doesn't respect Dumbledore, because she does; she just doesn't respect him enough to stand when he enters a room which is totally normal because no one else does either.)

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests," Dumbledore starts once everyone but himself is seated. Cress buckles up for yet another long and cryptic speech and doesn't say anything when Axel pulls out his Gameboy and starts playing. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

Cress hears a Beauxbatons girl laugh and Hamlin sighs dreamily in her direction. (Cress knew they were too good for Hogwarts.)

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

(So, he's saving the speech for after the feast. Which, of course, is reasonable. Feed the children until they're happy and sleepy then inform them of their impending death. Hooray.)

Dumbledore sits and then there's a plethora of foods laying out on the table, some familiar and some definitely new. Cress grimaces and picks at some steak-and-kidney pudding along with a buttered scone. Hamlin dives in for all of it, foreign or not, and is stuffing his mouth like a chipmunk with nuts in no time. Cedric, the civilized one, gets some foreign but mostly sticks to the usual and he eats polite and with manners. Axel sighs but puts away his Gameboy and picks up some mashed potatoes and meatloaf, piling it on with stuffing and Mallory pokes at a salad with a lot of dressing on it.

While she eats, Cress decides — against her better judgment — to bring tiny Viktor out of her robe pocket and set him on the table. He stares at her with irritated eyes and even angrier eyebrows and Cress just sighs, giving him a helping of minced pie because that seems to be his favorite even if it might not be good for him. He nibbles it with his tiny mouth and looks towards Axel and Cress doesn't think she's ever seen him look so sad. And while tiny Viktor may be the bane of her existence, she can't help but feel for him when he's wearing that expression.

She pushes him towards Axel with a finger and he glares at her — ah, the Viktor she knows and hates so well — but taps Axel's hand hesitantly (it's so fucking cute, Cress is going to collapse). Axel glances down at him and then grins, widely and more genuine than anything. He lets small Viktor take a seat in front of his plate and Cress has to refrain herself from cooing at them. She shoves a roll in her mouth and listens to Cedric chat with his other friends — socializing, yay.

When Cress spares another glance at the Slytherin table — because curiosity killed the cat and she's a kitten — she finds that the Durmstrang party has shed their boar (bear, maybe?) cloaks and that their robes are bloody — well, bloody. But not like actually bloody like someone just got stabbed and the blood seeped through the fabric. It's fucking red and Cress bets all her Knuts that its probably from the blood of their fallen victims (stained into the once white fabric once they got rid of the bodies) because how could it not be? (Fucking hardcore pirates.)

"Vood you mind sharing the Velsh cakes?" asks someone with stunted English. Cress looks up from where her and Axel are fussing over tiny Viktor — he wobbled and then fell over and his face is pale — to see, Merlin's beard, big Viktor standing behind Hamlin and Cedric. "Me and my friend vould like to try it and this vos the only table that had it."

Cress will admit, he is a handsome man, all brooding eyebrows and neutral expressions aside. He looks like someone who puts on a gruff front because he feels like he has to be macho in front of everyone but deep, deep (deep, deep, deep) down he's a kind-hearted little teddy bear. One that kills dragons with his bare hands. Probably.

But he does look sickly, so Cress will give that mangy little git professor the benefit of the doubt for that one even if she thinks he was just using it as an excuse to show everyone that, hey, Viktor fucking Krum goes to my school and not yours. Suck it, you loons.

Axel slams a hand on tiny Viktor immediately and Cress can see that his ears are turning red. Bless, she forgets that he still loves the Quidditch player even if his heart is taken by Valko. (And Helga had that been a conversation. Cress doesn't think she's ever seen him have that much of a dilemma.) He is staring at regular-sized Viktor, a little shell-shocked and Cress prepares herself for a breakdown, biting her lip and side-eyeing her friend.

She can feel people's eyes on her and it is not boding well with her, so she's going to need someone to talk — preferably Hamlin because Cedric also looks like he's about to blow a gasket. That, or strip his clothes and confess his undying love to Viktor.

Before she can kick Hamlin on the shins, Axel clears his throat, hand shaking from the efforts tiny Viktor is putting at trying to escape. Cress glances at him and is surprised to see that he looks okay, back straight and eyes hard. He's got the same expression on his face like he did all those years ago when he marched up to Jordan and called him a spineless git then proceeded to smack him upside the head (she's got the best friend ever) for pushing Cress into a puddle. He looks like a man on a mission and — Cress hates saying this because it would certainly make him upset should he ever hear it — his mother when she's closing a business deal.

(Cress has seen that woman in action once in her life and truth be told, it was the most terrifying three minutes of her life that she will never get back.)

(She still has nightmares.)

"Have at it," he drawls out slowly, voice detached and oddly polite — so unlike the usual Axel it makes Cress hurt. His hair is finally out of the ponytail and its shaggy around his head. Cress watches him watch Viktor. "You should take the cakes, no one's eating them." Axel keeps his hand clenched on the table with a forced smile.

Viktor does that eyebrow thing — the one tiny Viktor does all the time — seemingly shocked. Stoically shocked. As though he came over here expecting something else but received the opposite in return. Cress furrows her eyebrows in confusion but then the Quidditch player nods stiffly, grabs the Welsh cakes almost shyly, and all but runs back to the Slytherin table.

"Oh, holy Helga," Cedric breathes out when he's out of earshot. "I'm going to need ten years to recover. He smells like broomsticks and seawater, oh my goodness!"

Hamlin says, "I feel like I should disown you right now. Your level of fanboy is ludicrous."

"I'll have you know," Cedric snaps, "that I've waited three months to meet this man. Three months. And here he comes, sauntering over like some cool arse villain in a comic and you expect me not to fanboy?" Cedric makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh. "Get real, Hams."

"Disowned," is all Hamlin says. "For three hours, Cedric, I swear to god. Get off, you lunatic!" He swats at Cedric when her brother tries to bring him in for a hug.

Mallory giggles over a bowl of ice cream — probably specially given to her by Dumbledore himself since they usually don't give out the frozen delicacy — and Cress lets her lips quirk before she sees Axel.

He looks, and she says this kindly, utterly heartbroken, but not because Viktor stole the Welsh cakes. No, she suspects it has to do with the absence of a one Valko.

The determined set of his shoulders and proud look in his eyes are gone, replaced by an insecure sag, head in one hand as he fiddles with tiny Viktor (who doesn't seem too pleased at being squashed by a giant hand). And Cress doesn't know what just happened during that little stare down him and (regular-sized) Viktor had but she thinks it might have worsened his already sour mood. She grabs his hand and leans into him.

Axel sends her a small grin and feeds tiny Viktor some potatoes. The action figure looks at Cress with an angry sort of acceptance and Cress thinks she just got adopted into being this thing's mother — which is totally okay with her. Her and Axel are going to fucking parent the shit out of this little gremlin and it's going to be amazing.

After the tables are cleaned, Dumbledore stands up again. Cress's eyes feel a little heavy and she kind of wants to rest her head on the newly cleaned tables and go to bloody sleep. The Great Hall feels warm and relaxed. Axel's has his hand in hers, and Helga, she'd probably sleep so peacefully if she closes her eyes right now.

But Axel pinches her and Cedric kicks her shins and she glares, almost groans — because being a petulant child is not beneath her, okay — but then decides it'd be best if she sits up and actually tries to pay attention. Professor Sprout will probably have her head if she tarnishes the school name in any way.

Mallory gives her an encouraging pat on the thigh when Cress sits up straight. Cress is glad that at least one of her friends isn't violent towards her.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore says with the dramatics of an actor. Cress thinks he does it just because he can get away with it. McGonagall deserves a pay raise for dealing with him, honestly. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket—"

Oh, great — a casket. One that probably contains a mummified body that's going to come alive for a short time to pick out the champions. Lovely.

" — just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those of who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Cress takes in the applause and chatter with indifference. Mallory claps politely beside her. Hamlin and Cedric are all but screaming at the man — which one, Cress doesn't care. Axel and her seem to be the only sane ones at the Hufflepuff table. She picks at a loose piece of wood and waits for Dumbledore to resume.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament —" Cress prays they did because if anything happens to Cedric when he inevitably gets picked, there will be consequences, "— and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions's efforts."

Because Dumbledore is the King of Tense Cliffhangers, the students go oddly quiet, tension rising at the mention of the "champions." Cress sees people giving Cedric glances. She tries not to frown too much, reminds herself that it's what he wants, that it's okay.

He'll be okay.

Dumbledore smiles a eerie grin. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Cress is expecting a six-foot long casket to be dragged in by a struggling Mr. Filch while Mrs. Norris meows at him in grumpy acclamation. So, she's a little surprised when the caretaker creeps out from his spot in the shadows, a wooden crate, that was definitely not the kind of casket she thought it was going to be, freckled with bright jewels. Cress can hear first years whisper with anticipation and she smiles.

(She's just glad there's not going to be a mummified corpse.)

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore informs them just as Mr. Filch sets the chest down in front of him, "and they have made necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways . . . their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

Cress knows those are just a bunch of words that mean, go out there and try not to get killed gruesomely because we could probably get in legal trouble. But then again — not really because kids are always in mortal danger here and we're still kicking. At least, that's what Dumbledore would say.

"As you know, three champions will compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks —" oh, great, try not to die in an epic way, "— and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

The headmaster takes out his wand and beats the old looking casket-crate three times on the top. Slow and sluggish to keep them in suspense, it creaks open, and then Dumbledore brings out a giant. . . wooden cup. Which is totally anticlimactic, Cress's opinion. Not even the blue flames fill her with any kind of joy.

Axel snorts into his hand. "I was expecting something a lot more. . . dramatic," he whispers in Cress's ear.

She nods an agreement and watches as Dumbledore puts the goblet on the crate. Honestly, she thinks the mummy would have been had been more enticing than this goblet, but she's glad it's something completely unremarkable.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champions must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore explains. Cress can see Fred and George grinning madly from where she's sitting. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judge most worthy to represent their schools." And seriously, what is it with inanimate objects choosing your worth? "The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

Excited chatter fills the Hall for a moment before Dumbledore says, "To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

There's a distinct air of disappointment.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binging, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

What a great way to end the night, Dumbledore, really — a cryptic speech about binding magic that's probably the Dark Arts and then toodles, bedtime. Cress hates Hogwarts sometimes. She wonders what would happen if she just so happened to flee the country. She's heard good things about Ilvermorny.

"Waste of my time," Axel mutters as they weave through crowds of people. Tiny Viktor has his head poking out of his breast pocket, glaring at all the students like he wants to kill them with his silent fuming.

Cress snorts, because yeah — it was. A fundamental waste of their time.

Mallory says, "I like the idea of the tournament, but doesn't it sound a little dangerous? You know, with the way Professor Dumbledore described it?"

"Dumbledore always does that," Axel explains, unbothered. "We've been here, what, five years, and his enigmatic ways still have yet to be solved."

Behind them, Cress can hear Hamlin and Cedric talking excitedly about the whole thing. Since both of them are of age, they're going to enter. Apparently, they're serious about this whole tournament, dangerous tasks included. Cress can feel her throat close up and it takes all her willpower not to flee to the common rooms. Her lungs feel like they've closed up; she shakes away all the doubtful thoughts because she's happy that Cedric wants to do this. She's going to support the hell out of him if he does get picked — and she's not going to make a big deal out of it.

Faintly, she hears, "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?" and wonders how her clan migrated over to Potter's.

They're a few steps behind them; Cress can see the twins and Lee amongst them. She takes a second to get a look from behind. Gangly and lanky Fred Weasley might be, but his arse does not disappoint. (Neither does the rest of him, either. Have you seen those hands? And his face. And all his freckles. And Helga, his legs go on for days. Which is totally beside the point and Cress is going to stop before she can't anymore.) And she has every right to ogle it; its for her health. She's one more dark thought away from drowning herself in the Black Lake and Fred Weasley — well, his arse, in this case — makes it better.

Professor Pirate comes up, starts talking to Viktor Krum. "Back to the ship, then. Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Krum shakes his head in denial. Lee turns around and spots Cress. She silently curses as he cheerfully reaches an arm back and hoists her forward. Axel glares. Lee smirks.

"Don't worry, Jenson," he calls, "I just want to have a chat with our dearest Pud."

"Don't call her that," Axel snarls, Mallory at his heel. Cress furrows her brows, perplexed. Even though he's protective, the mood swing is surprising. Cress sighs; she wishes he would turn his frown the other way, so she didn't have to hear about it later.

Lee waves him off, as expected, and before Cress can react, she's being sandwiched between him and Fred Weasley, George smiling on the latter's right.

"Hey, pud," Lee says, arm around her shoulder.

Cress grimaces but her face is on fire, a fluttering unfurling in her stomach. She hates Lee. How could he just put her next to Fred Weasley and expect her not to have a heart attack? She's point two seconds away from falling to the ground like the forlorn, dramatic bird she is because she can't deal. Fred is all warmth and happiness and he smells like fucking love and Cress wants to die.

"Hello, Lee" she says.

Fred grins down at her. Cress manages to breathe, testing the weight of her heart before it drops to her stomach.

"An Aging Potion will be enough to fool some foolish Age Line, don't ya think?" he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Cress snorts, not even thinking it over. "This is Dumbledore we're talking about. He's about one thousand and eight years old, chap." She mentally pats herself on the back for keeping it together. There was no stuttering, no rolling over her syllables like she had too much firewhiskey; Cress is going to count that as a victory.

George scoffs. "There's always a loophole, Little Diggory."

"Maybe, but once again, this is Dumbledore. He laughs at loopholes. Hell, he probably invented loopholes." Cress shrugs Lee's arm off of her when she notices that there's a hold up.

Apparently, Professor Unicorn Killer found Harry Potter aka The Boy Who Lived, which hey, that's cool and all but it's bedtime — as Dumbledore so kindly said — and she wants to have at least one more night of good sleep before this tournament starts. Helga knows she'll be scraping by once it does. So, sleep. Now.

When Moody comes wobbling over, Cress takes it as her cue to get the bloody hell out of there. She quickly weaves through the crowd, grateful for her small frame, and makes it to the Hufflepuff common rooms, where she goes to the dormitory and throws herself into bed, trying to erase the Triwizard Tournament from her mind.

⋆˚࿔

Cress begrudgingly gets up the next morning when Mallory taps her on the shoulder. She groans and throws a fit while she's putting on some jeans and a hoodie — she'll be damned if she wears her uniform on a Saturday — but Mallory just smiles at her. Cress should be mad, the girl woke her up earlier than normal, but she isn't because it's Mallory and no one can be mad at her.

"You look like shit," Santana Branson comments as Cress is tying an elastic to the end of her braid.

"Ever the charmer, Santana," Cress mutters back.

Santana gives her a cat-like smile, all venomous and sharp. If it weren't for Imogen coming in and griping at Santana to be kinder, Cress is certain she would have ended up getting her feelings hurt. Santana is mean like that. It makes her oddly attractive. Especially with her icy eyes and bobbed black hair.

They leave and Cress follows suit after she pulls on some sneakers. Axel is waiting in the common room, and together, the three of them make their way to the entrance hall since, according to everyone else, breakfast is overrated now and it's all about that boring Goblet of Fire. Cress almost groans audibly but refrains, letting tiny Viktor climb on her shoulder and sit when Axel hands him over to her.

A whole crowd's loitering by the goblet when they reach it; Cress can see Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione amongst them. She gives Hermione a tentative grin and Hermione waves back.

"Has Cedric put his name in then?" Axel asks Cress curiously, fiddling with his cashmere sweater.

Cress shrugs. "Probably did it last night, honestly." She tries to say it lightly but there's an undertone to it that makes her stomach feel like lead. "Hamlin, too," she continues.

"Huh," Axel says and then turns away.

Mallory says, "I hope that a Hufflepuff gets it. We never get anything and it'd be nice to have something."

Cress doesn't think she's heard the girl sound so bitter before. Well, not exactly bitter, but her tone isn't as nice as it usually is.

"Me, too," Axel says, hand throw up in indignation. "All the glory goes to the Gryffindors."

"Hey!" an indignant third year exclaims.

"Oh, sod off, you brat," Axel snaps.

Cress smacks him on the shoulder. "Be nice," she says when he glares at her angrily. Even tiny Viktor points a hand at him and Cress smirks.

"Whatever," he grumbles.

Moments later, Cress hears echoing laughter and her stomach drops before she even sees him saunter down the stairwell. Fred, Lee, and George come to a stop at the trio of Potter and co. Cress can't hear what they're saying but she assumes it's about the Aging Potion they probably took. She sighs inaudibly while Axel sends her a smirk.

"This is going to backfire," he singsongs.

Mallory nods in agreement. Cress says, "You're probably right, but it'll be fun to watch, at least."

So, they watch with a muted kind of amusement as Fred Weasley takes out a slip of paper from his pocket and walks right up to the goblet's Age Line. He hesitates there; Cress bites her lip because what exactly is going to happen to him should their potion fail? Will it just knock them back and leave it at that? Or will it do something more drastic, more dramatic like turn them into toddlers or something?

Which would not be a terrible thing because the Weasley twins were probably adorable babies but still. It's the concept of the matter.

When he steps over the line, Cress watches with wide eyes. George hops in right after since excitement trumps any kind of sense that he has. A moment later, she leans back, hissing when they're thrown away from the goblet, a sound that makes her ears ring echoing through the Great Hall. It would have been amusing had Cress not thought they were injured.

She wants to step forward and see if they're okay but then she stops and holds a hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles. The twins have beards that could make Dumbledore weep on their faces. Everyone else is chortling around her and she can hear Axel wheezing as he grips on her shoulder — the one not bearing small Viktor.

"I did warn you." Professor Dumbledore exits the Great hall, seemingly amused. He takes in the twins' appearances. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

And that just confirms it. Dumbledore's probably going to weep tonight.

Cress watches them — Fred and George and Lee, who is still laughing madly — run off to the hospital wing, feeling strangely giddy. First and foremost, Fred Weasley rocks a beard like no other man she's seen. And that's including Nathaniel Jenson, Axel's brother, who is, like, the running champ in the competition of beards. (Aside from Dumbledore but Dumbledore doesn't count.)

The Great Hall is lively when Cress enters, bats swooping above them. Oh right, it's Halloween, Cress thinks as she takes a seat at the Hufflepuff table. Hamlin and Cedric are already there. Cedric looks content, shoveling oatmeal with loads of sugar on it in his mouth — he has a sweet tooth that he won't tell anyone about. Hamlin, meanwhile, is chatting up Ernie Macmillan, the lad who's a year below her.

"Morning," she chirps, piling on some eggs and bacon onto her plate.

Cedric gives her a radiant grin. "Good morning, sis."

Cress smiles, doesn't think about the fact that he put his name in the goblet — that tonight, she'll find out if he made it or not. She doesn't think about the fact that the tournament's dangerous and that should he enter, he could be seriously injured. She most definitely doesn't think about these things. They'll sadden her, Cedric will sniff her sorrow out like a bloodhound, and that's something she can't deal with right now.

So, she smiles, eats and feeds tiny Viktor before Axel snatches him back from her; she fed him bran flakes. When breakfast is over, she heads for the Owlery, parting from Mallory and Axel — he wanted to see if he can hunt that Valko guy down while Mallory accompanied him for moral support. Cress wanted to follow him but Axel looked at her, stared for a moment, and then said she didn't have to go, that he would tell her about it later.

Cress loves her best friend. He always knows, can always read a needed escape in her eyes. She hugged him tightly before departing, grateful once again that he saw Lee shove her in a puddle their first year.

The Owlery isn't Cress's favorite spot in the castle — mostly because it smells like dung and straw — but no one really goes up there, so it's quiet. And she hasn't visited Scout in awhile, so Cress thinks it the perfect place to be alone for awhile.

Scout hoots when Cress enters, flying over and perching her tiny body on Cress's shoulder easily. Smiling affectionately, Cress feeds her some of the treats she bought for a long time ago but never fed her (since Axel had taken commandeer over the owl). As such, it was his duty to make sure she was fed and loved.

But now that's over because Axel's pen pal is gone. Scout's all hers again (yay!) which means more treats and love. Cress curls the crown of her head into Scout's Cress has missed her.

"How's my angel doing?" Cress coos as she takes a seat in the least disgusting niche the Owlery has to offer. She leans up against the wall and place the pen and parchment — for if she wants to send a letter to her mother — beside her and lets Scout sit on her lap.

Scout munches on treats for awhile before Cress has to stop, afraid that she'll overfeed the bird and that the next time she goes for a flight, she'll be weighed down by her own stomach. A shuddering thought, indeed.

"Cedric signed up for the Triwizard Tournament," Cress says. Scout stares up at her with big eyes. "Yep. He seems to like the idea of danger or something." She waves a hand around, shrugs. "I dunno. Seems pretty stupid to me — the tournament — but Cedric seems to really want this and that's okay with me. It's his life, not mine, but it doesn't make it suck any less."

Cress sucks in a deep breath, body shaking with something she can't quite grasp, doesn't know how to handle.

She can feel her eyes watering and she hates herself because she is supposed to be happy for him, joyous that he's reaching out, that he wants to make a legacy of himself. And the champions haven't even been picked yet so she's overreacting for something that could turn into nothing. But it clings to her and makes her body ache and her heart clench and she hates it because she can't stop it.

"I'm probably being stupid," she hollowly laughs, wiping at her eyes as she tries to catch her breath. "He might not even get picked. Merlin knows that no one wants him to be. I heard that Finnigan guy say something about Cedric not wanting to risk his pretty looks or something. It was a stupid jibe but it ticked me off. Cedric isn't just a pretty face, there's so much more to him than that and I wish people would stop brushing him off like he's some kind of idiotic fool."

And this, this is easy. Talking about Cedric in a way that doesn't include "dangerous" or "threat" in every other sentence is as easy as breathing. Defending him is even easier.

"Cedric is brave and kind and smart. He's loyal, and he looks out for his friends," Cress continues, gulping in a much needed breath. "Him and Hamlin became friends because Hamlin lost his parents in Diagon Alley their first year and Cedric held his hand while Hamlin cried and then they got ice cream before finding them. He's selfless and honorable and he's got, like, the highest marks ever. And he could be an arsehole because Amos raised him, hello, but he's not! He does our fucking laundry so the house elves don't have to!"

Scout blinks at her, hooting.

Cress sighs. "I know, I know. But I just can't stand it when people underestimate him. He's more than what they think. He'd make a great champion."

Cedric would make a great champion. He has great instincts and a lot of knowledge in that huge head of his. Hogwarts would be lucky. (Cress. . . not so much.)

Someone clears their throat just as Cress is about to go into another rant — this time about Fred Weasley and the different shades of his hair because talking about Cedric was making her head hurt with all the thoughts and possibilities. She glances up and is surprised to meet Lee Jordan's gaze. He's standing at the entrance, a letter clutched in his hand, and when he sees Cress staring at him, he gives her a tentative smile. Cress narrows her eyes in suspicion.

"What's with the hesitation?" she asks as he walks into the room. Scout makes a noise of excitement — new people always make her happy — and flutters her wings.

"Dunno. Common courtesy, perhaps," he responds, shrugging. He isn't meeting her eyes, so Cress doesn't believe it. He reaches for a school owl, attaches the letter to it and lets it soar away, still not meeting Cress's eyes.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Jordan?"

He splutters, hands flailing as he mumbles under his breath. Cress rolls her eyes, beyond fed up. He's being a git, and she doesn't have the time.

"Out with it, then," she snaps, petting Scout on the back.

"Er — I, uh, heard you," he explains, hand on the back of his head, scratching. "Earlier, I mean. You know with the whole —" he gestures to her tear-stained face with a grimace, "— yeah."

That makes sense, Cress thinks, though her face still heats up at the thought that someone heard her in her sputtering on nonsense. She coughs and tries to act nonchalant as she says, "Oh, well that's. . . okay?"

Lee winces as though she struck him; before she can protest, he plops next to her and leans against the wall, legs crossed in front of him. Cress allows Scout to go plop on his lap when the owl makes an impatient noise. Lee greets her with a grin, dragging his knuckles softly down her head before he stares at Cress.

"You're not being stupid, yanno?" he says.

Cress bites her lip and stares at something that's not Lee.

"I know," she mutters, but it's not convincing.

Lee glares at her. "I'm serious, Cress."

"Woah," Cress interjects, eyebrows shooting up. "What's up with first names, Jordan?"

"Oh, can it," he gripes, making angel eyes at Scout. "I can call you 'pud' or Little Diggory, if you'd like."

Cress shakes her head, shivering at the horror. "No, thank you. Cress is fine."

"S'what I thought," he says triumphantly. "But, seriously, you're not stupid. Not dense. I know if I had a sister or brother that wanted to enter the tournament, I'd be a right mess, too. Especially if we were as close as you and Diggory." He sighs out and leans against the wall. "It would suck major bollocks. I'd probably throw a fit about it, if I'm honest."

"But you were just about to enter your name, were you not?"

Lee waves her off. "I don't have a sibling who would be worried if I entered, though. Cedric does. If, for a moment, my imaginary sibling voiced their distaste about entering the tournament, I wouldn't do it. But Diggory might be different," he hastily adds when Cress opens her mouth to protest.

"I don't— I wouldn't. . ." Cress takes a deep breath and pulls her sleeves down on her hands. "I wouldn't take away something he really wanted. Not if it made him happy. And putting his name made him happy. That's all I want. I only want Cedric to be happy and if that means standing on the sidelines and watching him do something that could potentially hurt him, then that's exactly what I'll do."

"You know," Lee says after a moment of silence, "you surprise me, Cress."

She can already feel her cheeks heating. Hunching her shoulders, she grumbles, "How?"

"Underneath all that teenage angst and moodiness and arsehole-ry, you're actually really considerate," he says like he's astonished. Cress spares a glance at him and finds him grinning at her. She wants to roll her eyes but he just complimented her, however twisted it was, and doing that would just be rude.

"I'm not an arsehole all the time, Jordan," she says. "I only save that for you."

Lee snorts and pushes at her shoulder. "I'm trying to compliment you, stop being rude."

"Probably not," Cress replies but she gives him a grin, genuine and honest. "Thanks. . . Lee."

She watches as he loses it. There's a lot of screeching, Scout flying away from him with a scared hoot. Cress wonders when she lost her mind because obviously she did if she's sitting here, watching Lee act like some kind of lunatic. He's grinning at her like an evil scientist; Cress regrets every talking to him. She rolls her eyes and stands up because she is not going to deal with this, nope.

(But she can't help but feel that Lee's words calmed a raging storm inside of her, made it easier to breathe. She's grateful.)

"You totally just called me Lee, Cress!" Lee shouts excitedly. "Freddie owes me twenty Knuts!"

"What? Why?" Cress asks, perplexed.

Lee smirks. "Remember the Quidditch game we had? Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin? Where I bet that you would cave before October was over? Well, I was bloody right! I'm too awesome!" He fist-pumps the air and then does a victory dance.

Cress sighs. "I don't even know how I'm still standing here."

"Oi, I'm a delight, pud!" Lee throws an arm around her, pulls her into him. She struggles, but he grins cheekily and starts walking to the entrance. Cress waves goodbye to Scout, letting him drag her out, not even bothering to tell him she left her parchment and pen.

"Do you and the twins make bets a lot?" Cress asks curiously as they head back towards the school.

Lee nods. "All the time. I always lose but that's because they cheat, I don't care what anyone says they use that twin telepathy all the time. So... it'll be nice to win this one." He sends her another cheeky smile.

"Don't you, like, need proof that I called you by your first name?" Cress smirks, huffing in amusement when Lee sends her a scandalous look.

"No!" he protests. "No! You will not take this away from me, Cress! I need that money. Think about the children!"

"You are the child in this scenario," Cress says, stuffing her hands into the hoodie pocket. Her sneakers pad against stone as they walk back into the school. Lee automatically steers her in the direction of the hospital wing. Cress complies, partly because she doesn't know where Axel or Mallory might be and partly because hello, Fred Weasley is in there. With a beard.

"I am not a child," he defends with a frown. "I am a man. I strike fear into the heart of children."

"Yeah," Cress drawls sarcastically, "that's what you tell yourself, isn't it, Mr. Jordan?"

Lee glares at her but doesn't retaliate because they're at the hospital wing and he's walking through the open doors, saying, "My dearest friends! Have you been taken by the hands of death? I hope not because I'm here to collect, Freddie."

Cress rolls her eyes at the dramatics but follows behind him as he goes over to a bed with two bearded boys sitting on it. She suppresses a smile when they turn and glance at them, heart racing in her chest because no one should be this handsome. It's unfair. Cress demands that it be stopped. Unless he is willing to pay for her funeral arrangements.

"Lee, what a pleasant surprise. And you brought Little Diggory!" Fred exclaims, grinning at her. Cress's knees do not go weak; she's stronger than this now, but she does grip the bedding's rail, just incase they decide to. Decide to. "Welcome, welcome! Me and Georgie have beards!"

Cress chuckles fondly. "Yeah, I see that, mate. They look smashing. Bet even Hams is jealous." She ducks her head with a heated face because what the hell was that? Cress isn't bold, she doesn't do outright compliments. She pines from afar and hopes for the best.

"Yeah?" Fred asks with a sly look. He strokes his beard lightly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly — the way they always do when he mentions Hamlin. She doesn't react. (She's a big, fat liar, who wants him to be jealous, who wants him to slap the shit out of Hamlin like some forlorn Victorian lover who saw her husband be ogled.) "I'm thinking about growing one when this is gone."

"That sounds nice," she supplies. She grins at George. "What about you, then? You gonna grow one, too?"

George scoffs. "Godric, no. This thing's all scratchy and scraggly. I can't wait to get it removed." Cress still thinks it looks nice on him, scraggly or not.

"We can talk about growing beards all night," Lee says with an impatient huff, "or we can talk about how Freddie owes me twenty Knuts!"

"What?" Fred asks.

"It's daylight, mate," George says. Cress laughs.

Lee rolls his eyes. "Merlin's beard— wait, Weasleys' beards, don't correct me, Georgie!" George raises his hands in surrender, snorting. "Whatever," he says, turning back to Fred. "You owe me ten Knuts, mate. Cress called me Lee. We fucking bonded. It was epic."

"Seriously?" Fred turns an incredulous stare on her. Cress shrugs.

"I called him Lee once. We didn't really bond. He's delusional," she argues.

"That is a lie!" Lee exclaims. "There was so much bonding. An immense amount of it. Don't let her lie."

"Oh, bloody hell." Cress puts a hand on her head in hopes that it'll ward off her oncoming headache.

George says, "For this to be true, we need proof."

Fred nods in agreement. "We didn't hear it, it didn't happen."

Lee sends Cress a look like, see this is what I have to deal with. Please help me. And she feels a little bad but what is she supposed to say to them? She just said his first name just a moment ago, is that not enough? Merlin, what kind of bets do they make?

"I refuse," she says, and Lee squeaks. She hides a smile behind her hand. "What, Jordan, do you really deserve it? I was tossed in a pool of mud my first year because you couldn't watch where you were going!"

"I said sorry, Cress!" Lee declares with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not my fault your hair blew up—!"

"It didn't blow up!" Cress snarls. She debates going over there and thrashing on him; Axel's taught her how to throw a punch and while Malfoy's the only victim of that, she might go for Lee next, see how he likes it. "It just... frizzed. How dare you, Lee, you blasted—! All you ever do is— well I don't know, but it isn't good," —she cuts herself off, throwing her hands up in frustration— "and another thing —"

But Lee hugs her, his long, gangly arms around her shoulders as he laughs triumphantly. "Aha! She did it!" He jostles her as smirks at Fred. "Now hand over the money, arsehole!"

"Language, Mister Jordan!" Madam Pomfrey scolds from wherever she is. Cress wonders how she didn't hear the f-bomb earlier, what with her canine hearing and all.

"Sorry," he calls back, cheeky smile on his face, turning back to Fred.

Fred grumbles and rustles through his pocket before pulling out twenty Knuts. He reluctantly hands them over to Lee. Lee all but snatches them from his friend. It's so quick that Cress almost misses it and then Lee is kissing her on the cheek and saying, "You're the best, Cress! I'll see you later, chaps!"

And then he's gone. Cress gapes at the spot where he just was and tries to get a handle on what just happened. Her brain swirls. She wonders if this is what the twilight zone feels like. Nothing feels the same, and her cheek is wet with saliva — how is this her life?

"Erm — uh," she tries to come up with something to say but words fall short.

George waves a hand through the air. "Don't worry about that. He's touchy-feely with everyone he considers friends."

"Oh no," Cress groans. "That means. . . ?"

"Yep," Fred says, emphasizing the 'p'. "Welcome to the club, Little Diggory."

"Can I turn in my resignation?" Cress asks but the words sound fake to her own ears. Apparently the time in the Owlery has opened her eyes to a new, more dysfunctional world where Lee Jordan is her friend.

Fred shakes his head, remorseful. "Nope. You're stuck for life. S'like a cult. Don't worry, you'll fit in." He smiles and pats the little sliver of space beside him. Cress gulps. "Come on, then. Sit. We can have a chat."

"About?" Cress reluctantly sits, arm pressed up against Fred's. His beard is down to his chest and he smells like something burnt — probably the goblet shooting him away back over the Age Line.

"What was Viktor Krum doing at your table last night? Do you secretly know him? Are you guys in cahoots together?" Fred says, grinning down at her.

Cress snorts, warm all over. "No. He just wanted the Welsh cakes. We were the only table that had them."

George scoffs, indignant. "What, no you weren't. There were some at the Slytherin table. There were some at all the tables." Cress sees him furrowing his eyebrows, obviously confused. "Quidditch player has weird tactics? Could be a ritutal?"

"Sacrifice to the blood moon?" Fred asks. "Could only use the ones near the most innocent person in school?"

"Hah!" Cress laughs, loud and unapologetic. "They were sitting next to Ax. There's no way it was because of that."

"No, true, it wouldn't be that," George say, seemingly more confused the longer he's without a conclusive answer.

Cress is, too. But foreign people confuse her sometimes (and she knows damn well she perplexes them, because they tell her about it) so she tries not to think too much about it. Maybe the cakes were too far down and he just didn't see them or something, Cress doesn't know. She doesn't really care about Viktor Krum and his need to come to the Hufflepuff table for Welsh cakes.

"Oh! Is it because of Hamlin's magnificent head of hair? Cedric's teeth perhaps? Them chompers could blind someone, they could," Fred states with a smile of someone who just figured out something major.

"Probably," Cress says, her laughter warm enough to make Fred look at her. She wonders if the sun's broken, wonders if Fred knows how much they're shining right now. "Why are you guys stalking Viktor Krum?"

She watches with them splutter with a mute sense of satisfaction and guilt — guilt at being satisfied that they're squirming instead of her. (But there's like only a little bit of that so Cress focuses on the satisfaction. Which probably makes her a bad person but Cress never said she was a saint.) Fred makes a noise that is simply too adorable for this world. She's either going to bottle it or bottle herself up.

"He's a good Quidditch player!" George says indignantly.

"Everyone was following his every move last night!" Fred continues.

Cress arches an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

"Godric, woman, don't sound so disbelieving," Fred mutters with a pout. Cress stares at it for a lot longer than she should then shakes her head with heated cheeks, wishing the world would just swallow her whole.

"I don't sound disbelieving," she says, all the confidence out of her voice. She pulls at her braid and sends them a nervous smile. "Honestly, stalk whoever you want. It's only creepy if they catch you."

"I feel like that's not the kind of advice you should be giving us," George says, pointing a finger at her and scratching his beard with the other hand.

Cress shrugs. "It's life advice, George. Take it or leave it."

"I don't think I'll find myself stalking anyone, so I'll pass," George says with a snigger.

Fred says, "Same, mate." Cress does not keel over when Fred calls her 'mate.' That's a testament to her growth. Here soon she might be able to stop having these thoughts about him and then everything will be okay.

Then he fucking touches her braid — legit takes it in his and and lets it fall out like something in those romantic movies that Axel makes her watch. Only, their hair is down and perfectly done and the guy is doing it when he's confessing his undying love to the girl, which is something that is not about to happen, dammit. All her hopes and dreams fall down the drain and she falls deeper into the treacherous sea of loving Fred Weasley

"Your hair is blond again," he states, grin soft, like dough in a warm kitchen, ready to be kneaded.

Cress grins, counts to three in her head, swallows, and then sends a quick prayer to the heavens. "Yep. It's been blonde, Fred," she says, grateful her voice is clear even though her heart pounds like a drum in her chest. His fucking eyes are warm like melted chocolate and Cress wants to get lost in them. "No thanks to you and George."

She smirks at him. Fred snorts, curling a hand on the white-blonde strand, delicately — as if he had done it multiple times before. "Our Sprinkle of Color was beautiful and you know it!"

"Was it?" Cress mutters. She had blue hair for a week. A week of hiding away; she loved colors on other people, but she couldn't stray from her blonde hair if you paid her. "Not only do I almost die to allergies, but the conseqeuences for living are blue hair."

"Could have just died," George says helpfully. "Then we would have gotten sued and murdered by Cedric for the troubles."

"Still probably would have died with blue hair," she mutters. "Would have looked a mess."

"Nah," Fred says, and she turns, his voice low in her ears, distracted. "Nah, it would have been as pretty blue as it is now." He hums, picking it up again. He examines it and then lets it fall again. "Hmm, but I don't know how I missed it, Diggory. Looks nice. You look nice."

Cress debates jumping off the Astronomy Tower.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

The Great Hall is a mess of students and teachers alike when Cress walks in with Hamlin and Cedric. After running into them outside of the hospital wing, having left with Fred and George, they demanded she spend quality time with them. For the rest of the day. As if she hadn't been about to go find Axel and Mallory. Even her indignant protests fell on deaf ears.

("Sure you do," Hamlin teased with a nudge as they walked towards the library. "Got time to flirt with Fred Weasley but when it comes down to spending time with your dearest friend. . ."

"Sod off," Cress mumbled.

Cedric laughed. Cress hated them both.)

Luckily for Cress, Axel's already sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Mallory, watching tiny Viktor balance on a spoon. Cress smiles and tries to walk forward but the Hall is packed, bodies everywhere, enough to make her uncomfortable. She runs into a Durmstrang and two Beauxbatons (who don't even bother apologizing) before she makes it to the Hufflepuff table. She huffs and sits down beside him, across from Cedric and Hamlin, as usual.

"Swear, I'll be glad when this whole thing is over," she mutters.

"You're telling me." Axel snorts. "Seems like none of them have manners back where they're from." He snorts and tilts small Viktor back on the spoon when he starts to get squirrelly.

"Axel!" Cedric chides in a hushed voice. Cress forgets that he's the walking epitome of good character and politeness.

"I won't apologize," Axel protests defiantly. "Why should I bite my tongue for those arses? They've done nothing good for me."

Cress thinks that basically means that Axel met Valko, it didn't go as well as he had planned — or he has yet to seek the Durmstrang out. Neither of them sound too appealing and Cress wishes the Durmstrang man would just come forward and stop being a pansy about it. Aren't they supposed to be, like, unflinching in the face of danger? What's meeting a pen pal going to do?

"Still," Cedric continues, "we have to show them that Hogwarts is honorable."

Axel snorts. "I don't have to do anything."

Before Cedric can go into a long rant about being courteous, Cress says, "Would you look at that — food."

Cedric gives her a suffering look but he drops it in favor of getting all the delectables on the table. He and Hamlin go into a conversation about Quidditch no three moments later. Axel and Mallory don't get much. Cress nibbles on a roll, not too hungry; after dinner means champions are going to be picked and Cress doesn't think she can handle that on a full stomach.

Her eyes find the Goblet of Fire, a look of disdain plastered on her face. It sits there, in front of Dumbledore's chair, mocking her in all it's wooden glory. Cress hates the stupid thing with its stupid flames.

"Glaring at it isn't going to make it disappear, you know?" Axel says.

Cress sighs. "I'm aware. But it's worth a try."

"It's peculiar that the wood isn't burning even though there's a fire alive in there," says Mallory after she takes a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Probably some magic infused with the thing. Makes it inflammable or something," Cress replies, flicking at tiny Viktor when he tries to get in her plate. "No more food for you. You shouldn't have gotten breakfast, you little gremlin." He stares at her, unimpressed. "No! Don't give me that look, mister! Food is obviously not good for your tiny body, which means no more until I can try and fix it!"

Tiny Viktor still looks mildly unimpressed but it's more of a, I don't think this is fair, what you're doing, and I just want you to know I hate you for it than anything. Cress internally pats herself on the back for learning to read his hyperactive eyebrows and pouty faces. He goes back over to Axel and climbs into his pocket like the petulant action figure he is and Cress finishes her steak.

When the feast is over and all the plates are clean, Dumbledore stands and he doesn't even need to hold up a hand to silence the crowd — they go deathly silent as soon as he stands. Cress watches, a little nervous yet very anxious as he opens his mouth.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to makes its decision. I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Cress thinks she should have written to her mother while she was int he Owlery today. Blythe would totally understand Cress's panic and fears about Cedric entering the tournament. Hell, she might not have wanted him to enter, either. But Amos gets what he wants and that means Cedric gets what he wants. Still, it would have been nice just to write to her, to talk to her. She misses her mum. Her mint tea and warm hugs and large sweaters and her motherly presence; what she wouldn't give for Blythe to hug her into oblivion right now.

Dumbledore — because he thought it would be a great way to add to the dramatics — extinguishes all the candles except for the floating jack-o-lanterns so the Great Hall's left dimly lit. Cress sighs into her hand while Axel makes an unimpressed noise. Mallory seems to be falling asleep; Hamlin and Cedric are tense in their seats, almost bouncing up and down in anticipation. Cress is glad he's not a nervous wreck.

The Goblet of Fire burns brighter in this semidarkness and Cress clasps her hands together and clenches her teeth. It burns and burns but nothing happens for a few moments and Cress is getting impatient. How long does it take a damn goblet to spew out names?

"Come on," Hamlin mutters quietly, biting his fingernails as Cedric clutches at his shoulders.

Just when Cress starts to think that the thing is defective, the flames turn a deep red and sparks shoot out along with a crisp piece of paper; everyone gasps. Cress winces and bites her lips so hard she thinks she draws blood.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore says after he catches the parchment, "will be Viktor Krum!"

Applause and shouts ring from the Great Hall and Cedric and Hamlin are shouting at Viktor as he slithers from the Slytherin table and walks towards Dumbledore and then down the staff table only to vanish into the next room. Cress politely claps. Mallory shakes herself awake to clap for him, Cress snorting at the dazed expression on her friend's face. Axel's gaze is on the door; he's clapping, almost mechanically, and Cress would like to ask what's wrong but now's not the time — she still has to see if Cedric's name gets called.

Oh, Helga, Cress still doesn't know what she's going to do if he does get called. Cause widespread panic, maybe. Bang her head on the table. Smile and wave. She doesn't know.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore says, reading a second piece of parchment, "is Fleur Delacour."

The girl is beautiful, Cress can tell, with silvery blond hair that sways as she saunters in the same direction Krum went. Hamlin sighs out and tries to reach for her but Cedric pulls him back with a snort.

"That's her, mate," Hamlin states. "That's my future wife."

"I thought it was the girl from Durmstrang," Cedric says with a snigger, throwing an arm slowly over Hamlin's shoulder. "You all but proposed to her when you ran into her earlier."

"Did you see her, Cedric?!" Hamlin asks, outraged. "She looked like she could lift me up with her pinky! Like hell I wouldn't want her for a wife!"

Cedric just snorts. Cress allows herself a grin because it had been pretty amusing seeing Hamlin get all flustered in front of the bird. With her cropped hair and muscular build, she looked about three seconds from decking Hamlin for running into her until he spluttered out an apology and said something that he thought might have been charming but was really just obnoxious.

(The girl seemed to not mind though — or she just thought killing him with her glare wouldn't have been beneficial to anyone — for she just nodded at him with a neutral expression and just walked away.)

The Great Hall falls into a tense silence again as everyone prepares themselves for the Hogwarts champion. Cress gnaws at her lips, feels her stomach churn with butterflies and something else and she crosses her fingers. Watches the goblet flicker red and shoot out another piece of parchment that's charred and her heart stops and everything seems to go in slow motion and then —

"The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!"

Cress doesn't bang her head on the table or cause widespread panic or even smile and wave. She sits there, her ears ringing from the exuberant, happy cheers echoing through her ears at the Hufflepuff table. There's lead in her ears, in her heart; she feels like she swallowed an apple. Her worst fears have been confirmed. Cedric is in this. He is officially participating in the Triwizard Tournament.

She watches him walk with a detached sort of numbness. Her eyes sting, but she refuses to cry. That's selfish of her and she's been selfish enough with Cedric, needs to let him go. So, she smiles at him, when he turns back and locks eyes with her, grey tinted blue due to the fire. There's so much determination and excitement in them that Cress can do nothing but grin.

It's wobbly around the edges, mediocre at best, but she grins and he seems to accept it and then he's gone, disappearing into the chamber where all the other champions are and leaving Cress behind.

"Excellent," Dumbledore is saying but it sounds like a hollow hum in her ears. The chaos is gone but turmoil lives in her head, aching and bitter and so, so unwelcome. Cress wants to leave. She wants to go back to her dormitory and hide away for the remainder of the school year, unseen to everyone. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

Cress hears him break off suddenly and she sees the goblet blaze red again and Godric, what now? They had their champions, the goblet is useless. But it burns and parchment shoots out and Dumbledore catches it and holds it and everyone in the Great Hall seems to be holding their breaths in anticipation.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore reads.

The Hall is silent.

⋆˚࿔

In retrospect, Cress thinks there could have been a lot more violence, but when people finally comprehend that Harry Potter was picked, there's just a slight murmur of confusion that grows into an angry incertitude. She likes to think Durmstrang held back from literally skinning Potter alive — which is still something that can happen if the way the cropped-haired girl from earlier's expression is anything to go by. And then there are the Beauxbatons, who are varying between sorrow that they didn't get picked and indignation that Harry Potter, a fourteen-year-old boy in his fourth year, was chosen instead.

But all-in-all, it could have been worse.

When Harry finally disappears into the chamber, there's an uproar and the professors try to calm them down but the chaos is astonishing. Some people are screaming that it's unfair for Hogwarts to have two champions, others shouting that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang deserve to have another one added. Hufflepuff's spewing on about how miffed they are that "The Chose One" came along and stole the spotlight — once again. Cress thinks they're being overdramatic, even if a part of her (the deepest, darkest one) agrees.

Distractedly, she walks back to the common room with Axel and Mallory. She hears talking, thinks maybe they are saying something important to her but she can't make out the words. Everything is a mantra of CedricCedricCedric and deathdeathdeath.

Cress's stomach is in her mouth, her heart drumming against her chest.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, over and over again — until she can't hear the roars of the people around her, until she can't do anything but flee.

The kitchens have comforted Cress many times. In her second year, when her and Axel got into one of the biggest fights they've ever had, she snuck down here — after she wheedled the trick to entering out of Cedric — and ate so much clam chowder that she tasted it for weeks after. Many other times she has snuck in here on a Fred Weasley related note (because he glanced her way and it was true love, put a sock in it, Ax) and devoured all their buttered scones. Cress hates that it's the house elves down here, making them food and all; she wishes she could do something besides pay them for their work, but she still finds a great comfort in here.

A sweet aroma of baked goods settles in her nose when she passes through the portrait. Cress walks into the heavenly smelling room and plops down on a stool, mustering up a small smile for elves when they glance her way. They bustle and hustle around, muttering things to themselves and preparing food like crazy. Cress loves them.

"Miss Cress?"

Gadby jumps up on the stool across from Cress, sending her a worried, curious glance. Cress says, "Hey, Gads."

"Miss Cress is alright?" Gadby asks with a tentative smile.

Cress shrugs. "Sure. Maybe. I dunno. It's all very jumbled, to be frank."

"What has happened to Miss Cress? Is Mister Cedric okay?" Gadby stares at her with big topaz eyes, nervously fiddling with the sweater her mum knitted for him ages ago. Cress sighs out, wishes she could will her heart to stop aching.

"As you know," she says, "the champions have been picked for the Triwizard Tournament."

Gadby makes a strangled sort of noise. "And Mister Cedric has been picked?" His watery eyes fill up until he is crying. Cress grimaces in guilt. "Oh, what terrible news! Gadby is most upset for Mister Cedric! Gadby has never trusted the tournament. My, my, my! Miss Blythe will be most displeased, indeed." He shakes his head and the red, fuzzy ball on top of his hat shakes with him.

Cress says, "Don't tell her! Let Cedric be the one to break the news to her."

"Gadby understands," Gadby responds with a small sigh, forlorn and with the woe of a very disgruntled house elf. "But Gadby wishes Mister Cedric would not have done this. Gadby wants Mister Cedric to be safe."

Cress agrees. That's what she wants, too. But Cedric apparently doesn't do safe — his hero complex is outrageously out of control and can attest to it — so putting his name in the goblet was nothing to him.

Cress is happy for him, of course. Completely exuberant and whatnot. Sure, she thinks it's great that he got picked, that he's the one (besides Harry Potter) presenting their school in the tournament — but her mind keeps picking out the bad things, showing her the worst scenarios in which Cedric does not get the glory, but instead, a limp body full of lifeless eyes and she hates that scene.

Gadby makes her mint tea — he asked her if she wanted hot chocolate but Cedric is the only one who makes it the best — and Cress drinks it with slouched shoulders, listening to the hustle around her instead of her thoughts.

They're talking about her mum's job and how St. Mungos is getting really busy since Halloween just passed when Cedric comes in. Cress knows it's him because of his heavy steps. Cedric says he's as quiet as a mouse but Cress calls bullshit. He walks like a bloody Erumpent.

When he gets to the table, Cress and Gadby have gone silent and Cress is trailing a finger on the rim of her teacup. She feels like fainting. Maybe dying. Probably just disappearing off the face of the earth.

"Hi," he says.

Gadby is on him like a bowtruckle. "Mister Cedric!" he cries, sniffling as he holds onto Cedric's neck. "Gadby loves Mister Cedric! Gadby does not want to see Mister Cedric get maimed! Gadby wants Mister Cedric to stay well forever! Mister Cedric needs to quit the tournament!"

Cress wants to smile at Gadby's obvious concern — he is the cutest ever, no one can deny it — but she doesn't. She stares at them for a long moment, taking in the way Cedric is furrowing his eyebrows and gripping at Gadby earnestly. There's something on his mind.

"I know, Gads, I know," Cedric says, placing Gadby back on the table and taking a seat across Cress. "I promise not to get maimed, okay?"

Gadby sniffles, wipes his noses with his sleeve. "That would make Gadby most relieved."

Cedric chuckles. "Good." He turns to Cress. She swallows and tries to smile. He tells her, "I got picked."

"I know," Cress whispers. She doesn't add, and it sucks but I'm happy if you're happy because that feels a little bit like a lie.

"You're not happy." Cedric frowns which makes Cress frown because Cedric has always been able to read through her no matter what and it sucks. She wishes she could put a mask on her emotions just so he couldn't.

"I am!" Cress exclaims, too quickly to be sincere. Cedric sends her a look. In a quieter tone, she says, "You deserve it."

"Do I?" he asks with a quiet scoff.

Cress nods her head vigorously. "Of course you do! You're the only person I know who deserves this. I'm happy you got picked. . ."

"You're just not happy that I'm going to be in danger?" Cedric finishes for her.

Cress swallows, hates the way her eyes swell up, salt-filled droplets stinging the corner of them as she sniffs. She hates that Cedric knows her so well, hates that he can tell what's wrong with her just by one glance. She hates that he's going to be in danger. She hates this stupid tournament and everything it stands for.

She opens her mouth to respond but all that comes out are noises that she's pretty sure aren't human and then there's a tear slipping down her face. Cress hates everything.

"I know," Cedric whispers. "I know, Cress, but it's not like that. I'm not Grandpa."

Grandpa Chester, Cress thinks. Her hero. Her other best friend. The one she could rely on the most. The one person she wanted to grow up and be like. She hasn't heard his name in years — not since the funeral — but it still sends a deep ache through her, covering up the warmth that was once held.

She had been seven when he died. He promised that he would return, that he would come back and they would go to Diagon Alley together. Cress waited for months before the accident happened and Grandpa Chester never came home. Shot down in action, they said and Cress hated that they let that happen because Pop Pop was older than them and he should have people looking out for him and he shouldn't have been hit with that curse.

Pop Pop and her were supposed to eat greasy food at the Leaky Cauldron — then they were going to go by silly things in Diagon Alley and he wasn't supposed to die. He promised.

"My little beacon of hope," he called her before he left. "I love you to the stars and beyond."

Little Cress had giggled. "Pop Pop, you can't love me that much! Cedric says it's impossible, and I am highly inclined to agree."

Pop Pop had smirked with twinkling blue eyes and peppered hair. "Oh, but I can, Crescent, dear. And I do."

He kissed her on the forehead.

"That's okay, Pop Pop. Because I love you more than that!"

She had hugged him for a long, long time, hoping her tiny arms around him could make his promise concrete. Could give her a piece of him told hold and cherish until he returned. But he had to leave, and Amos pulled her away. She'd watched, holding onto a promise so much that she didn't step into the Leaky Cauldron until months later, when Amos forced her, teeth clenched, into the establishment.

She was inconsolable for months after — then Amos made her stop talking about it altogether as though it wasn't his father! The silence of his absence was a chasm in her heart. She thinks that's where it stems from — not just Pop Pop's promise, but Amos's denial. Amos's involvement.

Cedric promised not to die, yes, and she knows he will hold onto this even if it kills him (ironic, she knows). By his teeth, bloodied and bruised, Cress thinks Cedric would come out of the tournament. It's safer, they said. But Cress isn't sure Cedric would have entered the tournament had Amos not fluttered like a Cornish pixie, blue-faced and breathless with evil ideas.

But even still — she doesn't want Cedric to break this promise, intentionally or not. "If you do, Axel will find a spell, rejuvenate you, and then we'll kick you to death afterwards."

"Cress, it's resurrect," Cedric laughs, pressing a nasty tooth into her fucking scalp. It hurt. "Rejuvenate is when Axel has his 'self-care' days."

"Rejuvenate is when I beat my brother up," Cress snarls, scoffing wetly, a tear escaping while she tries to control herself. Not the end of the world, she tells herself, punching Cedric in the stomach. It's sharp, with too many fingers in it. The kind he hates, that gets in his ribs or lungs or whatever Quidditch part he needs to be the best at the sport. "And that's about to commence in three... two —"

"One—"

Cedric yanks her down, laughing as he pulls her into the floor. There's a clamber of limbs, a splutter as his arms pull her neck down and into his built-like-a-brick body. Squawking, Cress growls, throwing her elbow in his stomach as he laughs with a grunt.

Cedric twists his leg until it makes hers bend. Bitch.

She throws a face in his hand, the echo resounding of the walls.

Gadby comes back over, his sweater gleaming as Cedric's grey eyes widen in surprise. Cress is up, her elbow about to gravitate toward that fucking stone he calls a chest.

"Cress, no!" Cedric yells, pushing at her — but he taught her silent spells when he started learning, it's his fault when his arms are pinned. "Cress, think of the children! Axel should never be allowed to teach you things!"

"Miss Cress, yes!" Gadby yells and then there's another one over there, too, yelling with him.

Cress laughs, her heart heavy but lighter. Cedric looks terrified, and she does pull the wrestling move on him, his bones creaking underneath her weight. He grunts, and Gadby throws three Sickles on the brawl.

Cedric gets an upper hook to her jaw.

She smacks his face into the tiled floor.

They fight for a long, long time.

And it feels like summer, when they would wrestle so loudly that Blythe would use wordless magic to silence the room, damned if they hurt themselves. Cress loses herself in the feeling of it, in Gadby's chants in her ears as Cedric's cries of indignation when Gadby joins in warm her heart.

She wishes the Triwizard Tournament was gone, wishes her punches were lighter than the anger in her. Wishes her laugh wasn't as heavy as it feels. Wishes she didn't just have this moment to be light, to be with her family.

But reality's a bitch; Cress knows that once they leave this kitchen, nothing will be the same. Everything has changed.

She just doesn't know if it's going to be for the better.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Attention doesn't mean the regarding of someone (or something) as interesting or important. The dictionary's a liar. Attention's a nine letter word that means literal hell.

Which, unironically, Cress has been going through since receiving nothing but attention.

She isn't going to blame any one person (cough, Cedric, cough) but the amount of people who have suddenly realized that Cress does actually attend Hogwarts and that, yes, Cedric does have a tiny sister whose mouth is as bad as her hair is astounding. Her mind is blown by the amount of students whose eyes have suddenly opened to all the possibilities of Crescent Diggory.

But it's so fucking annoying; Cress hasn't had one free moment since Cedric's name flew out of the bloody goblet. Every corner she turns, there's someone there, in her face, asking about Cedric and what size his shoes were and oh my gosh, does he like tulips or roses better? There's been a lot of chocolate, too. So much chocolate. Cress is getting tired of looking at it, she's gotten so much.

And she's pretty sure that the treat's laced with Amortentia, therefore she's sent the girls (and boys) off with an assurance that she's going to give it to Cedric, tossing them a moment later. Which is rude of her but she's looking out for her brother's safety — and she doesn't really want to go through every batch and check because a) she's allergic to cinnamon and who knows what ingredients are in there and b) if there is a love potion laced in there, she doesn't want to be the one ogling the poisoner.

(She doesn't tell Cedric since, knowing him, he'd want to try every one of the chocolates and then go personally thank every person who gave him the treat because he's that nice.)

(Axel thinks she's just bitter that she's not the one getting the chocolate. Cress tells him to shove off.)

Honestly, Cress isn't sure how Cedric does it. The attention's driving her absolutely bonkers — and it's probably nothing compared to what he's had to endure. She's one more giggling girl away from making Axel suffocate her, so she can only imagine how he's doing.

"Does he like truffles? My mum makes the best truffles!" some Ravenclaw girl in sixth year asks as Cress tries to bob and weave her way through the crowds of people so she can go to Charms.

Cress resists the urge to groan. She wishes Axel were here to help her, to snap at this girl to run along and get a life but wishes are meant for someone who has hope and Cress. . . doesn't have any. Not anymore.

(Plus, Axel isn't even attending lessons today. He claims it's because he isn't feeling well, but Cress knows it's because he got a letter from Valko that said he wasn't at Hogwarts — hadn't even gotten on that bloody pirate ship to begin with. Supposedly Professor Eats-Bran-Muffins-Ew punished him for something and demanded that he remain at Durmstrang for the duration of the tournament. Cress doesn't think she was supposed to read that, but sue her — he's her best friend. Priorities. She'll let him chew her out later when he finds out but for now she'll give him some space.)

(And silently plot the downfall of this Valko arsehole that involves Peeves and a whole lot of hexes.)

"He's allergic to sugar," Cress says (lies) when the girl keeps rambling about desserts. She wonders if this is Chang's friend because if she is then Chang needs to find new people to befriend. "Makes him all gassy and bloated. He gets a mean rash on his face, too. It's unpleasant."

The girl gasps like this is grave news to her. Cress rolls her eyes and tugs at her braid. She wonders how much persuading she has to do to let Madam Pomfrey take pity on her and let her hide out in the hospital wing. She knows it wouldn't work because Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her step a foot in there unless she was visiting someone (after school hours, mind you) or three seconds away from death, but she's willing to try anything at this point.

"Has he had any sweets lately? Oh, Merlin! Is he okay?" the Ravenclaw asks. "Will he be able to participate in the tournament?"

Cress wants to bang her head on the wall until she gets amnesia. And then she wants to throw herself down the stairs. Attention sucks and she's going to murder Cedric for making her go through this.

"Why don't you bloody ask him?" Cress asks with a raised brow, tugging her bag up on her shoulder.

"Ask him?" The girl scoffs. "As if. Do you have any idea what Cho would do to me?"

Cress gives her a very judgmental look (which could be more severe but Cress is all about being nice) and says, "If you're worried about what Chang is going to do to you then why are you asking me what kind of desserts Cedric likes best?"

"He's the Hogwarts champion," the girl explains with a 'duh' tone. Cress wants to ring her neck.

"First of all, fuck you," she replies. Who needs nice when bitches need stitches?

"Excuse me?!"

Cress doesn't think she's seen someone look so offended. She smirks. Hell yeah. All week, she has held her tongue against an onslaught of plastics who wanted Cedric for nothing more than the fact that he's now a Hogwarts champion. She held back when they waxed poetic about his eyes and hair and all that other stuff and she didn't say anything when they commented on his muscles and Quidditch skills but no more. Cress is sick of people (and fucking chocolate) and she isn't going to sit her while this blonde bitch with too much lipstick on tries to take a go at her brother for all the wrong reasons.

"You heard me, you shallow pig," Cress says, thinks maybe she could have said that more politely, finds that she doesn't give a fuck. "Fuck you and your mum's fucking truffles. Take 'em and shove them up your arse."

The girl stops in the middle of the corridor, halting other students who stop and give her a glare before moving on. She stares at Cress like she just killed her whole family. Cress finds no care in her. She's relieved, instead, that she can finally let it all out because Helga it's been kept in for far too long.

"You cannot talk to me like that!" the girl exclaims after a few moments of gaping silence.

Cress raises her brows, unimpressed. "I believe I just did." She rolls her eyes when the Ravenclaw sputters out something indecipherable. "Yeah, yeah, be offended all you want, it's not going to change anything. Perhaps you should stop being such a shallow hussy who only wants someone because of their name."

"I don't want him because of his name!"

"Uh huh." Cress sets her tongue at the roof of her mouth and sends the simmering Ravenclaw (what was her name?) a blank stare. "I don't care why you want him, none of them are for the right reasons. So do us both a favor and leave his name out of your mouth before I really get angry, okay?"

And because Cress isn't above being petty, she sends the girl a overly bright smile, tossing her braid over her hair as she saunters away. Point one for dramatic exits.

The girl cries out something in irritation behind her but Cress walks into Charms without turning back. She takes her seat beside Mallory and smirks.

"What?" Mallory says suspiciously. "What have you done now?"

"Nothing," Cress singsongs.

Mallory sends her a look. "Come on, Crescent. You look too pleased for it to be nothing. This whole week you've been nothing but annoyed when coming to lessons, so. . ."

Cress opens her mouth but — Mallory is a tiny bit (maybe a lot of bit) right. Ever since that wretched Goblet of Fire spat out Cedric's blasted name like some king of regurgitating phoenix (do phoenixes even regurgitate? Do they even have children? How does that even work if they're born from ashes? Cress should probably know but she didn't take Care of Magical Creatures in third year so) she's been hounded day and night by admires of her brother. And she is going to state this one more time:

ATTENTION FUCKING SUCKS!

Sucks big 'ole hippogriff bollocks. Cress has been up to her nostrils with silent annoyance and quiet rage. And then the Ravenclaw (fucking Susan, her name's Susan) comes up to her, shaking her bosoms around like Cedric's right there. She would love it on a normal day — hello, Susan isn't ugly — if it wasn't her brother the bird was after.

So what if she feels a little better after going off (not really going off because Cress could totally do better on a good day — say something about those obvious highlights and the need to act arrogantly intelligent)? It's nothing to be suspicious about. If anything, Mallory should be rejoicing in this mood change because Cress was one more Susan away from being sent to Azkaban for fucking murder.

Which wouldn't be good for her name. Cress has a reputation to maintain, thank you very much.

Mallory gives her one more suspicious look while Cress pulls out her books but then drops the subject. Cress is relieved and when Professor Flitwick starts droning on about hexes used in the war against goblins, Cress latches on to every word.

⋆˚࿔

Professor Trelawney might be crazy. Cress is not one to assume, but she's pretty sure Trelawney is downright bonkers.

Don't get her wrong — she loves Divination with a passion (kind of) but if Trelawney wants her to get an Acceptable or higher on her O.W.L.s then the woman is going to have to stop talking in riddles.

"What?" Cress says again.

Professor Trelawney stares at her with those huge, round eyes that are familiar with a house elf. Jonah Spencer — a fifth year Slytherin taking the class with her — snorts into his hand. Cress sends him a deadpan look. His shoulders shake as he stares back down at his book, Unfogging the Future.

"Your dreams, dear," Trelawney states.

Cress says, "What about them?"

And this is how every lesson's been going this week. Professor Trelawney asks her unnecessary questions about her dreams that she was forced to write down in a journal and then she just stares at her for a really long moment when Cress says that yes, that is, in fact, the dream I had last night. It's becoming a bit of a problem, really.

"You are drowning, you say?" Trelawney mutters in what she thinks is a soft voice but really it carries across the room. Cress can feel her cheeks heating when people turn to stare at her.

Firstly, those dreams are supposed to confidential. What the hell, Sybill?

And second, yes, Cress is drowning in all of her dreams lately but that doesn't really mean anything and Trelawney is really going to have to get that through her head before Cress has a meltdown.

"Yes," Cress sighs, "but they're just dreams, professor. We have been over this before, haven't we?"

Professor Trelawney shakes her head. Cress regrets ever taking the class. Jonah Spencer is outright laughing with his friends — another Slytherin, thanks Marigold; Cress is definitely telling Mildred her twin was acting up in Divination. She's not above it. Mildred is ruthless in a duel, and she's just humiliated enough to rat her out.

"My dear, those dreams are not just dreams," Trelawney says cryptically. "Oh, my, my my. . . What a shame indeed, my child!" And then she gasps, loudly, with a hand on her chest. Cress's face is blazing. "NO! No, no, no! Grave danger comes your way, my child! The skull has made it certain!"

What? Cress is fairly certain that she's having a one-sided conversation with this woman. She's just going to forget about getting an Acceptable on her O.W.L. — it's going to be impossible, and Cress should just drop out now, live off land for awhile. Adopt a wild hippogriff or something and soar through the skies like she was made to be there.

Before Cress can actually make a dramatic exit (two in two days, fuck yeah) the bell rings and everyone makes a run for the latch. Cress follows behind them quickly, but Professor Trelawney snags her around the arm before she can move much further.

"Profess—"

Cress stops. She has never seen Trelawney look so. . . so serious in her entire time at Hogwarts. There's a hard glint in her eyes as she stares directly at Cress. Cress gulps, hesitating. Her arm trembles in the professor's hold.

"The lake of obsidian will be your downfall," Trelawney says.

"Er —"

"Beware, for the lake is endless and void," she continues. "Trust no one and stay on your toes, my child. This year has just begun for you."

Then, Trelawney lets Cress go and she all but hightails it out of there, heart pounding erratically as she weaves through the corridors, hoping to meet Axel by there spot outside before break is over. Thoughts run through her head and she pushes them away, doesn't want to think about the utterly creepy tone in Professor Trelawney's voice nor the fact that while what she said isn't a prophecy, it holds a deep sense of foreboding all the same.

Cress hits someone just as she's rounding another corner to go into the courtyard. She huffs and her books tumble to the ground as she tries to keep herself upright. Someone catches her on the arm and says, "Woah."

She knows, before she looks up — by the sound of the voice and the way his rasp hits her ears — that she's fucked.

Fred Weasley stares at her with burning eyes when she manages to regain her balance. He's with George — of course — and he's got his tie undone, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows.

And wow, Cress has missed him.

Well, missed as in the only way you can miss someone that you crave in much more than a platonic way. Missed as in she can't express it in fear of scaring him off. Cress has missed Fred's joyful laugh and animated grin and his beautiful fiery hair that makes Cress's knees weak.

And she's missed his teasing taunts and familiar presence. Hell, she even missed the little voice in the back of her head reminding her that, hey, she'll never get him so why even bother because it meant that at least Fred was there.

(She blames Cedric and all his stupid admirers for her lack of Fred Weasley.)

She's also missed George and Lee and their boisterous laughter and roughhousing. She sees them pranking people still, a small thing she happens to glance at as she's running through the halls to disappear from another person but it's enough to make her ache for her friends.

(And bloody crush.)

"Hey. You alright, mate?" Fred asks, looking like he's hiding a teasing smile.

Cress takes a moment to recollect herself (and ogle Fred some more — that uniform is doing wonders for him) and then says, "Yes."

It comes out more unsteady than she likes, but sue her, she had just ran from a psycho professor talking about lakes and downfalls. Cress will take what she can get since Fred Weasley's here and present. All the negative, intrusive thoughts from earlier have disappeared into the warmth of his eyes.

She bends down to pick up her books. Fred crouches down to help her and it takes everything in her not to jump him when their hands brush on the bound journals and spiraled notebooks Axel's doodled on.

Not only that, this close she can smell him. Smell him. Does anyone have any idea what that does to her?

Does she sound feral? Sure, sure, but it's a legit concern since her lungs have apparently forgotten what oxygen is. The musky, warm scent of his cologne that he must have used to cover up the scent of whatever project blew up in their dorm washes over her. Part of her wishes he wasn't wearing it, that she could smell what experiment they had blown up. The burnt smell of creativity has always been her favorite. But his cologne is nice, too, and she wants to bathe in it and bathe in him, his soft smile he gives her when he hands her the Divination's notebook that Axel drew an animated cartoon coffin on.

"Never much fancied Divination," Fred comments as they stand back up.

Cress shrugs and tries to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Her heart races, as if she was covered in the fog of that delectable aroma. "It's better than Arithmancy."

"I can't argue with sound logic. 'Mione thinks it's the best, though." Fred's hands brush against her own as he passes her books back.

She barely refrains from exploding into a thousand pieces, his warmth seeping into her like she drank lava. Cress hates it — loves it — tucking her books close to her as she nods a thanks, replying to him in favor of telling he smells like cinnamon and Exploding Snap cards, warm like fire and smoke.

"Hermione's bloody insane, then, but good luck to her and hers." She almost shivers at the thought; Arithmancy had always sounded horrible, and she feared Axel might grow a second head just to let it explode with the amount of homework he's had. "Ax thinks he might hex his professor into oblivion if he tries to give them more homework."

"The casualties of academic warfare. O.W.L.s are not kind — even to the strongest of heart," Fred says, shaking his head.

George nods his agreement, sympathetic and remembering. "Yep. Almost took out Fred and I. Lee?" He sighs. "Lee perished three times. We almost didn't resuscitate him once."

"Jordan isn't the strong of heart, though," Cress points out. "He's weak — I bet if you put anything in front of him that wasn't notes... he would gravitate towards that."

"Don't call him out like that, Little Diggory," Fred says, shaking his shoulder length hair. It flecks in the sunlight, catches like fire. Her mouth runs dry. "He doesn't like his weaknesses aired out like that."

"Heh, he shouldn't wear them on his sleeve then." Cress laughs, a scoff falling from her lips. "I saw him in the library the other day, books piled around him. When asked what he was doing, he said, 'Color coordinating.' Mates, they were stacked in a rainbow — a dark, leathery rainbow." She sighs, and it's forlorn, aged beyond her years. "He's lost it. And if that's how he treats it, then I'm doomed. Doomed."

Fred grins, warm, crooked. Lips tugged up like a model that takes the best candid photos. Cress tries to stomp on the swarm of butterflies in her stomach. "I don't know about doomed. . ."

Cress levels a glare, flailing her hands at Trelawney's class as if it proves her theory and statement more than his own encouragement. An indignant noise comes out of her mouth, especially when George laughs, Fred snickering at where she pointed. Both of them look downright tickled. Arseholes.

"However talented I might be, sign language is not my strong suit," George says. "Maybe try English next time?" He leans down, conspiratorially whispering, "But if it's Trelawney... yeah, good luck, mate."

He ruffles her hair with a snort when Cress flails again, slapping at his hands. "No, no — back off, you arse." She holds her books to her with narrowed eyes, aware that both he and Fred are amused at her — like she's some little kitten they picked up from the courtyard. "I was just told my entire life was to blow up, I think. I don't know. She said the future was bleak, is all I remember."

"Yeah," George says slowly, "it sure is, Little Diggory. Trying times, here. Tell me, have you dreamt about your demise?"

Cress slams a hand on her head — not rough, but exasperated. There's a difference, though Cedric doesn't agree. She thinks about the dreaming, about how Professor Trelawney looked at her. About how she said the future only grows darker.

She groans. "George, not the time."

"It's always the demise," George says, ruffling her hair again. She actually hates him, wants to take his satchel and curse it to laugh whenever he picked it up. "Always a deep, dark foreboding future. Ahhhh," —he mimics Trelawney— "dearie, do you dream about the void?"

Fred leans down, whispering in a croak. "Or doth the Grim speak with you?"

Cress cannot stand them, even though they aren't far off from what Trelawney said. Rolling her blue eyes to the sky, as if searching for the light in the tunnel, she says, "Just know this, boys..."

"Yeah?" they ask in unison, voices identically concerned.

"If you see me near the Black Lake soon..."

"No—" Fred gasps.

George pulls her in. "Not the lake."

"Little Diggory," Fred implores, eyes browner than leather in the sun, "if you die in the lake, does that mean that you dreamt about sparkling fish? Because she told me once I'd also die in the lake because I dreamt of a sparkling fish."

"Hmmmm." Cress stares at him for a moment. Looks at George, back to Fred. Helga, she wishes Fred weren't so cute. "I think she just hates you, Freddie."

"Oh ho? Freddie?" Fred asks, his eyebrow raised, eyebrows mischievous. George releases her at the same time Fred catches her. Cress's stomach falls to the floor, but she holds it together when Fred continues, "It suits me... coming from you, at least."

"The entire school and their mother call you that," Cress says breathlessly, taking in his long fingers pulling his satchel up on his shoulders. "You're just guilty because you still mock my name. As though I'm a joke to you two."

George mock bows. "You are? To me, at least."

"Har, har, Georgie," Cress says, warmth curling through her as she rolls her eyes. His smile is teasing, and she feels nice, here in the corridor, in a way that she shouldn't because her life has been hell since Cedric's bloody name got pulled from the goblet. "You're a real comedian. If academics doesn't work out, you should try stand-up."

"It's something he does in his free time," Fred says, snorting. Cress snickers, despite herself, his arm too hot around her shoulder.

"Not all my spare time, I tell you," George says, leading them away with a finger pointed up. The sun bakes on their backs as they do, not hot but not cool either. "I also do ballet."

"Our very own dancer," Cress says, with faux-surprise. "Georgie, you're a man of many talents."

"And a lot of wedgies," Fred mutters in her ear, voice warm, amused. "You'd be surprised how tight leotards are."

Cress snorts, the pounding of her heartbeat steadying little by little until it's slightly normal, even with the echo of his breath on her skin. She clutches her bag to her, the wind blowing through her hair (finally let down after years of being held captive in her elastic), making it a wild whirlwind of blonde — that's actually turning darker because winter's coming and with winter comes a darker shade that resembles an Acromantula more than anything.

"I need pictures of it," Cress says, grinning cheekily when George sends her finger-wands. "For research purposes, of course."

"Of course." George nods, snorting. "That the only reason you ran into us like a Erumpent?"

"Yeah," —Fred jostles her once before letting her go in favor of holding his hands in his pockets— "where you off to, anyway, Little Diggory?"

"Er — Axel." Cress makes another pointless gesture with her hand, trying not to miss the heat of his body, the smell of his robes. Something like incense, like burnt parchment and cinnamon underneath. She loves it, swallows nervously, says, "I needed to see Axel. Had to tell him something."

Fred nods, accepting her poor excuse she just made up. "Well, you just missed him actually. He was storming inside, muttering about 'fucking pirates?'" He raises a teasing eyebrow at Cress and Cress's whole body runs hot.

She takes a step back when they reach an archway, replies with, "Oh, yeah, the Bulgarians. They're pirates."

"What in the bloody hell gave you that idea?" George laughs.

"Because of that massive ship that came out of the crevices of the fucking lake, s'what," Cress exclaims with a puff, walking back inside in a hunt for Axel. "And plus," she says over her shoulder, unsure if they're following her or not but talking anyway, "they all look like they got scurvy from Dark Magic. At least that fucking professor does. Looks like a crazed lunatic, to be honest."

"Oi," Fred says, coming up and bumping his shoulder against hers, "still got quite the mouth on you, eh Little Diggory?"

"Bite me," Cress mumbles but her ears are blazing and she can't believe — can't fucking believe that Fred just said that. So many memories — embarrassing memories — pop up in her head and it's like she's back there, running into him all over again and Merlin, times were so much simpler. Cress would like to go back. She wishes that were an option but Time Turners are used for important situations only (which hers is, if lifelong mortification counts as important).

Fred laughs, a melodic, angelic sound that goes straight to Cress's heart. If he keeps this up, she's not going to be able to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts and it's going to be on his hands.

"Hey, how's Diggory holding up?" George asks. They are walking up a flight of stairs, towards the direction of Cress's class.

Cress kind of wants to ask how they know she's got class this way, but she shoves it away because they could have class this way. There is more than one classroom on the third floor so Cress has no room to make assumptions. And she refuses to, no matter how much her tiny little heart, traitorous as it is, flutters in her chest at the prospect.

To George, she says, "I suppose he's well. I mean, it's not everyday that you're picked to represent your school in an dangerous, very important tournament."

"He's gotten a lot of people queuing up to see him," Fred says. "Chang better watch out."

"Please," Cress scoffs, "Cedric would have to be dragged away from Chang, legs cut off and all, before he would even consider it."

George snorts. "He fancies her quite a lot then?"

"If only you heard what he says." Cress grimaces, scrunching her face up in disgust. "The fans don't even phase him. He comes back to the common room and it's all 'Cho looked swell today,' or 'Do you think Cho would like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?' It's maddening."

"Don't worry, Little Diggory," Fred claps her on the shoulder just as they reach her classroom, "you'll find that special someone and before you know it, Diggory will be the one stuffing cotton in his ears."

Cress stares at him for a long moment, heart racing and she thinks, but I already have.

⋆˚࿔

Dinner that night is full of stilted conversations and awkward silences. Silences because Cress is refusing to talk to Cedric and the rest of the Hufflepuffs until they realize what complete prats they are for wearing around badges that read:

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY —

THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION

That's not all. When you press it in, it transforms into a green color that shows:

POTTER STINKS

Cress is livid. Absolutely seething. Has been since she saw most of the Hufflepuffs sporting one of the shit badges for the remainder of her day. The only people she's allowing herself to talk to are Mallory and Axel — because Mallory, of course, does not support what's going on at all; no matter how bitter she was about Harry's name getting called, she would never wish something so sinister upon someone. And Axel —well Axel transformed his (read: made Cress do his dirty work while he fiddled with tiny Viktor) badge that he got from Malfoy (of all the bloody people in this world! Cress is still angry Axel didn't let her take a swing at him) so that it read: FUCKING PIRATES.

(Cress isn't mad because she wholeheartedly agrees. Fucking pirates.)

But Hamlin and Cedric are getting the cold shoulder because a) Hamlin supports this — the prick — and b) Cedric, while he may not like the idea, he has done nothing to stop them from wearing around said badges. Cress can't forgive him for that.

"Who do you think put Potter's name in the goblet?" Cress asks Axel curiously as they make their way to the library after desserts. It's been gnawing at her for awhile now and what better time to ask then when they're all alone, away from prying ears. It'll be easier to talk about it without Hamlin or Macmillan screaming in her ear that Harry did it — he had to have! All the signs point to it! — every two seconds.

Axel shrugs. "I'm putting my money on that carrot dude."

"What why?" Cress questions.

Axel sighs and says, "Seriously? How is it you're a pureblood and you know nothing of what goes on in your world?"

"I'm sheltered," Cress defends, frowning petulantly.

Mallory quickly says, "He just means that Professor Karkaroff used to be a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was captured and put into Azkaban and was released because he betrayed many other followers of You-Know-Who."

"Wait," Cress says. They walk into the library and take their usual seat in the back. "You mean to tell me that Dumbledore is allowing a guilty man, who has committed all kinds of crimes, come into a school? With children? Defenseless children who can be harmed at any time. Dumbledore did that?"

Axel snorts, taking out a giant textbook. "No one said he was smart, Mo."

Mallory nods. "S'why Moody is here. To give us protection without notifying us that we truly need it."

"Are we better off with Moody, though?" Cress inquires, bringing out her own pen and paper to write her mum a letter. "He's wild card on a good day. Helga knows what he's like on a bad one."

"We're getting protection," Mallory says softly. "Mama says that Moody is one of her most trusted friends and coworkers. She trusts him and so do I."

"And that's enough for me," Axel says.

Cress nods. "Me, too."

Because if Mallory puts her trust in a crazed man that easily... who is Cress not to?

Cress still can't help the apprehension she feels upon hearing that a renowned Death Eater is walking amongst her school like he was never convicted in the first place. Perhaps the professor had seen the error of his ways and was actually telling the truth at his trial, but Cress doubts it The man probably does have something to do with Harry Potter's name in the goblet.

A sense of unease settles in her and she thinks back to Professor Trelawney's words about the lake and how her year has just begun. Cress doesn't know what the woman meant, but the words echo in her head unpleasantly, creating turmoil and chaos with every passing moment. She wishes she would have dropped that class when she had the chance.

An hour into studying, Axel gets a message from Scout and though he doesn't tell her what's on it, she has a suspicion that it's the only person who has been occupying his time for awhile. When he runs out with the note clutched to his chest like a lifeline, Cress frowns, but attaches her letter to Scout anyway and sends her off with a smile.

(Mum,

Things are well here. Cedric's a champion, which is wicked. I'm guessing you knew that, though, what with him lettering you and Amos back and forth almost every day. Maybe just Amos. You only ever send us letters at the same time, so I'm guessing it's our dearest Father.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Cedric has been corrupted by the angry Hufflepuffs. They've gotten into his brain and now he's no longer the brother who annoys me with his too righteous ways but instead it's with his rebellious ways. (But how much can you really rebel when you're Cedric Diggory, Mum? Not much.)

You should probably send him a letter though, remind him of his roots and all because I'm pretty sure he's one more badge away from piercing his ears or something. Merlin, what a sight that would be.

Just wanted to catch up and see how you were. I love and miss you so much, you glorious woman. I miss your hugs and mint tea and great boy advice because — GET THIS, MUM! FRED WEASLEY ACTUALLY TALKS TO ME NOW! LIKE FACE-TO-FACE CONVERSATION! WE'RE MATES NOW!

Okay, the excitement is over, but still. Can you believe this? I can't. I still think it's a dream. We're moving forward in my twenty-year plan, thank the heavens. Next year, I might be able to kiss him on the cheek. Or look at him without internally dying. But — as a reward for my astounding progress — if you could send some clam chowder in a thermos that'd be swell. Or tell Gadby to give me some that you make — either's fine.

Anyway, I love you and I hope you're doing well. Miss you lots.

Cress

P.S. Tell Mrs. Bloodsworth that I hope she's doing well.)

Her and Mallory walk back to the Hufflepuff common room before curfew and when they arrive, Axel is no where to be seen.

Mallory gnaws on her lip as her cat, Fanny, pushes up against her leg with a purr. She's a big cat, much larger than Elvis, with thick, flowy fur that is painted a light grey and eyes that shine green in the dim lighting of the common room. Fanny loves warm hugs and hates everything men (except for Axel who was an exception because of Elvis) and Cress is a tiny bit in love with her.

"Do you think this guy is going to hurt Axel?" Mallory asks quietly, picking up Fanny.

Cress shrugs but even she can't help the worry that seeps into her bones like sap. "I dunno," she says. "I don't know what he said in that note to make Axel run off like that but whatever it was, it better end up with Axel going to bed with a smile on his face or I swear on everything, I will end —"

"Let's not get violent just yet," Mallory says hastily. They head to the dorms quietly and as Cress is changing into her pajamas — a long-sleeved shirt she stole from Cedric and shorts because Cress hates it when her legs feel like their suffocating underneath a blanket — Mallory whispers, "But I don't think I trust this guy. He doesn't sound like he knows what he wants from what I have heard."

Cress bites her lip and says, "I know. But there isn't anything we can do but be there for him. That's all." She hates it, but it's really all she can do. It's all Axel will allow her to do. He thinks that if he's going to make a mistake then it's on him. He wants to suffer the consequences and when that time comes, he just needs Cress to be there for him. That's all he ever needs.

And Cress loves him and will be there for him always — until the end of time — but she just wishes that she could help him some. He's so closed off about relationships that aren't platonic, and Cress just wishes she could get a glimpse inside his head, get a peek of what's going on. While she lays it all out there, Axel closes it off, locks the door and swallows the key.

But in the end, she just wants him to do what his heart tells him to. So, she'll take the backseat and allow him to do what needs to be done; if he needs her, she'll be right there, holding his hand.

⋆˚࿔

Tiny Viktor stares at Cress like he's stuck between being worried for her yet annoyed that he's in her presence. Cress goes for the former, if only to make herself feel better, and takes a sip of the hot chocolate Gadby made her. It goes down her throat in a warm stream of comfort and Cress loves Gadby for making this for her, even if it isn't exactly Cedric's.

"Does Miss Cress wish for more hot cocoa?" Gadby asks, bringing a pot of it over.

Cress shakes her head. "No, Gads. Thank you."

"It is no problem, Miss Cress," Gadby says hurriedly. "Gadby is most grateful that Miss Cress has came for a late night visit! Gadby has missed Miss Cress!"

Cress gnaws on her lip worriedly and does not tell Gadby that the reason she is here is because she didn't know where to go and the common room was much too suffocating for her to try and process her thoughts. Truthfully, she has missed Gadby, of course, but she had planned on visiting him when she wasn't panicking about nightmares that might be omens.

Going to bed earlier was nothing — exhaustion throughout the day (and week) took it's toll on Cress and she had went to bed with a promise for her and Mallory to finish their conversation later. She fell asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

But her dreams were plagued again, dark swirls of nothingness the only thing visible to her. Cress was drowning, dragged under the onyx waters as she struggled to breathe and breathe, fighting for an escape, wishing whatever pull was holding her down would just let go.

It tugged relentlessly, sending waves of panic through her body and she fought and fought but it was stronger and she was growing weaker by the second. And Cedric was there, swimming towards her, reaching and reaching but never quite grasping until there was nothing left of him but a dark silhouette.

And then finally, she gasped in air and choked on water and it burned and hurt and she was in so much pain that she couldn't handle it. Cress begged for it to get better, for the chilled water to become warm, for the darkness to fade into light. She wanted to breathe, she wanted the pain gone — she wanted to grasp Cedric.

But he was gone and she was fading, faster and faster into the glacial arms of death, and then everything went black.

She woke up with sweat clinging to her whole body, making her hair damp with it. With nothing else to do, Cress had gotten her breathing under control and then she debated on what to do next because there was no way she was going back to sleep. She thought maybe a shower would do her good, but then that would probably wake the girls, so that was a no go. Then, she thought, maybe sitting in the common room won't be so bad.

Wrong.

Helga's portrait stared at her for the longest time, seemingly piercing through every defense Cress put up and watching her in her most vulnerable state. Cress didn't like that at all so she left.

But then she figured that there was no place to really go unless she wanted to get caught out of bed. Which she didn't want. Rowena knows she didn't need another detention.

So, that's how she ended up in the kitchens, drinking hot chocolate while Gadby talked and tiny Viktor judged. All in all, the company isn't bad. Cress just wishes she could have brought them together under different circumstances.

A shudder wracks her body as she finishes off her hot chocolate and Cress pulls her bathrobe tighter around her, willing herself to get warm even thought she isn't really cold. However, she can still feel that bitter, icy water freezing her veins and slowing her heart. It's a fire-hot ghost of a touch against her skin, makes her head hurt.

Professor Trelawney's words come back to her again. Cress shakes them away and eats a buttered scone from the plate Gadby gave her. There's no point in obsessing over one bad nightmare. She's had plenty before. What's one more?

...right?

"And Miss Diggory told Gadby that he could try knitting his own mittens soon!"

Gadby throws up his gloved hands, all wrapped in maroon cotton. Cress smiles, despite herself and takes another buttered scone, ignoring the grudging look small Viktor sends her.

"That's great, Gads, honestly," she says softly. "Make me a pair while you're at it, yeah?"

"Oh, yes! Gadby will most certainly make Miss Cress mittens!" he exclaims, clapping excitedly. The few house elves that remain in here send him glares. He pays no mind, his eyes glazed over and his mind far away. "Gadby will make them blue because blue brings out Miss Cress's eyes!"

Cress grins again, hearing a creak but paying it no mind until the voice.

"Can't say I disagree there, Gadby," he says from the portrait hole.

With mild horror, Cress sees that it's Fred Weasley. And — bloody hell — he's alone.

There's no George. No Lee. No Axel or Cedric — Mallory or Hamlin. Just her and him and Gadby — plus tiny Viktor but he doesn't count because he's being a grump.

He strides over to him in all his pajama glory — dark red pants with a worn out shirt, Cress is dying — and takes a seat across from Cress, snatching up a scone and munching on it. He gives her a smile. Cress feels like she's drowning all over again.

"Mister Weasley thinks blue would best match Miss Cress's eyes?!" Gadby asks in anticipation, all but jumping on the man.

Fred laughs joyously. "Of course, Gads. Make it a deep blue, though. Light blue wouldn't capture them as wondrously."

Cress chokes on a sip of hot cocoa — Gadby poured her another cup — and wonders what the hell just happened. Her mind is whirring. Did Fred Weasley just, like, compliment her?

Granted it was subtle — if it even was one — but still. He might have complimented her and that's a victory in its own.

She wonders if she's still dreaming. If she is, in fact, stuck in a world that plays both her worst fears and her wildest fantasies (Cress is using the term wildest very lightly). It's not something that hasn't happened before.

But Fred is giving her a genuine, soft grin that isn't at all teasing or smug, so Cress decides she just doesn't care. Dream or not, she's going to take advantage of it and get her twenty year plan in action.

"Personally, I like blue," Cress says, fooling with her mug. Fred is devouring the scones now. "Like, a deep, deep blue that's more black than anything. That'd be a good color for mittens, Gadby."

Gadby nods, taking in the information. Fred smiles, takes another bite of a scone. Tiny Viktor is glaring at him hesitantly eyebrows furrowed. Cress pushes at the little shit. Fred glances down and just about chokes to death. Cress is worried she'll have to call Madam Pomfrey in there to resuscitate him. But then he swallows some tea — and where did that come from? — and picks up tiny Viktor before Cress can protest.

"Astonishing," he says. "Absolutely wicked, Little Diggory! How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Cress asks. She can't exactly tell him that she used illegal spells on the thing while the Ministry was all to shit all those weeks ago.

Fred gestures to the action figure, who is squirming in his grip. Cress kind of feels bad for him but maybe it will teach him to stop being such a prick to her when she's just trying to help.

"Him," he exclaims. "There's no way the vendors at the Cup rigged him up like this! He's way too intelligent!" Fred makes a happy noise when tiny Viktor swats at him with his tiny fingers.

(Cress might be a little bit in love with the scene in front of her.)

"I — erm," Cress stammers in the way she always seems to whenever Fred is involved. She ducks her head down as Gadby moseys away, chatting with another house elf who is wearing a lot of hats. "He was a gift for Axel. Since he couldn't come to the cup with us."

Fred hums. "And what did you use to give him a conscience?" He has set tiny Viktor on the table and the action figure runs over and barricades himself behind Cress's arms. Fred smiles again. Cress tries not to feel to effected, but her heart is erratic in her chest and she thinks she failed.

"Well," she trails off, not really wanting to answer his question.

Fred peers at her with wide, brown eyes, as though she were water and he had found a well. "If you tell me you made up bloody spells for the doll, I will say that's the best thing I have ever heard in my life."

Cress's lip twitches. "Well. . ."

"Seriously?!" Cress nods. Fred laughs happily, leaning over the table to get a good look at where tiny Viktor is hiding. "And you didn't get caught? Not once?"

"No," Cress breathes out, scooting back a little because she needs some room or she is going to end up doing something she'll really regret. Like, snogging him.

"Woah," Fred says, finally leans back. "That's brilliant, Little Diggory! I knew you were amazing but I didn't know you made up your own spells! And used them illegally! How did you not get in trouble with the Ministry?"

"They had other things to worry about," Cress mumbles, feeling oddly flustered and a little bit like she's getting praised.

Fred grins cheekily, warm on the edges like a hearth at night. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad! I hope you know that! I genuinely think this is the best thing ever."

He looks a bit worried, now, and even if Cress didn't believe him, she would still tell him she did.

"I know," she says and takes another gulp of her cocoa.

Quiet engulfs them for a few minutes and Cress is pondering over what she could talk about. What are you supposed to talk about? The weather? Quidditch? The Triwizard Tournament? Maybe Fred would appreciate it if he had someone to talk to about his crush on Angelina... but Cress can't handle that emotional trauma so that's out. Maybe she can just ask a random question and hope for the best.

"Why are you alone?" is what comes out. She internally curses herself for being such a dolt.

Fred takes it smoothly, shrugging a shoulder with a faint, humored grin. "Contrary to popular belief, me and Georgie don't spend every moment together."

Cress finds herself snorting. "Oh, really? Because rumor had it you two even shared a bed."

"Godric, no! Only at home."

Cress laughs. "Only at home? Someone needs to get word around then. It'll be a worldwide crisis. Freddie and Georgie: Bedmates Exclusively (and ONLY) at the Weasley Residence."

"Makes for a good front page, honestly," Fred tells her with a smile. "Think we can sell it to the Daily Prophet?"

"Of course," Cress says. "You'll be loaded before you can blink."

"That's all I ask for," Fred says and stares at her.

They both laugh.

And it's nice, being down here with Fred and not having to worry about tripping over her words or making a fool of herself. It's just them, in the low lighting of the kitchens, eating butter scones and chatting like friends so and it warms Cress from her head to her toes.

"What about you?" Fred asks. "What's got you breaking the rules?"

"I'll have you know, I break rules all the time, Weasley," says Cress with an offended finger pointed in his direction. She uses the other hand to keep tiny Viktor away front he scones and cookies that Gadby gave them — cinnamon free but still delectable.

Fred raises a brow. "I would agree, but I've never seen it happen."

"Because I get caught when no ones around," Cress tells him. "It's usually Snape, actually. Either him or McGonagall catch me and it's game over for us all. I'm the reason Hufflepuff has no points."

Fred snorts. "What a way to live."

"Right?" Cress chuckles. "But no one knows it's me because they don't really notice me, so they usually blame other people. And that's pretty fun. Makes it all worth it."

"Oi, oi," Fred says, shakes his head with a tilt of his lips, slow and languid like it's a stretch. Helga, Cress hates her life. "You are an evil mastermind, Miss Diggory."

Cress giggles. "I try." She mock bows and finishes her cocoa before reaching for the mug of tea and sipping it.

"But really," Fred says, suddenly somber. Cress is captured by his stare. "Why are you in the kitchens?"

Cress shrugs, tries to ignore the pounding in her ears, both from him and the aftermath of her dream. The icy chill hits her; she clenches her teeth to try and force the visions away. There 's no way she's breaking down in front of Fred now. Not when she's been doing so good.

"Bad dream," she tells him truthfully.

Fred frowns. "You had a nightmare?" Cress nods. "Bollocks, mate. About what?"

"Can't really remember." It's a blatant lie but she isn't ready to talk about it, okay. Don't blame her for wanting to keep it to herself for awhile.

Luckily, Fred seems to grasp her tone and he drops the subject and says, "I left because Lee's snoring woke me up and I decided I wanted a snack."

"Lee snores?" Cress snorts, chest lighter in relief.

Fred lets out a laugh. "Does he ever? Bloke shakes the whole Tower with his nose!"

Cress laughs — lets it sift through her, lets it wash away all the negative thoughts she was having and allows newer, brighter ones to take their place. She smiles and Fred laughs and they share scones and stories and it's so easy being there with him. Cress has been overthinking it this whole time, worried that something she might say will set him off and therefore, he'll run. But this is Fred and Fred keeps up with her peculiarity with easy strides, laughing with her and not at her. And he doesn't give her any funny looks when she tells him clam chowder is her favorite comfort food. (That's a miracle in itself.)

"Personally, I like sweets," he says, "but every once in awhile, Mum finds me raiding the kitchen for leftover vegetable stew."

"A good choice," Cress commends, voice low and eyes heavy.

Fred nods slowly. "Right? Everyone complains that vegetable stew is the worst, but I love it," he mumbles.

Cress can see his eyelids drooping and she finds it endearing that he stayed here with the her, sharing stories of his family and other things. She thinks it's cute, how much he values his siblings and parents. It's in his shining eyes when he spoke about his mum's cuddles — no one is too old for snuggles, don't let anyone tell you you are, Little Diggory! — and his brother, Charlie's occupation with dragons. Her heart melts at the admiration and sheer love in his tone and she wishes the night could go on forever. She could listen to Fred talk about his family forever.

But she knows it's time for bed, and that he's just being polite and staying, so Cress pushes her stool out, scoops a sleepy Viktor up in her hand, puts him in her robe pocket and says, "I think it's time to hit the sack, Freddie boy."

Fred smiles lazily, yawning. "Ah — I know." He pushes back from the table and stands over her, not looming but present, warm and still grinning. "Gotta go before George and Lee wake up and get suspicious."

"Oh, mother hens," Cress says with a longing sigh. She yawns right after and wonders how she got so tired. "What kind of friends would they be if they didn't get worried?"

Fred nudges her shoulder but doesn't respond. Cress grins anyway, shoving her hands deep in her pocket and stepping into the corridor where the Hufflepuff common room is. She hesitates and Fred does, too.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Cress says, gazing up at him with a smile.

Fred grins back, lifts his hand and lets it sit loosely on the back of her neck. They're facing each other and he's about five inches away from her and Cress is not breathing. Her stomach flips as she stares up at him but he is still grinning tiredly like it's a normal thing to do among friends.

(Cress thinks it might be — at least in their group if the way Lee planted one on her cheek was anything to go by.)

"Goodnight, Diggory," Fred says lowly, letting his hand drop to his side. His lips are still tugged up.

Cress swallows. "Goodnight, Weasley."

Her voice is a whisper.

Fred starts walking away before Cress knocks on the barrels, rushing up to the dormitories, heart racing and pulse pounding. Her body's warm and she might be sweating — but it's not a sweat that fills her with dread, with lead and poison. This one makes her giddy and she can't stop the smile that grows on her face as she gets in bed.

Her eyes droop shut...

And she falls asleep with the faint smell of buttered scones lingering on her.

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Chapter Text

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Cress isn't surprised she gets detention. In fact, she is surprised Professor McGonagall lets her get away for breaking curfew and roaming the hallways — carefully because prefects are arseholes (Cedric included) and she does not have the time to deal — for as long as she does. When McGonagall finds her sneaking back to the basements, candle in hand, stern expression on her face, Cress isn't surprised.

She is surprised that she gets a week's worth of detention for it, though.

A whole week. Cress thinks maybe she should have seen it coming — hours spent curled up in the library, hunting and searching for anything that Cedric could possibly need for the first task was not her best option. Especially when Cedric himself warned her about it ("You're going to get caught, Cress! Either by some prefect or a professor! Don't do this, stop walking away — Cress!"). Cress should have seen the warning signs then.

But she ignored it because a) Cedric needs fucking help, Merlin knows he can't go out there on the day of the task and just wing it (even though, if he did, he'd probably do outstanding) — he needs some assistance — and b) Cress wants to help because helping makes her feel useful, eases the tight knot in her chest until she can breathe easily for once. Helping him helps her and she wishes he would just let her, dammit.

She supposes this is what she gets for trying to help her brother out, though. A week of detention — both with McGonagall and Snape (kill her). Cress is hoping that Axel will be a good best friend and help her out but when she asks him, he straight up declines because he has a record and doesn't need detention tainting it. He says it in the most taunting voice ever so Cress thinks he's just being mean — which is so fucking rude, Axel, you're supposed to be her best friend.

Mallory tries to help her, doll that she is. Tells Cress that she would get detention if Cress really needs someone in there with here and Cress just about sheds a tear thinking about the kindness that is Mallory Ackerman. In the end, Cress declines — she doesn't need to make Mallory look bad, the girl is too pure — and heads to detention with a forlorn sigh and a heavy bag.

She hopes that McGonagall doesn't make her do lines or something else as equally torturous; Cress has things to do and they involve researching different breeds of goblins rather than write something over and over about how she shouldn't be out in the corridors after hours, it's troublesome and irresponsible, yada yada. Cress doesn't have the time.

When she reaches the classroom, it's dark out; Cress has to tug her brother's stolen hoodie around her more securely before she walks into McGonagall's room. The candles are barely lit — come on, give her something here — and there's three other students occupying desks in the room, lounging like detention was just another night in the Gryffindor Tower.

Cress snorts.

Figures this is her luck. Of course. McGonagall does want to torture her, just not with silly lines or boring lectures. Oh, no — good 'ole Minnie decided to reach down into the deep, dark crevices of her diabolical mind and find the most horrendous way to make Cress weep.

Cress hates everything. She would rather drink poison than do this. Legit poison that tastes like horse dung and smells even worse — that makes her insides boil just like Fred's smirk is doing to her right now. He's sitting there, almost at the front of the room, all smug and lazy, posture relaxed and hair tousled, knees splayed out as though his long legs hate the minimal space. The light catches the freckles dotting his face and she wants the ground to swallow her up so she can avoid doing something rash like jumping on him like some kind of bloody koala bear.

Helga, she hates detention.

George and Lee stare at her with unabashed smirks — not unlike the one plastered on Fred's face. None of them are beside one another, each of them spread across the room. Cress decides that this is a good idea, not really. Helga knows those boys can find a way to communicate. Enchanted parchment, owls — hell, even smoke signals because nothing is off the table with them.

McGonagall clears her throat pointedly, and Cress shuffles to a seat quickly, face flushing and heart racing. She can hear Lee silently cackling from where she is — a seat behind Fred but diagonal to George — and she's tempted to just jump out of one of these windows. Her bag drops to the ground with a heavy thump while Cress pulls the hood up on her hoodie.

Lee's still cackling.

Cress is going to commit murder.

McGonagall (thank Rowena and Godric) says, "Now that everyone is here." She sends Cress a stern look, like you didn't have to be here, but you decided that breaking the rules was the new fun so enjoy these three hours of hell, you delinquent, and Cress just wishes she would let it go. The woman's going to have to realize that she would have done it over and over again until she was confident in the facts that might just save Cedric's life. "I want you to be silent. I don't care what you do or how you do it, just be silent and if I get through marking these papers early, you all may leave."

"But that means no more time with you, Minnie!" Lee moans, disheartened, but Cress is sure he's being idiotic. "And that is something I absolutely can't stand for."

"Mister Jordan," McGonagall warns.

Cress can bet Lee is grinning from ear-to-ear but she doesn't turn around to see. She pulls out a book — the one on goblins — and starts cramming every bit of information into her brain without smoking out. Honestly, though, she's surprised that she's still going strong; with all her courses and the blasted O.W.L.s that Cress needs to be preparing for, it's a surprise that she's even awake. By now, she should be a shell of the girl she once was, all glazed eyes and early nights but she isn't — which is good but also bad. Because no early nights mean late nights and that basically just means that Cress reads and reads until her eyes burn until the sun rises above the horizon. It been almost two weeks since she's gotten proper rest.

(Both Axel and Cedric think she is going to pass out from exhaustion, but Cress has more endurance than that. And frankly, she's a little offended that they don't have faith in her. In her third year, Cress stayed up almost every night because of that bloody chamber and the fear that she was going to get Petrified by the giant, insane basilisk — that Salazar Slytherin had to have in his sodding basement that no one knew about. She didn't die that year, and this year was no different so they could back off.)

The book, when Cress is finished with it, leaves her with no more knowledge than she had when she began. She slams it closed with a sigh of irritation, eyes heavy as she gazes around the room. Professor McGonagall sits at the front, marking papers, glasses perched up on her nose. There are faint chuckles coming from around her. George has a hand over his mouth, covering snorts, Lee is breathless with laughter, and Fred Weasley is so red that he matches his hair.

Cress doesn't even want to know. There's scattered parchment around them and loose wrappers from who knows what. Cress doesn't even understand what her life is or how she got stuck in detention with three of the most hyperactive students in the Hogwarts.

Her breath catches, however, when Fred leans back, all chuckles and bright smiles, and says, "What'd they get you for, Little Diggory? Charmed Minnie wrong?"

Cress chuckles quietly, fiddles with the pages of her book, stomach twisting in the most pleasant way imaginable. She bites her lip and is all too aware of the proximity of their faces. Heavens, she's been around the guy for most of her school year and yet, she still can't form proper sentences around him.

And she thinks it should be better because the fucking kitchens. Merlin, the fucking kitchens. Cress has been down there on more than one occasion — usually before she sneaks out to the library to sneak into the Restricted section for more information about random things like the history of Ilvermorny or how to cook the Muggle way (not really useful for the task but facts are fun) — and Fred Weasley was always bloody down there. Alone. With his mussed up hair and freckled face, looking all disheveled and sleepy and downright gorgeous.

The thing, however, is that Cress has gotten used to those late night conversations full of warm laughs and fleeting touches that filled her up with comfort and light, as though she were nothing but a feather to be taken in the wind. Talking with Fred was like taking a breath of much needed air after breathing in toxins for nothing but the last month. He was sunshine in the rain, a diamond in the dust and he listened; Cress loved it.

With him alone, Cress could talk about things she normally wouldn't do had she been with him, George and Lee. There was something about the close, quiet quarters of the kitchens that made her spill like a tap full of water. Stuff she usually only disclosed with Axel (and now Mallory) were told to Fred under cups of tea (hot chocolate for her) and desserts (banoffee pie for him — because he's a prick — and a nice buttered scone for her if she chose to divulge in one).

The kitchens were a place where she was just Cress, he was just Fred, and she didn't have a ginormous crush on him. They were just two friends, having a chat and some laughs (and even some personal conversations that she would never have even thought was possible for her) and it was great.

But outside of the kitchens is a different story. Seeing him in broad daylight, in uniform rather than his worn-out pajamas, played at something in her stomach; she is no longer just Cress and he is no longer just Fred.

Outside of the kitchens, she is Cress, a hopeless girl with a fleeting infatuation on someone she will never obtain, and he is Fred Weasley, the boy with laughter brighter than a thousand suns and a fancy for someone who he knows he can grasp.

And that's okay with her, but she doesn't understand why she turns into a blubbering mess around him still. Cress fucking told him about falling off her roof when she was younger, why can't she form a god forsaken sentence around him?

Perhaps it's the realness of it all; in the dark of night, with no one around, Cress got to pretend that she was a confident girl, who believed in the chances that she had with Fred. And once that reverie's shattered, scared away by the harsh glare of the sunlight, the effect is broken and she's left with breathless encounters and stuttering sentences.

Fred is staring at her, expectantly, and although Cress would love to book it to another country, she swallows her nerves and whispers, "McGonagall actually caught me trying to sneak back to the basements. And even though I told her what I was doing, apparently sneaking into the Restricted section is not permitted after curfew hours. She was livid."

(Okay, not livid but the unamused and stern expression that Professor McGonagall wore when she assigned Cress a week of detention's more terrifying than anything else she's ever encountered.)

Fred grins, shoulders relaxing like he's relieved. "So that's why I didn't see you the other night?"

Cress ducks her head down and she tries not to blush too much, but she thinks she fails. Like, majorly. She wonders how he can talk so easily about time spent in the kitchens — those couple of hours spent with him are the most sacred hours ever and even telling Axel about it had been challenging — but then she remembers that she fancies him and all Fred sees is a meetup between two friends. Two mates. Two chaps. Two people in a totally platonic relationship with no feelings whatsoever.

"Yeah," she says quietly, mustering up a small grin in return.

"This our last night," Fred says brightly, gesturing to George and Lee (who are sniggering into their hands for reasons unknown to Cress). "Got in trouble for setting off a Dungbomb near Malfoy. But, in our defense, we had no clue the ferret would be walking in the first-floor corridors at ten past noon."

"Sure, you didn't." Cress snorts, stomach lighter at his continuation. She wonders how it's so easy for him to keep the talk going. "And you also didn't steal his schedule from him whilst he was unaware and copy it down so you would know where he would be at ten past noon."

"We didn't actually," he whispers, leans lower and gestures for Cress to do the same. "We asked Goyle. Much, much simpler than trying to steal the bloody thing from Malfoy. Merlin knows the bloke is weird about his possessions. And Goyle squealed once we fed him cupcakes."

Cress chuckles, breathless. Her whisper's a joke. "Because desserts are everything that's great about this world?"

"Now, you're speaking my language, Little Diggory," Fred says, nodding seriously. Cress snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Was joking, you dolt," she tells him.

Fred grins. "But it worked, didn't it? Those cupcakes got us Malfoy's schedule and sweet revenge was ours."

"Revenge for what? The badges?" Cress asks, tilting her head despite knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Fred responds, nodding seriously. "Malfoy was a real prick for making those — or at least making someone make those because Malfoys don't do heavy lifting, we all know that — and retaliation was necessary. But," —he adds with a wink— "you did a mighty fine job at adjusting most of them. Absolutely brilliant, really."

Cress wrings her fingers together and tries not grin too much. She hadn't done much, only charmed a POTTER STINKS badge — every time she saw one in the corridor or common room — into saying:

MALFOY IS A FUCKING FERRET

And then:

FUCKING PIRATES

She added the last bit in there because the Bulgarians have angered her beyond compare and it helped. Plus, Axel snorts whenever he sees one of those badges gleaming bright yellow in the hallways so it's worth it.

"Thanks," she says quietly. Cress learned early (mostly from Cedric) that she should accept compliments without argument, even if she doesn't quite agree with them.

The look Fred gives her is worth it though. His eyes get all soft and warm, swirling like a nice mug of hot chocolate. His lips tug upwards into that little smile he does when he's amused but also actually endeared, too — and by her, nonetheless! Cress feels her stomach flip and she really wishes McGonagall would have sent her into the Forbidden Forest to catch a unicorn or something. Anything sounds more appealing than staring at Fred Weasley's stupid, beautiful face that she fucking loves so much.

When detention actually is over, Cress makes a beeline for the door and just about sprints to the common room and throws herself onto the couch with Cedric and Hamlin. She didn't even get to say goodbye to George or Lee, dammit.

"What's with the rush, Mo?" Axel asks, sitting on the loveseat with Mallory.

Cress muffles something inaudible into the couch.

"What?" Hamlin says. "Couldn't quite catch that, Cress?"

"Fuck you," she grumbles.

"Crescent!" Cedric snaps, indignant.

Cress pulls her head up out of the cushion and glares up at where he's sitting beside Hamlin. Her legs are propped up on both of theirs because a whole couch is obviously not big enough and they still have to sit shoulder-to-shoulder like fucking weirdos.

"Oh, for Helga's sake, you blasted bum," she says, pulling her legs up and down to where she is sitting upright, "I curse all the time. Get used to it, gramps."

"Gramps?" Cedric repeats, incredulous, as though he can't believe they're related. Cress agrees wholeheartedly. "I am not a grandpa."

Cress mutters, "Sure do act like one."

"Do not," Cedric denies.

Axel says, "Mate, you totally do. You're definitely the dad of this group, if not the grandpa."

Cedric splutters and looks at Hamlin for help, but his best friend has a sheepish expression on his face. Mallory doesn't say anything because she's Mallory, and she doesn't like hurting people's feelings. Though, Cress feels like this is information that Cedric should already know. Like, he should be aware that he is actually a legit parent to their little friend group.

"It's okay," Hamlin soothes, patting Cedric on the shoulder, the action lingering. "If you're the dad that makes me the mom, right?" He glances at Cress and Axel and Mallory. "Right?"

Cress shakes her head. "Helga, no. Okay, if we're including you in this, too, then you're like the drunk dad who goes out every night and encourages his kids to do terrible things whilst Cedric — ever the mother — stays home and cares for us, even though he's dead tired and wants to fucking go to bed. And somehow, even though you," —she nods to Hamlin— "are never home, Cedric still loves you and your relationship is perfect."

"I literally could not have worded it better myself," Axel says, snorting.

Cedric, to be frank, seems almost... content? Cress doesn't know how to describe that look on his face nor does she know if she really wants to ask about it. It looks as though he's gone into his own world. Hamlin, on the other hand, is totally ballistic about the whole thing.

"The drunk dad?! Who encourages bad behavior for his children? What the bloody hell, Cress?!" he snaps loudly, gesticulating with his whole body. "I would never!"

"It's okay, Hamlin," Cress says, waving him off. "Cedric is there to make up for your lack of discipline and parenting skills. He doesn't let the children do anything too wild — or he tries to stop it, at least. He doesn't really have a high success rate."

"Of course, he doesn't! Ced has the backbone of a fucking snake!" Hamlin yelps.

Cedric grunts, finally snapping out of his thoughts. "Oi! I totally have a backbone. My children would never disobey me!"

"Really, Ced? Do you truly believe that?" Hamlin asks, his eyebrow raised. "Your children are going to be walking rebels — actually, no. They're going to be delinquents who vandalize Diagon Alley and strike actual fear into Peeves the Poltergeist because you're going to let them."

"I beg to differ, Hams," Cedric grumbles. "I am going to be the best stay at home dad there ever is and my kids are going to love me so much that they will never even think about setting fire to poor Ollivanders whilst licking on a nice cone of Florean Fortescue's ice cream and cackling as both men cry out in panic and aggravation — the children didn't pay for the bloody ice cream, those little scoundrels."

There is a moment of silence in which everyone turns to stare at Cedric, incredulous and a little worried. Then Hamlin, says, "Mate, have you thought of doing this?"

"No!" Cedric shakes his head swiftly. "Heavens, no! I'm just saying — if I have children, I like to know all my options."

"So, you think," Axel says slowly, "that your kids could possibly turn out to be criminals?"

"Possibly," Cedric says.

Hamlin makes a noise in the back of his throat like he can't quite keep in his utter confusion. Cress agrees. Again. She has no clue where this conversation went wrong. The only thing she really caught out of all of that is the fact that Cedric wants to be a stay-at-home dad. If that isn't the most endearing thing she's ever heard...

"Only little Janie and Nico, though," Cedric continues, a wistful expression on his face. "They're the twins and they love making a scene. But they love their Pa more."

"Oh my gosh!" Axel exclaims. "You've imagined it?!"

Cress purses her lips. Cedric looks downright perplexed. "Yes," he answers, "haven't you?"

"Fuck, no! I barely think about what I'm going to have for breakfast, Cedric, much less children!"

"Well," Cedric mumbles, "I like to plan ahead."

"And there is nothing wrong with that," Hamlin intervenes before Axel can open his mouth again. "Plan ahead all you like, Ced."

Cedric grins at him. Hamlin smirks back. Cress thinks that maybe she should have sat on the floor. Honestly, she doesn't even know with those two anymore. Their whole bromance thing is a little unnerving; she feels like such an intruder right now. If it weren't for Mallory speaking up, Cress probably would have heard sonnets about how Hamlin would make the best godfather and vice versa.

"How was detention, Crescent?" she asks kindly, petting her huge cat Fanny.

Cress puckers her lips. Truthfully, she doesn't want to talk about detention because she is still recovering from detention. Never in a million years would she have thought that she would have gotten stuck with the three most mischievous people in the school. And whilst it wasn't too bad, her heart is going to need some time to recover from the assault that Fred Weasley bestowed upon her.

"It was boring," she says, for a lack of better explanation.

Axel snorts. "Weasley was totally in there, wasn't he?"

"Shove off," Cress snaps.

But because Axel is a raging prick, he says, "What happened? Did he finally confess his undying love for you?"

Cress glares. She doesn't need him giving her a false sense of hope right now, especially when her heart is in such a fragile state. The odds of Fred Weasley confessing his undying love to her is one in a billion. Even though there were moments (and Cress is using this term very lightly because, of course, those stolen touches and that one night with the fucking hug — Helga — meant more to her than him) between them, that does not mean he fancies her.

So, no Axel, Fred didn't confess his undying love for her. If he would have, she would definitely not be in the common room right now, trying to calm her racing mind. Cress would be curled up in Fred fucking Weasley's arm, a content grin on her face while he fucking snuggled her like the world was going to end.

"Don't worry about it, Crescent," Mallory says comfortingly. Cress wonders how the girl can catch a mood from looking at someone's face for less than a second. It must be some kind of talent. "I'm sure that Fred will confess sooner or later. He would be a fool not to."

Cress gives her a small smile, heart warming at the words. She doesn't know if she has said this before, but Cress is truly grateful for Fred and George giving her that banoffee pie. Without that wretched pie, she would not have gotten to meet one of her best friends. Helga, she loves Mallory so much.

Cedric insists they go to bed thirty minutes later, claiming that they would need their sleep for the upcoming events. Cress thinks going to Hogsmeade isn't much of an event that they need to prepare for. But she relents, nonetheless, and climbs into her bed, hoping to get a full night's rest for once instead of sneaking out to the kitchens and then to the library to try and find more books to help Cedric on Tuesday.

But she pushes those thoughts out of her mind and focuses on sleeping. Sleeping is good – sleeping is swell. And Cress is going to get some much deserved rest even if it kills her.

So, she lets Elvis curl up next to her and Cress falls into the comforting arms of slumber, and, for once, she has no dreams.

(Professor Trelawney is going to be so disappointed.)

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Chapter Text

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Hogsmeade is a wondrous place and Cress is so in love with the quaint little village. The shops with faded wood and painted brick covering the exterior in what seems to be an eerie sort of way — only to reveal a beautiful, cozy little area on the inside, feel her with so much joy and happiness.

The crisp winds that bites at her nose, harsh enough to make her wear a scarf and get an extra cup of that delectable butterbeer almost make her swoon. Leaves, turning different shades of butterscotch yellow and sunset orange, blow in the wind, trailing behind a distinct smell of autumn as they disappear into the atmosphere. (Cress always wonders where they go to.)

Cress bundles herself closer to Axel and Mallory as they head towards the hair salon. Axel had wanted to get his hair cut — "It's getting way too long! I don't even have to worry about my mother seeing this; if Peyton caught a glimpse of this, I would never live to see another day!" — so they had decided to hit that first and then make their way through the village leisurely, hopefully meeting up with Cedric and Hamlin on the way.

She isn't expecting, however, for the both of them to be in the salon when her, Axel, and Mallory arrived. Her shock is heightened when she spots not Cedric — but Hamlin in the salon chair. Cedric is standing beside him and he looks like he might faint. Cress wants to walk out.

"Oi," Axel says, walking further into the room, "what're you two doing here?"

Cedric turns away, mouth opening as he cuts his sentence off. He replies, "Hamlin is breaking my heart."

"What?" Cress asks, snorting. "Did he tell you your eyes weren't the right shade of grey for him?"

"Har, har," Cedric grumbles, rolling his eyes. "You're just mocking me, you oaf."

Cress points her finger at him with a smirk. "That is true, my brother. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

Hamlin gestures to his general head vicinity and then levels Cress with a glare. She continues to smirk because she knows what's going on here and she does not care — but it's fun to mess with Cedric. Always a laugh, that is.

"What does it look like, you prick?" Hamlin asks (snaps) with a raised eyebrow. Cress is a little offended that Cedric doesn't say anything. If anything, the arsehole just laughs into his head discreetly whilst she narrows her eyes in suspicion because hello?! A big brother is supposed to take up for you, not laugh when you get clowned. (It all comes back to the corruption of Cedric Diggory. Cress is going to have to, regrettably, send her mum another owl about this. Oh, Helga, help us all.)

"So, you're getting a haircut," Axel states, plopping down right next to him. Cress stands by the doorway with Mallory, arms intertwined. She doesn't move from her spot because Taro is awfully picky about who steps over his invisible line, and she doesn't need to hear his lip today. (Cedric always gets a free pass, though, but that's because he's Cedric and everyone loves him. Even multi-colored haired Taro who hates anyone with dead ends.)

(Cress suspects Mallory will get one, too. And she'll be left behind the stupid, metaphorical line, longing to be across it, but knowing it's futile. There might be some tears and a little bit of yelling, too. Cress can't be blamed for her actions if Taro does betray her like this.)

(But then again, Mallory probably won't leave her on the account that the girl is pure and honest and literally the best thing Cress has ever seen in her whole entire life.)

"Why do you need to get yours cut?" Cress hears Hamlin asking. She pulls herself out of her thoughts — oh, how distracting those can be — and looks towards the conversation.

Axel shrugs. "Getting too long. Plus, Peyton would have a literal cow should I return home looking like a scraggly child who was left on the side of the streets."

"Peyton?" Hamlin tilts his head. "Who the hell. . .?"

"Seriously?" Axel darts him a deadpan look. Hamlin looks sheepishly ignorant. Cress snorts. Hamlin glares. "After all these years, you still don't know I have a sister?"

"Oh, sod off, you candle maker —"

Axel cackles.

"— how was I supposed to know you had a bloody sister? You rarely speak about your family. Plus, we've never really been around each other until this year."

"Fair point," Axel says when he can catch his breath again. Mallory gestures at the chairs beside the door, glancing at Cress with a questioning expression. Cress nods and their conversation fades away as they sit.

Mallory fiddles with her hair as Cress watches tiny Viktor struggle to get out of the satchel that she brought with her. His little cheeks are puffed out in determination, but he can't seem to get any traction, no matter how hard he tries. Cress finds it oddly adorable and then wonders if that's her being a bad mother. She helps him out and places him on her leg. He stares up at her with a look of utter disdain. Cress feels like she was just disowned as his mother.

"Don't be grumpy, mate," she says quietly. Taro came out moments ago and she doesn't need him thinking she's some kind of psycho. Which, really, he wouldn't, because Mallory is here and she could totally justify her speaking as making conversation with her best friend. But Cress feels like that won't work out because Mallory fell asleep.

No, seriously — she's sitting on the chair with her head tucked into her navy-blue scarf as soft snores come out of her mouth. Her cheeks are a soft rose color, making her look younger and so fucking adorable. Cress is blindsided by how easy it was for the girl to fall asleep and she debates asking her where she learned those tricks from, but figures it won't play out so great.

(Which really means that Cress is going to say something, probably very offensively, and Mallory is going to brush it aside like it was nothing but Cress will always think about it. It will always be on her mind. Every day, for the rest of her life. She'll stew in her self-guilt for years. Her children will have to take her to therapy.)

Cress counts the minutes that pass by while Axel and Hamlin get their haircuts. She silently wishes she could transport herself to another shop — preferably one with Fred Weasley in there — and be back in time for them to be done. She settles for having staring contests with tiny Viktor.

If Cress thought that challenging him to these horrible, horrible contests again was a good idea, she is surely mistaken now. She thought, at first, that maybe she could win one — just one — and let him have the others because he's fucking good, she's going to give him that. But, no, tiny Viktor pulls out every last move he can think of to get her to blink. He wiggles those big, bushy eyebrows and Cress stares at them because how can she not? They're like two fucking caterpillars going at it on his bloody face.

Then, he gets her by opening his stupid mouth like he's going to actually speak words. Cress gets so worked up that she has to blink away anxious tears. Tiny Viktor looks so smug about that victory; so smug that she contemplates reversing the charms on him because he's an arsehole and she doesn't need this kind of abuse in her life.

But the last straw is when he takes a jump off her bloody leg. Like, legit jumps. He maintains eye contact with her the whole time but Cress notices him backing up, further and further down her legging-cladded leg until he's at the tip of her knee. For a moment, she thinks that he's doing nothing but bluffing since he hasn't jumped and it doesn't look like he's any closer to. But her assumptions are wrong when he just — he jumps back, still as a board, heading straight for his utter doom like it's just a normal Tuesday.

Cress sort of hates him.

And she maybe, sort of, gasps loudly enough to where Mallory shakes herself awake and Taro comes over to check the scene out. He stares down at her with a disapproving glare, hands on his hips and all. Today, he's got crimson as blood eyes, slanted and enchanting as he gazes at her, and his hair is a shiny, metallic lilac that keeps changing from a darker shade to lighter one. It blends in wonderfully with his tan skin. Cress thinks he shouldn't look this good, but then again, it's Taro and he basically oozes perfection.

"What in heaven's name is happening?"

Cress winces. She tries to ignore the judging tone in his voice, but it's justified. She is, after all, crouched down on the floor, hair (that she actually took the time to brush) askew, with a tiny action figure clutched securely in her hand. A tiny action figure that's looking much too complacent and not at all like it just tried to commit action figure suicide. Which is totally not helping her situation.

(Nor's it pleasing to know that the little git won another staring contest. Cress is honestly starting to believe that they're rigged.)

"Well. . .," Cress drawls out timidly. She chuckles in an attempt to lighten Taro's face a little; those ruby eyes shining down at her make her a tiny bit queasy. "I was playing this game. . ."

Taro sighs like a disappointed father. Cress figures that he might be — just a little bit. He pinches the bridge of his nose and just looks at her for a few moments. She wonders what he's thinking about. Probably her funeral. Or, killing her multiple times. Yeah, probably the murder. Taro seems like that kind of guy.

"You must leave at once," he commands, shooing her with his hand. "Now, before I'm forced to do something rash like cut those horrendous ends of yours."

Cress gasps, offended. She grasps at her magical hair. "My ends are not horrendous! They are well-cared for! I wash my hair every night!" Cress pauses, reconsiders. "Well, every other night."

Taro makes a choking kind of sound and shoos her again. "Please, child! Come back when you decided you want to give yourself a better life!"

And wow, rude much? Cress is offended to the highest degree. She can't believe that Taro just uttered those words to her. Her hair is fine and it's pretty and blond and Fred Weasley said he liked it, so back the fuck up, Taro. Her life is bloody amazing thanks to this hair.

She leaves anyway — her and Mallory — and Axel promises to meet them in Three Broomstick's later. Mallory holds on to tiny Viktor because Cress is still peeved at him for pulling an idiotic stunt like that. The action figure doesn't seem to mind, for he burrows himself into the coat of Mallory's jacket like it was hand-crafted just for him. Cress contemplates giving him up for adoption. Perhaps Ron Weasley would like him — he seems to fancy Krum a good bit.

(These are all things that probably won't happen. Whilst Cress thinks she wants to give away small Viktor — and is highly pissed at him for trying to fucking murder himself — she would never want to give him up. Especially to some stranger; if something happened to him, Cress doesn't think she'd be able to handle the emotional trauma it would leave behind.)

Mallory leads her to Scrivenshaft's. Cress tightens her scarf and breathes in the sweet, intoxicating smell of fresh parchment as they walk in. The candles are lit in a low, reserved line against the walls. Cress has never felt more at home. Scrivenshaft's is, by far, her favorite shop in Hogsmeade. Not only does it supply her with all the parchment she needs — and at a discounted price because Cress is poor — but it is also pleasing just to be in there.

Scrivenshaft's feels a little bit like home. Like, a home away from home. Cress could come here and curl up in the little corner, where she knows there are cobwebs but doesn't care. Where she could read a book for hours. She could come in and talk to the nice cashier for hours and not get bored. The woman — who has light, compassionate eyes and dark hair that she hates because of the greying strands in there, but Cress loves — reminds her of her dearest mum and Cress enjoys their conversations about schoolwork and how the year's going. She even squeezes Cedric (and bloody Fred Weasley when she has the chance) in there and Madam Osbourne always lets her rant until Cress feels like she can't breathe anymore.

Going in there, she feels content, warm all over like someone wrapped her in a hundred blankets and snuggled her by the fire. A sigh of relaxation coaxes its way out of her. Cress gives Madam Osbourne a grin. The woman smiles back at her while Mallory glances around the shop.

"Crescent, sweetie, how are you?" Madam Osbourne asks, walking out from behind the counter. She comes over and embraces Cress; Cress smells spiced cinnamon and fresh rolls. She thinks this might be what heaven smells like — but that's a lie because heaven smells like mint tea and Cress's mum. (But Madam Osbourne is a close second.)

"I'm doing swell, Winnie," Cress says softly. She gestures to Mallory, who is humming a tune under her breath while she looks at the crates of ink. "This is my best mate, Mallory. We met in the hospital wing. I almost died from an allergic reaction. She was beside me with a cold. Totally fair I make her suffer with my friendship because of it."

Madam Osbourne laughs softly, an amused thing. Mallory turns her head and absolutely beams. Her frizzy hair sticks up in all kinds of directions, and her emerald eyes gleam like two glittering pools. Cress doesn't know if it's the prospect of her meeting new people or what, but she's noticed that when Mallory meets someone, she lights up like a Christmas tree. It's simply endearing, but Cress kind of feels a little sad afterwards since Mallory's all shy and tends to act tentatively, like she's overstepping her boundaries by just breathing.

"Greetings, Madam," Mallory says quietly, hesitantly. Smile still panted on her face. She bows, just a little. Cress is almost positive she picked it up from the Beauxbatons. Or maybe they picked it up from her. "Crescent tells me much about you. It is very nice to meet you in person."

And that's the icing on the cake for Winnie. The woman pulls Mallory into a gripping hug, all her sense of personal boundaries gone. She grips Mallory securely, like a mother swaddling her child, and Mallory sends Cress a panicked look from over her shoulder. Cress shrugs — but she gets it, really. She wanted to bring Mallory in for an embrace and never let her go when they first met. But she didn't — and she kind of regrets not doing it.

Winnie lets go of Mallory and the woman looks sheepish as she pulls away. "Apologies, Mallory," she says. She gives her a wrinkled smile. "All of my children are gone, you see? Off doing their own thing whilst their mother wastes away in this small village."

"Oh, no!" Mallory exclaims, which is a Mallory thing to do. Cress notices the look of utter sadness and pain on her face, like she is feeling this woman's sorrow and loneliness. It's a little fascinating if unnerving. "That's such a shame," Mallory adds, placing a hand on Winnie's shoulder. "But you must be proud of them, right? They're doing spectacular things, must be."

"Of course," Winnie says easily. "My daughter is a dragon keeper and my sons, bless them, have gone into the fields. They're Aurors," she explains when she catches wind of Mallory's confused expression. "Love acting like bloody heroes, those two. Never a dull moment, they say. It's a fun career, they say." Winnie huffs a laugh. "Of course, I miss them, but I'm proud of them. S'just, you reminded me of my daughter. She was always compassionate and kind, jus' like you, Mallory. A real gem, if I do say so myself."

Mallory blushes. "Well... thank you, Madam Osbourne —"

"Please, it's Winnie."

"Is that your full name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Winnie shakes her head. "No. It's short for Gwendolyn."

"Would you — do you mind if I address you by that name, instead, Madam?"

Cress can feel the raw force of love coming off Winnie in waves. Mallory's probably about two seconds away from officially being adopted into her family. Puck, Winnie's husband who has a weird obsession with the Weird Sisters and a knack for Herbology, would accept the girl with open arms and Cress is pretty sure she would never see her again if that happened.

She gets them out of there before Winnie can actually kidnap Mallory and they leave the shop with a lot more parchment than they needed. Most of it was on the house because Winnie didn't want to make them pay for stuff that they needed. She said their money should be used on things they wanted — told them teenagers deserved good things in life. Cress thinks she only said that because Mallory was in there.

(Oh well, she thinks, free stuff is free stuff.)

Mallory's humming a tune as they walk towards the directions of Three Broomsticks. They're supposed to be meeting Axel there — along with Cedric and Hamlin — and Cress is aching for a butterbeer. She can almost imagine the sweet, butterscotch drink spilling down her throat. The warm, silky taste of it'll make her mouth water like she's a ravenous beast; she'll need at least five to be content.

"This is the most expensive ink Gwendolyn had," Mallory says. Cress looks over and sees the frizzy-haired girl fiddling with a bottle of ink from the shop. She looks displeased, almost. "I wonder why she let me have it. I most certainly don't need it. The cheaper one would have been fi—"

Her sentence's cut off when she runs into someone. Cress stops before she hits an unsuspecting person and watches, in mild horror, as the cap of the ink breaks off and spills all over the person's robes. The obsidian stains the white, trailing down in a dark stream, and Mallory stares in horror, even as the person reaches out an arm to steady her from falling. She looks near tears. The ink cartilage clanks to the cold ground.

"Oi, you alright?" George Weasley says.

Cress drags her eyes away from the spreading stain to where him, Fred and Lee are standing. She thinks she should feel some excitement, but the shock's eating her brain; she thinks about how George's shirt might be ruined if they don't clean it quickly. She pulls out her wand and mutters a silent, "Scourgify!" and is glad when she sees the white linen return to its normal state.

"Oi," George repeats, softly this time.

Mallory's pale, stricken with what seems to be fear. Her eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at George; she shoves him off as though he carries some type of disease. Cress furrows her eyebrows, concerned, especially at the way Mallory's acting. She doesn't know much about her friend, only having known her for a few weeks or so, but she has never seen Mallory act so... so frigid. Like a scared animal who's about to be abused for tearing something up.

"I— I'm sorry," she mutters, whispers, basically. Her voice is almost too low that Cress can't hear it. Mallory fiddles with her coat, tugs at her scarf. Cress can see her chest heaving up and down. "Sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

George takes a step closer, hand out like he wants to give her some form of comfort. "Hey, no, that's okay... you didn't mean to. No harm, no foul is what I always say." And he gives her this bright grin, crinkles and all and Cress thinks this should ease Mallory's panic, but it doesn't; it appears the girl's stuck in her own world.

"Sorry," she mutters. "I'm s-sorry, so sorry, sorry." Mallory's mumbling to herself and her breath's picking up; Cress's seriously getting worried. She takes a step forward, gives George a reassuring glance when he starts to look guilty, like maybe he caused this. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Like it's all she can say.

Like it's all she knows how to say.

"Mal," Cress starts slowly, quietly, stepping towards her with hesitation. Mallory doesn't seem to hear her, her hands shaking, body trembling. Cress doesn't know what's going on. She's never seen Mallory like this — it sucks and she thinks it might have something to do with Mallory's past but Mallory never talks about it because she claims it isn't anything they need to know. Cress thinks that maybe they do. If it makes her this jumpy and this upset, something crucial had to have happened.

"Mal," she says again, reaching a hand out to touch Mallory's shoulder.

And that's what breaks the ice. Mallory flinches back, like she's been struck and she lets out this cry that's so sad and so childlike that Cress believes she might be relapsing into some gruesome memories. Tears stream down her pale face and she tries to breath but she can't and she keeps mumbling, "I'll be good, I promise. I'll be good, I'll be good. Please. . ."

Cress is about to cry herself.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Lee asks. Cress glances back to see that they're all sporting concerned looks on their face.

Fred says, "Is she okay?"

"Did I do something?" George questions, voice bruised like a peach and soft like a dead petal. Fragile. Like he knows he did.

Cress shakes her head frantically. "No. No, you didn't do anything. I don't know what happened but I know it isn't your fault. You didn't do anything, George."

George still doesn't look assured, but Cress can't do much more in comforting him because her friend needs her and she needs to figure out what to do. She rattles her brain for any technique that Cedric used on her when she got them — a hug, counting to ten until she could breathe again — but she doesn't think any of these will help Mallory.

Mallory, who's still crying, crouched down on the floor with her head in her hands, shying away from something that isn't there while she violently sobs.

People give her strange looks as they pass by, and Cress gives them the deadliest glare she can muster — literally, her deadliest — until they turn away with a grimace. The boys end up towering over them, George sending a sixth-year Slytherin a look like rivals the Killing Curse. She goes over to Mallory and kneels beside her. She's still muttering, "I'll be good," followed by, "I didn't mean to, I promise. I'm good." Cress literally sheds a tear.

Her hands hover above Mallory's shoulder, but she's not sure if she should touch her since Mallory reacted so violently to the gesture earlier. She decides it's not a good idea, and tries to think of a more efficient way to help her. Panic seizes in her throat, but she squashes it down because Mallory needs her and she is not going to leave her friend defenseless here.

"Okay, okay, think," Cress grumbles — and she thinks and that night when she was nine comes back to her and she remembers her mum, a hug and a. . . a Shield Sphere Charm.

Yes, she thinks and she remembers the tightness in her chest when she was younger, the lack of oxygen reaching her lungs as she tried to ease away the pain, to numb the utter agony poisoning her. It's all coming back to her in waves. She recalls her mum coming to her, embracing her tightly, securely while she muttered a spell underneath her breath. It was a charm that allowed Cress to inhale, gave her the extra boost she needed to calm down. It had worked wondrously and now, it could possibly do the same for Mallory.

Cress mutters, "Protego maxima!" lowly, closes her eyes and imagines that she's in her room, her mother huddled up beside her. She thinks about the warmest hugs and brightest laughs and the shield covers them instantly. Cress is surprised to find it so huge, but she's relieved she got it up nonetheless. Hopefully, Mallory will feel how warm it is, will realize that she's safe, that no one is going to harm her while Cress is here.

When she places a hand on Mallory's shoulder, the girl doesn't flinch. She does, however, give a loud sob and throw herself into Cress's arms, flinging them both backwards onto the ground. Mallory wraps her arm around Cress's neck and wet tears start staining her jumper, but she finds that she doesn't mind, draws Mallory in closer. Her own hands gravitate towards her hair and Cress rubs it soothingly, hushing her quietly and whispering, "It's okay, you're okay."

She just hopes Mallory believes her.

In the background, Cress can hear the three boys mumbling amongst themselves in what she believes to be worry. When she spares a glance in their direction, she sees them all still staring in concerned confusion. Cress attempts at a grin, mouthing her reassurances so she doesn't stir Mallory, who is finally calming down, her breathing even and quiet. Cress thinks that she just wore herself out more than anything.

Her suspicions are proven correct when she glances down to see Mallory sleeping soundly on her chest, snores soft and delicate. Her pale skin glistens like porcelain in the harsh light of the sun and her arms are slack against Cress's neck. Cress smiles fondly, stroking her hair.

The charm wears off, of course, and Fred, George, and Lee all crouch down beside them. Cress gives them a small smile.

Georges asks, "Is she okay?"

"Mhm," Cress nods, "I suppose it was just a panic attack."

"Did I. . .?"

Cress shakes her head. "I already told you that you didn't, George. Seriously, Mal never talks about her past, but I have a suspicion that the whole incident could have triggered a harsh memory. I don't believe it had anything to do with you."

"Oh. Good," George says, sagging in relief. "Not the past, but that I didn't do anything. Not that I'm saying this to get out of blame but —!"

Fred pats him on the back. "There, there, Georgie. All is well in the world. You can now rest peacefully knowing that you're innocent."

Lee and Cress nod in agreement. She's glad when George relaxes all the way. There's a brief silence between them, one that's broken by the onslaught of conversation with other students coming to and from Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. Mallory sleeps on and the air around them is a somber one.

Cress frowns. She wishes that she would have been aware as to what caused Mallory's panic attack. She frowns, wonders what it is that Mallory isn't telling her or Axel. She frowns and she wishes that she could take away the girl's pain, all her turmoil and sorrow, and stuff it away, never to be felt again.

A hand lands on her neck, covering the hair on the nape of it and squeezing. "You couldn't have stopped it," Fred says lowly, close enough to her ear that he can whisper it. "There are just some things that are bound to happen, no matter how much you want to stop it."

Her heart thumps in her chest, and she swivels around without disturbing Mallory to stare at Fred. He has a soft expression on his face, open and earnest. His hand is still on her neck, a warm phantom as it plays with her hair, almost absentmindedly. Cress stares at his walnut-colored eyes, trails back to his shaggy hair that's shining like a fierce halo of fire in the sunlight. It feels like her stomach is trying to make room for a new intestine. She swallows.

"And, you handled it amazingly," he continues before she has the chance to respond. The hand on her neck squeezes her once more and then it's gone. Fred gives her a blinding smile. "It was really a good thing you were here. You helped her a ton, I bet. Your version of the Shield Charm was magnificent."

"Thanks," Cress says quietly because what else is she supposed to say. Fred always has this way of shutting down her brain until the only thing left in there is a portrait of his brilliant eyes and some random facts. She attempts at a grin. She wants to reach out and grasp the hand that he took back from her but isn't too sure on how that would play out. She settles for giving him another smile and then turning to face Mallory again.

At that moment, Cedric, Axel, and Hamlin come strolling past towards the Three Broomsticks. Cress momentarily feels blindsided by the fact that Hamlin's head is bloody shaved — well not like bald shaved, but shaved enough to where he doesn't have an afro that he used to show off with pride anymore. It's still there and curly but it's quieter, not as boisterous as it was before. Cress already missed the afro because it was as soft as a pillow, and now she isn't going have anything to help keep Cedric in check (he was in love with Hamlin's hair). Bollocks.

Axel, however, has gotten his chopped off. Like, Taro took a machete to it, chopped off. It sits atop his head, all midnight black and elegant and there's gel in there that is slicking it back — most likely Taro's doing than his own — and he looks like a new man. The new cut makes him seem regal, well put together. His eyes are popping out like a glacier in the sea and Cress thinks he looks lovely.

(She misses his old hair, too, though.)

When they reach Cress and the others, Axel is down on the ground, asking, "What happened?" He sounds angry and anxious all at once, like someone in their right mind would even think about laying a finger on the girl he appointed as his best friend. He reaches out to touch Mallory, but then stops himself short and gives Cress a stare. "Panic attack?" he questions like this has happened before.

"She had them before?" Cress asks for confirmation.

"Yeah," Axel nods somberly. "Too many times, I would say. Usually they aren't as bad, but sometimes they get horrible to where she needs to go see Madam Pomfrey." He gives Mallory another once over. "This was a bad one."

Georges whines in the back of his throat. Cress knows he's blaming himself for making Mallory panic enough to where she needed to go see the Hogwart's nurse. She wants to say something reassuring to him or even something to just lift his moods, but she feels like she doesn't have the authority to. Here she was, being a horrible friend these past few weeks, only worrying about her O.W.L.s and the first task whilst Axel and Mallory have been on their own, becoming undoubtedly closer. Axel probably knows what causes the panic attacks. Cress doesn't. And it's all because she couldn't pull her head out of her arse for two moments to spend some time with them.

A bitter taste forms in her mouth, but Cress has no right to feel jealous. Hates herself that she even allowed that moment of weakness to allude her. She swallows down every negative emotion because it's her fault, not theirs, and she's going to be there for them now. She can't live in the past. Axel probably won't let her. So, she hikes her chin up and says, "We should take her to the hospital wing, then."

Axel nods but doesn't move to pick her up. Cress furrows her eyebrows. "I can't move her, Ax. We weigh the same. My bones are already brittle enough."

"Well, I'm in the same boat. She might be smaller than me but my bones were made for running, not lifting," Axel argues with a huff. "I can't carry her to the hospital wing."

"How has she gotten there all those other times?"

"V-Viktor. . ."

Cress's eyes bulge out of her sockets; she chokes on air. She wonders if she heard that wrong. Did Axel just say Viktor? As in Viktor Krum? The one person who he can't mention without adding the words "future" and "husband" to the sentence? She decides not to question him here — maybe she'll squeeze it out of him after she's groveled on her knees and begged for his forgiveness and then he will spill the juicy details about how Viktor swept him off his feet and made him forget about stupid Velcro (as Cress likes to call him because she refuses to call him Valko anymore. He doesn't deserve that respect).

In the end, they hand her off to Cedric without any more arguing. Cress doesn't ask about Viktor and Axel doesn't say anything about Cress's crappy lack of friendship. George asks if he should come with them but Hamlin tells him not to worry. Axel and Cedric and Cress all reassure him that he can enjoy his day, that Mallory will be fine and that if he still feels responsible later, he can come visit her in the hospital wing. George's inner turmoil seems to ease a little at that and he sends them off with a not-so-forced smile.

"I've been a shitty friend," Cress says as they trek towards the school. Cedric and Hamlin are up front, murmuring about who knows what whilst her and Axel stay a little way in back. She makes sure they're not too far back, though, because she wants to make sure Mallory is okay without being that overbearing friend who thinks they know everything when they clearly do not.

Axel nods. "Eh — it could have been worse."

"You're being nice," Cress argues. "I was out of the loop forever and I didn't even know that Mallory had panic attacks until today! How is that not a shitty friend?"

"I wasn't disagreeing," Axel points out, shoving his hands deeper into his trench coat pockets. "I was just stating that it could be worse."

Cress frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Axel retorts, "that you could have been a bitch about it. You could have just stopped talking to us out of spite, but it wasn't like that. You were distracted and worried about your brother — plus the added stress from the O.W.L.s didn't help — and you had barely been sleeping. If anything, me and Mallory were afraid we would have to force you into the hospital wing before you could collapse from sheer exhaustion."

"I was fine," Cress argues.

Axel gives her a deadpan look. "You weren't, Mo, and you know it. You were on the verge of passing out every second. It was scary. And it sucked."

"I'm sorry," she mutters, hating that her idiotic actions affected the people around her so harshly.

"S'fine." Axel waves her off as they walk into the school. "I wasn't mad or anything because your heart was in the right place. I would have been pissed, though, if you would have just flipped us the bird and stopped speaking to us whilst you were in perfect condition."

"Hmm," Cress hums. "But I am sorry. I don't want you guys to think that I'm ditching you because, well. . ."

"Because of Weasley?" Axel snorts as if the thought amuses him. "As if you would ditch us for him. Come on, Mo. He wouldn't even let that happen. He cares too much about you."

"What do you mean?" Cress asks, but her cheeks are heating and she feels oddly warm, even with the chill of the corridors cooling her down. The fact that Axel thinks Fred Weasley cares for her abundantly makes her heart squirm in her chest, like it wants to be free from the confines of her ribs and seek out Fred Weasley itself. She wills it to calm down.

Axel glares at her like she's an idiot. "Honestly," he mutters, "been this long and they're both still oblivious as Potter."

"Harry isn't oblivious," Cress defends, fragile as it is. She fiddles with her fingers, hiking her satchel up on her shoulder when it starts to fall. "But, really, what are you on about?"

"Nothing," Axel snaps like he's done with his whole life. He runs a finger through his newly cut hair. "You'll figure it out soon enough, little one."

"Oi!" Cress exclaims. "We agreed that we wouldn't call me anything that had the word 'little' in it!"

"But, Mo," Axel inputs as they walk into the hospital wing, "you did deserve it after what you put me and Mal through."

Cress sighs. "That's fair."

Madam Pomfrey halts their conversation then, telling Cedric to set Mallory on a cot whilst she went to go get a Calming Draught. Axel and Cress take a seat on the bed beside her. Cedric and Hamlin sit across from them, on a different bed. Tiny Viktor, who found his way out of Mallory's pocket and into Axel's, comes out and sits, criss-cross, on Axel's thigh. Cress yawns.

"Here we go," Madam Pomfrey says when she comes back. "A nice Calming Draught will do the trick." She opens Mallory's mouth up and dribbles some liquid in there and Mallory drinks the rest like it's a habit she has acquired over the years. When she finishes, Madam Pomfrey leaves them to go take care of a sickly first year. It looks like the poor girl has the measles or something. (Cress knows she doesn't, but with the rashes tainting her body, it might as well be.)

"So?" Hamlin says. "How's the new look?"

He gestures to his hair and Cress takes a sweeping glance over it. She shrugs. "Miss the old look, mate."

Cedric nods in agreement. "I said the same thing, but Hamlin was adamant."

"It was a sad moment for everyone," Axel says. "Cedric actually cried. It was great."

Cress laughs. Cedric looks highly indignant. Hamlin looks a little flustered. Axel is smirking.

"I didn't cry!" Cedric denies. "It was more of a sweat. A sad sweat. That came out of my eyes."

"You so cried!" Cress says gleefully. "Oh, Merlin, this is great. Did you also try to take the hair and stick it in a baggie so that you would always remember the great times you had with the afro?"

When Cedric blushes, Cress downright guffaws. It's a loud, shrill sound that should get her kicked out of the hospital wing, but doesn't. Axel sniggers with her while Hamlin tries to contain a smirk.

"You actually wanted to keep Hamlin's dead hair?! Ced, what the fuck?" Cress asks through her snickers.

"I didn't want to keep it," Cedric says. "I just wanted to have something to remember him by."

"Ced, mate, I'm not dying," Hamlin inputs, patting him on the shoulder. Cedric totally leans into it and Cress is living for this.

"Not you," Cedric mutters. "I wanted to remember a friend I lost."

"Cedric, no," Axel says quietly. Cress laughs again.

Hamlin asks, "Did you name my hair? Ced, we've talked about this."

Cedric looks away, abashedly, though he never denies it. "It had its own gravitational pull, Hamlin! You can't expect me not to name it! That's like asking a thirsty man not to drink!"

"I honestly can't believe this," Hamlin says with a sigh. "Cedric, you have to get over your attachment issues, mate."

Cress has to agree but she doesn't say so because Cedric would probably cry if it came from her, too. From Hamlin, it's fond and teasing, like he doesn't really mean it and is secretly endeared underneath that sharp tongue but from Cress it would be like pouring salt into a wound because she will bite and she will bite hard and Cedric will cry. So, she keeps her mouth shut and watches as Cedric and Hamlin mumble to one another for a while, giggling and leaning into each other as though they are magnets drawn by their opposite pole.

When Cedric laughs softly, his eyes softening like grey pools of sea, her eyes widen in realization.

Axel whispers, "I know."

"I didn't," Cress mutters, aghast at this revelation. "How did I miss something so huge?"

"Not your fault," Axel mumbles into her ear. "It took me awhile to figure it out, too. Hams is really good at hiding it. I wouldn't have known had it not been for Mal."

"But does Ced...?" Cress asks, feels her stomach drop at the thought that he might not. That Hamlin might be swimming in a pool of misery since Cedric is so utterly oblivious that he can't see what's right in front of his eyes.

"He does," Axel assures her, but his own voice sounds sad. "But, it's like — he doesn't know himself. Like, you can see it in his eyes, his gestures, everything, but Cedric, himself, hasn't discovered it yet."

Cress understands because Cedric has never been the best at emotions. Well, okay, he is kind of the best at them — but only at like crushes and stuff. For example, Chang is his crush, the person whom he fancies, but it's not the person that he can see himself spending the rest of his life with. Cress knows this (at least now she does, if the way he's staring at Hamlin is anything to go by). She may tease him and encourage him to go for what he wants, but she knows (probably knew all along) deep down that Chang wasn't the bird for him.

Chang's kind, compassionate but Cress doesn't think she's ever seen her brother laugh as hard around her as he does Hamlin. Chang is a great Quidditch player, but Cedric has always had the best dynamic with Hamlin. Honestly, Cress isn't sure how she missed all the signs. She supposes it could be the fact that Cedric has been all about Chang recently, but that's not really a valid excuse, especially when she sees Hamlin staring at her brother like he's got stars in his eyes.

Helga, she wants to cry.

Axel whispers, "He's wavering, though. You can tell."

Cress can see that, too. She watches, with a heart of stone, as Cedric goes into some story about Chang and how they were supposed to be hanging out after the first match. Hamlin keeps his smile up, forces it on his face for show, but there's a darkness swirling in his eyes and a wrinkle on his lips that shows he might not be as jovial as he lets on. She wants to give him a hug. And ask how long this has been going on. And why hasn't he done anything about it. But she remains silent because she thinks if she says anything, Hamlin might snap — not at her, but in general. It looks like there's nothing but sheer willpower holding him up right now and she doesn't want to be the one who breaks that cord.

She questions Axel, instead.

"You and Viktor, then?" she asks. "Not you, you arse," she adds when tiny Viktor turns to give her a glare like he is cursing her for tainting such a name as his. He rolls his small eyes when Cress speaks to him. She wants to punt him across the room. (His attitude towards her is getting out of hand and she's not going to stand for it anymore.)

"What about me and Viktor?" Axel says quietly, successfully snapping her out of her graphic reverie that involved tiny Viktor and a bunch of playful dogs who wanted to chase a living doll.

Cress waggles her eyebrows. "You know... since when are you guys friends? Mates? Chaps? Buddy 'o pals?"

Axel ducks his head like he's embarrassed. Cress thinks it's cute. He tries to curtain his hair over his face, but then he must remember that he doesn't really have any anymore, for he just smacks his hands on his cheeks. Cress smiles.

"It just happened, I guess," he explains, a small, bashful smile appearing on his face. His cheeks are turning a delicate shade of rose. "Er, well, remember that night I left the library abruptly?" Cress nods. "Well, I was supposed to meet Valko, who said that he was actually at the school, but was too shy to come up to me when he saw me. He apologized for lying to me about being punished and asked if I would meet him by the Black Lake and I went because apparently, I have no backbone. But then I was down there for hours. And it was getting chilly so I got angry. Left. And I ran into Viktor on the way."

"No fucking way!" Cress exclaims, astonished. "Seriously?!"

Axel nods. "We talked for a minute, I told him I was only out near the Lake because one of his stupid, Bulgarian arsehole mates told me to meet him down there, apparently as some kind of joke because he obviously wasn't there. And Mo, he was so kind about it. He apologized for his friend's wrongdoings and offered to walk me back to the castle and who was I to deny that? And then it's just been the occasional bump in and he kind of, sort of, sits with me in the library. . ."

Cress squeals. "Oh, fuck! Ax, this is amazing! You and Viktor, Viktor and you! Brilliant!"

"Shush!" he says, but his ears are blazing. "It's nothing serious, you dolt. Stop with the dramatics."

"Nothing serious, my arsehole," Cress scoffs. "This has been your dream for, like, ever. And now it's finally happening and you don't seem thrilled at all. What gives?"

"I'm ecstatic," Axel replies, catching tiny Viktor before he can fall off his thigh. "More than ecstatic, but he's more than a person, you know? If I'm only happy that the Viktor Krum talked to me, then I'm just like all those mindless snobs, aren't I? And he deserves better than that. So, I want him to be able to talk to me as just Viktor and I want to be just Axel around him. No expectations. Just two guys, who are friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And I'm fine with that."

Cress blinks. She's a little shocked at the way Axel is handling this. Usually, it's all weeping and indignant speeches about why he deserves to be loved — fiercely and loyally and fucking now — and whatnot, but now, it's like he's okay. Like he doesn't mind waiting for his someone to come around. He's fine with just being here, being friends with someone who needs one. This year has really matured him.

"You're going to grow up and be a glorious man, Axel Jenson," she says tenderly.

Axel grins. "Of course, Mo. Did you expect anything less?"

Cress pushes him, because she can, and she feels so light and so happy and when Mallory wakes up with tired yawns and confused glances, Cress thinks, I love my friends.

Mallory tells her that it's okay for Cress being missing in action for the amount of time she has been. Cress hugs her tightly and assures the girl that no, George wasn't upset with her and yes, he would probably be in here later if she wanted to apologize — even though it isn't even necessary.

When they do come in, it's later in the evening, when the sun is about to set below the horizon. Cedric and Hamlin are gone, off to their own shenanigans. Cress gives Fred an appreciative grin and he smiles back softly and takes a seat beside her, squishing her and Axel over until he is sat securely. Cress tries her best to give him a displeased grimace, but his smirk lets her know that she failed. Lee and George take the bed where Cedric and Hamlin were. Mallory gives George a whole speech on why she's sorry.

George says nothing until she's done. Then, he pulls out a sack of chocolate from Merlin knows where and gives it to her.

"My apologies for this afternoon, milady," he says with a dazzling smile. "It was never my intention to scare you or make you panic."

Lee sends George and appreciative grin. Fred sniggers into his hand and then places it in the crevice in between his and Cress's thighs, their hands brushing against one another. She tries not to think too much of it, even when she sees what could be a tint of pink flush his cheeks. Just the trick of the light, she tells herself and focuses on Mallory's blush as she takes the chocolates with a small, "Thank you," and a bashful smile and she thinks of how grateful she is for people like the Weasleys (and Jordans because Lee is amazing, too) in this world.

(She doesn't get any chocolate, but she thinks the smile on Axel and Mallory's faces are good enough — which may be a cliche thing to say, but Cress loves her friends.)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Cress wants it to be known that she was prepared for any outcome. Whether it be freak weather or running through a maze of fire while blindfolded, she was ready. She prepared herself and Cedric and she made sure that, on the day of the task, he would be ready.

Which is why, she isn't expecting him to come up to her the day before and say, "Cress, it's bloody dragons!"

Perhaps she should have seen this outcome; it is on her list, right under Digging Your Way out of a Dungeon: The Dos and Don'ts. Maybe she should have prioritized that list more adequately so that dragons would be at the top. Because it's obviously more likely for dragons to be inserted into a dangerous tournament rather than digging your way through a dungeon. How foolish of Cress to forget that.

"Of course," she says. "Why wouldn't it be fucking dragons? It's gotta be dragons because dragons breathe fire! Can't forget about that hot breath, can we?" But she's sifting through the nearest book she can get her hands on, trying to see if she can recall any information that might be useful against a fucking dragon.

"Oi," Fred says, "it could have been something way worse than dragons, Little Diggory."

Both Cedric and Cress send him a look because really? What could be worse than dragons? Absolutely nothing is worse than dragons, Fred. He gives her a sheepish smile when she just continues to give him a deadpan look and scribbles something on his parchment and Cress continues her search for anything useful during the task.

The books are scattered out all around her in piles of alphabetized stacks. She skims through them all but none of them have what she is looking for. She goes back to the D section, but there's no Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland in there. Cress tries to not have a panic attack.

"Okay" she says, glancing at Cedric, who is staring at her expectantly. "What do we know about the dragons?"

Cedric says, "Well, Harry didn't really give me much. He just told me that it was dragons."

"Bloody brilliant, Potter," Cress grumbles.

"That's my mate, Diggory," Fred says, pointing at her. "Watch it."

"Bite me, Weasley," Cress replies with a smirk.

Cedric says, "Guys."

"What?" they say simultaneously, turning to glance at him.

"Seriously?" Cedric shakes his head. "Hams was right." He rolls his eyes when Cress gives him a confused look. "Nothing. Tell me how to survive tomorrow before I freak out and start cursing so bad that even Dumbledore will consider expelling me."

"At least you won't have to participate in the tournament then," Cress tells him pointedly.

Fred hums. "She makes a great point."

Cress smiles in gratitude.

Cedric makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "You guys aren't helping."

"Sorry, sorry." Cress chuckles, picks up another book. Fred continues to scribble on his parchment. Cress isn't too sure what he is scribbling on there (but she's going to assume it's some kind of assignment), but he's been writing ever since he came in here and plopped down across from her at the library table. He wouldn't even let her ask any questions, just sat there and started writing with his quill until Cress got fed up with him dipping it in ink, therefore spilling it because he's secretly a klutz, and gave him a nice, easy-to-use pen. (There have been no more accidents since.)

"Okay," Cress voices as she skims a book about dragon breeding. "Dragons? What do we know about them?"

"Well you know nothing about them because you're not in Care of Magical Creatures since, 'It was a stupid elective, Ced, I'm not going to waste my time on it.' Besides, you already took it,'" Cedric mocks with a glare. He runs a hand through his hair. Cress winces. "Yeah, I took it but you think I remember the information from a class I took last year?!"

"Yes?" Cress says. "Ced, you remember everything about lessons."

Cedric sighs. "Yeah, but Care of Magical Creatures was different."

"How?" Cress raises an eyebrow.

Her brother mumbles something about distracting best friends. Cress really doesn't want to know. Except, she kind of does. And she would ask if they weren't on a tight schedule. She saves it away for later.

When she finally finds the book she has been looking for she brings it out victoriously, just as Axel and Mallory come back to the table. Mallory takes her seat at the end of the table and Axel glares at Cedric.

"You're in my seat, chap," he says, arms full of books.

Cedric groans. Cress feels for him but she knows that once Axel finds his spot, he will not let anyone else take it. So, either Cedric is going to have to go to the only spot — which is directly beside Fred — or Axel is going to shed some blood. And Cress does not want to see that so she decides to take one for the team.

Before either of them can argue about who goes where, she's packing up her stuff and dropping down right next to Fred. She ignores the heat in her cheeks because this is a favor for all of them. Cress is stopping the spread of violence within Hogwarts one chair swap at a time. She's not doing this to be closer to Fred. Nor does his warmth sway her in any means. Nope. No swaying here. Just a girl trying to help out her best friend and brother.

(And the grin Fred sends her way doesn't send her straight into the heavens. No. She's unaffected. Her heart is tame.)

Axel sends her a knowing look — along with Cedric and Mallory because apparently Cress is easy to read and her wanting to be close to a friend is absurd. There obviously must be some ulterior motive. Which there kind of is, but that's totally beside the point.

"Axel," Cedric says, "you're taking Care of Magical Creatures, right?"

Axel nods. "Mal and I are, yeah."

Cedric heaves a sigh of what must be sweet relief. "Sweet Helga, do you know anything about dragons?"

"Er — a little," Axel says uncertainly. "Maybe. I'm not too sure. I don't think we really cover those this year. I'm pretty sure that's N.E.W.T. stuff."

Cress winces again when Cedric looks three seconds away from crying. He looks to Mallory for some sort of help, but the girl just gives him a sad smile and shakes her head. Cedric all but wails. She flips through the book and finds exactly what she is looking for. "Hey, wait. Stop the tears, bro."

"What?" Cedric says hopefully.

"Here's a book on the breeds of dragons and everything you need to know about them. And since I'm sure that they won't make you kill a dragon, you are most likely going to have to get past it to do something or get something. I dunno. Maybe. That's probably how they work. They wouldn't really make you kill a dragon. Or they could. Because it's the Triwizard Tournament. Anything goes. Heavens, I hate these stupid games." Cress quirks a smile when Fred chuckles wholeheartedly. He looks down at her and her heart about bursts from her chest. "But anyway, I think reading this will help you understand dragons better." She hands Cedric the book. He takes it greedily. "Read it all, Cedric Diggory. All of it. Don't skim it or get distracted by Hamlin. Read this book and then come up with a plan to get past it and then talk to me, okay?"

Cedric nods. "Of course. Merlin, you're a life saver, sis." He leans over and kisses her on the forehead. "I love you!"

And then he's gone.

"He's not sane under stress," Axel comments.

"You're telling me," Cress mutters.

She starts collecting her books so she can put them back where they belong. Mallory doodles on her parchment since she really only came in her because Cress and Axel asked her to, blessing that she is. She's always ahead with her homework. Axel continues with his Arithmancy essay, chewing on the cap of his pen when he isn't writing. Fred, however, stands with her and asks, "Want some help?"

Cress is pretty sure she just falls in love (like) with him all over again. She sends him a thankful smile and nods. He takes the majority of the books in his arms and she follows him.

"So," Fred glances back at her as he stows away the 'A' sectioned books. "are you nervous for tomorrow?"

The books fly up to their respected slots. She watches them for a moment, before shrugging.

"I mean, I dunno. I don't think it's hit me yet that tomorrow, Cedric is going to be fighting for his life in a battle against some giant dragon."

"I see," Fred says, standing on his tiptoes to reach a particularly hard spot. Cress does not watch the way his shirt rises to show a sliver of tan skin.

She clears her throat, and glances down at her books. "What about you?" she questions. "Nervous for Harry, then?"

"Bloody hell, yes!" Fred throws her an incredulous look. "I'm going to be shaking in my robes tomorrow at the thought of him facing off against a beastly creature." Then, he smirks. "But, I know he has it in the bag. This is Harry we're talking about."

"That's valid," Cress says. She has to agree because somehow, even though Harry is always faced with trouble and turmoil, he manages to overcome his obstacles and rise up to the top. Which is saying something, because the chap is always struggling with something. Ever since he's come to Hogwarts, it's been one thing after another. She knows it's hard. Bloke's probably going to fizz out by the time he's seventeen.

"If we're being honest, though," Fred says, "I think that Fleur bird and Viktor are going to come in first and second tomorrow."

"Wow," Cress says, following him down another row of books. She dodges a flailing first year, helps another one up, and hands her books to Fred so he can put them up. "Really loving this school spirit, Freddie."

Fred smirks at her. "Oh, don't act like you weren't thinking it, too. You said yourself that the Durmstrangs ate nails for breakfast."

"But they don't," Cress points out. Her theory had been proven wrong when she saw Viktor Krum eating bloody pancakes with so much maple syrup on it. Definitely not nails. (Except, she did see an oddly suspicious girl munching on something that did not look like regular human food but more like a metallic substance. Cress didn't mention it because Axel made her drop it. said it had to have been an "optical illusion." Pfft. As if. Cress still stands by her original theory.)

"But you believed they did, Little Diggory," Fred gripes, grinning cheekily at her. Cress wonders how she ever started to fancy someone like him.

"I feel like you're missing the whole point of this ridiculous argument," Cress tells him in retaliation.

Fred leans up to place some more books in the right spots so they can fly to their respected places. "My point," he drawls, "is that the Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons basically live for the competition. Hogwarts does not."

Cress laughs. She laughs and Fred looks at her but she doesn't stop laughing because what he said was complete and utter bullshit. Hogwarts doesn't live for competition? Ha! Okay, tell that to the eighty Quidditch matches she's seen where the whole Gryffindor team basically went out for blood and nothing else. Tell that to the grumpy expressions that Fred and George wore around every time they even glanced at Cedric after that horrendous match in her fourth year. Tell that to the countless Slytherin versus Gryffindor matches where Malfoy and Harry would banter it out like two middle schoolers who were pulling each other's pigtails. And tell that to the way that Hamlin and Cedric basically play Quidditch like they're going out to war, like if they don't win, it's over for them all.

(And do not even get her started on the House Cup. Cress cannot count how many times the Hufflepuffs screamed frantically at one another because they lost yet again. How many times they called bullshit on the Gryffindors winning because Harry sodding Potter was in that specific House. Helga.)

So, yes, Fred, Hogwarts does live for competition. Cress believes they invented it.

"You're insane, Fred," Cress says once she's calmed down. Fred looks oddly concerned for her health.

He pouts. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing." Cress gives him a big smile, endeared by the way his eyes are all rounded and his bottom lip jutted just slightly so. No one should be able to get away with being that perfect — or cute, honestly. Cress thinks it should be against the law. She pats him on the arm. "Nothing at all, Frederick."

"It's Fred, Little Diggory," Fred groans, the discussion from before forgotten. "Just Fred. Or you could call me Freddie like you did the other day?"

He waggles his eyebrows. Cress snorts, patting him on the chest. "You're pushing your luck there, Large Weasley."

Fred's laugh shines like bells in the sunlight. Mutters something under his breath she can't quite hear.

They start making their way back to the table in which they came from. Cress knows that her break's going to be over soon and therefore, she's going to have to grievously depart from the library (and Fred). Which sucks major bollocks — Cress doesn't think she's ever hated lessons more than she does today because Fred Weasley actually sought her out and wanted to be with her. With Cress. With Crescent Hope Diggory. It's a miracle, really.

But soon it's going to be over and she's going to have to lug herself to Transfiguration and figure out how to change a lamp into some kind of rodent while Fred goes off to his better classes with his better friends and he'll realize that he shouldn't have went after Cress, not when there were so many better people out there. And then he'll stop talking to her slowly, day by day, until it's just her sending him longing glances in the corridors whilst he converses with his fucking soulmate and love of his life who is probably Angelina Johnson — which is totally okay with Cress because Angelina's great and Cress couldn't compete with her even if she tried. (Because Angelina could probably rip her a new one without lifting a finger.)

"Apologies," Cress says before she can get to enthralled in her thoughts, "I'm afraid I missed what you said, Frederick. Could you repeat it?"

Fred groans again, lips curling, sticking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He says, "My name is Fred. Not Frederick."

"Is it now?" Cress asks with a raised brow. "Pray tell, Frederick, what's my name?"

"Oh," Fred says. He laughs again and she feels it in her bones. "Oh." He gives Cress a radiant beam, eyes crinkled and all, and throws an arm over her shoulder companionably. "Oh, my. Is this about 'Little Diggory'?"

"That's usually what it's always about, yes," Cress says. "If you want me to respect your wishes, then respect mine, you loon." She tries to shove him off of her because Fred and this proximity are not a good combination for her heart. Her cheeks are already sweltering; she's highly aware that he can probably tell that she is panicking internally from the closeness, but he doesn't relent his grip.

"See, that's kind of hard, though," Fred says. "I can't stop something when I know it makes you irritable."

Cress looks up at him, narrowing her eyes. "You like seeing me angry?"

"Of course!" Fred says brightly. "Have you seen your face when your annoyed? It scrunches up all cute-like like a bunny. Your nose does this little wrinkle and your eyes kind of narrow in this totally endearing way. And when you huff it's all small and you do this thing where you put your hands in your hair before giving me this most demeaning look and — I'm a goner, Little Diggory. A goner."

And there it goes. Every ounce of self-control that Cress had just disappeared. Poof. Out the window. She's hanging on by strings now, but the urge to just get on her tiptoes and snog Fred's face off until they're both seeing stars and hearing colors is so empowering. She wishes Axel were here. He's her impulse control. But he's not and Fred Weasley called her not only fucking cute, but endearing. Fucking endearing.

You don't just call someone endearing and then tell them you're a goner — and describe the way they very angrily and threateningly puff out their breath — and expect them not to fall head over heels. It's like asking for the impossible. And don't even get her started on the fact that he looks serious about what he just said. Cress doesn't want to go there because going there means divulging into phantom dreams that will never become a reality. And she doesn't feel like having Axel pick her decomposed body off the floor when she dies from the sorrow.

So, Cress holds back, doesn't reach up and wrap her arms around Fred's neck or reach up and slot their lips together. She just rolls her eyes because her acting over these past months have gotten phenomenal and says, "You're a masochist, is what you are."

"Ouch, cool it with the burns, Little Diggory," Fred exclaims, hand over his heart in mock hurt. He pulls her in closer when she tries, yet again, to escape his tight grip. "My heart is a fragile thing and a man can only take so much until he truly shatters."

"You're unbelievable," Cress tells him. "Absolutely impossible. And I don't scrunch like a bunny!"

"You're doing it right now." He flicks a finger on her scrunched-up nose lightly. A tease. There's a wicked smirk on his face. "All cute, like I should wrap you in my pocket... Now, tell me, how does that work out, Crescent? You looking so adorable? Even angry?"

He says it like it's a mystery of life, but his tone is fond and Cress is —

Cress is done. Helga, is she done. She can't do this anymore. First with the teasing and now her name? Her birth-given name that she asked him to use but didn't expect for it to happen? Is the world going mad? Has she stepped into another dimension with a reality that Fred Weasley might actually fancy her? Has Cress accidentally tried some drugs that she doesn't know about? She thinks she might have because her stomach is turning in all different directions and she's warm all over, her whole-body aching. Her cheeks are basically small fires now with the way they're burning and, to make matters worse, Fred is still staring at her with this stupid expression of softness.

Cress is done.

Seeing Axel and Mallory is her way out. She grasps at that straw like it's a lifeline. She runs over to the table quickly, finally managing to get away from Fred before she had a heart attack in his arms. She throws herself in her chair with a sigh of relief and tries to recollect herself but it doesn't work because she's pretty sure her brain is fried and her heart is still hammering and Fred is coming over here like nothing affected him (which is cool aspect to have and Cress will ask pointers on how to be nonchalant later but, for now, Cress is done).

As if he didn't just call her adorable and cute. As if her life's a joke to him. She almost has to fan herself, but refrains because it's obvious and she is anything but.

Fred gets over there just as the bell rings. He leaves with a, "See you later, mates!" and it's all bright and cheery and he ruffles Cress's hair (she's sitting with her head slammed onto the table) before he leaves and she wants to die.

Axel laughs, the traitor. "What went down with you two? Did he finally declare his unfaltering love for you?"

"What?" Cress perks her head up, shakes it. "No. Helga, no. Why would you think something so ludicrous?"

"Because you look like you're about to bust," Axel comments and none of them leave, even though they should be heading to Transfiguration. Students pile out of the library, and Cress watches them with a faint disinterest.

"You do look a little flustered," Mallory says. "Your hair is a little knotted, too. It looks great, but it's knotted."

Axel snorts.

Cress murmurs, "Thanks, guys. Really know how to make a girl feel special."

"S'what we're here for." Axel slaps her on the shoulder.

Mallory says, "What happened?"

"Fred is just so —" Cress makes a gesture with her hands, flailing them, then making a noise of frustration, "— ugh! He's so ugh and he makes me want to annihilate buildings. Just take my wand and BOOM. No more building." She makes an explosion with her hands and tiny Viktor, who is sitting beside Axel's notes, glares at her. Cress flips him off.

"Strange way to take your frustration out, but I see where you're coming from," Axel says. "I, too, want to destroy buildings when I'm around you. Also, let's continue this on the way to Transfiguration because McGonagall will end us if we're later than ten minutes."

Grudgingly, Cress picks up her things and follows Axel and Mallory to the Transfiguration classroom. On the way, Mallory hums a tune and twirls a little because she's been in an oddly good mood today. Axel sashays through the corridors like it's a runway, his new hair giving the confidence boost he needed so long ago. He doesn't even walk anymore — he saunters. It's pretty impressive and she sees people checking him out on more than one occasion and all she has to say about that is Viktor better get himself in check before that piece of arse is off the table.

She doesn't say anything about Fred and the whole debacle in the library because she's still recovering but Axel grills her later, after lessons are over and everyone's at dinner, and she spills like a can of beans. Cedric and Hamlin are hunched over the book she gave him earlier, speaking in low voices, but they look over when Axel, the worst best friend to ever grace the world with his presence, cackles.

Actually, most of the table looks over, but Cress isn't too bothered, can't really pay attention to them because her ears are ringing. She hates Axel.

"You're telling me you got flustered because he called you by your given name?" Axel laughs louder, leaning over his bowl of minced pie. Tiny Viktor puts his hands up like he's going to save him if Axel falls too far and Cress would appreciate the gesture if she wasn't so mortified.

"Oh my gosh, keep it down!" she exclaims petulantly. "Also, it was fucking weird hearing it from him. My reaction was reasonable. Plus, he called me cute. And adorable, you absolute titter. Did you miss that part or—?"

"You only mentioned it eighty times, Mo," Axel scoffs. "Merlin, you act like you've never been complimented before."

"Not by the person I fancy, you wad of dead hair," she snaps.

"Oh, this isn't any different."

Cress begs to differ. Hearing those words from Fred was a different experience. It wasn't like hearing her mum tell her that she was molding herself into a beautiful, young woman or hearing her grandma tell her that her teeth looked nice — a weird compliment, but Nana Lianne has always been a peculiar person. Hearing those words from Fred was like taking a jump into an active volcano and living. It was like falling out of one of those airplanes that Axel always has to ride. It was like facing off against a giant dragon.

It was a thrill and a terror all at once. Cress loves the adrenaline that peaks in her body but she hates the fact that she could take one sentence, one word the wrong way and do something that could potentially ruin the friendship her and Fred have. That dark cloud of doubt and anxiety is what always stops her, is what keeps her from putting her foot forward onto the creaky ice and taking a leap into the glacial waters.

Mallory, who's eating some kind of pasta, says, "I think it's cute. Axel, stop being mean."

"I'm not being mean," Axel denies, but he's got a childish pout on his face. "I'm just saying, she should have jumped his bones."

"I'm not going to jump someone's bones!" Cress snaps. "Especially when I don't know if I'm reading the signals right!"

"Well, you are," Axel says, rolling his eyes and helping tiny Viktor pick up the spoon. Tiny Viktor glares indignantly from where he's dangling and Axel just rolls his eyes and lets him down, putting the spoon beside his plate.

Cress looks at Mallory for assistance. Mallory says, "I can't help you, Crescent. I have never had a crush nor gotten any kind of affection from anyone of the opposite gender. People usually tend to ignore my presence."

She says it in such a nonchalant way that Cress wants to cry. And give her a hug. She does the latter. Mallory hugs her back hesitantly, like she can't quite understand why Cress is holding her so tightly. Cress sniffles into her shoulder and pulls back.

"Those pricks are missing out, then," Cress says.

Axel hums. "Naturally. Mal is the best. They just can't handle the perfection that is you."

"Oh," Mallory mumbles, looking down at the table, "well, thank you. But, no one's perfect, you guys."

"I think we just established that you are," Axel says.

Mallory shakes her head. "I am not perfect. Not even close. But the sentiment is appreciated and, for that, I am grateful to you guys. But this is not about me. This is about Crescent." Mallory glances at Cress with a soft grin. "I think your reaction was warranted. You had every right to freak out."

"Thank you!" Cress emphasizes, throwing a look at Axel. He rolls his eyes, flipping her off. Cress is offended. "That is all I needed to hear."

"But," —Mallory continues; Cress groans— "I do think you should tell him how you feel."

Mallory states it like it's so easy — like Cress can just walk up to Fred and say, "Hey, guess what? I like you and want to stick my face on your face and maybe go out on some dates and have hot snogging sessions because that would be terrific, wouldn't it? Blink once if you agree." There is no way in hell that would work out the way she would want it to. Plus, there's a hole in this plan. Fred fancies Angelina and unless he stated otherwise, Cress is not about to ruin that budding relationship. She's not a home-wrecker.

So, she is going to sit on the sidelines and enjoy the fleeting bursts of teasing and laughter Fred Weasley brings her and she's not going to listen to any advice Axel (and now Mallory because confessing to Fred? A next to impossible task) gives her.

Cedric asks her for some help on understanding the Hungarian Horntail and Cress pushes everything out of her head — all the nonsense from today, mostly — and focuses solely on the task at hand. They go to the common room and commandeer the couches until it's dark and the fire is dimly lit and her eyes are heavy from the reading and the Charms she's been helping him with. But it's worth it since Cedric looks more confident than he did earlier. Cress is glad, wants him to be as prepared as he can be. She goes to bed after he demands it of her and lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling forlornly.

(Cress prays tomorrow will end with her not going to the hospital wing to due stress on her heart.)

⋆˚࿔

Cress doesn't get a wink of sleep. This is expected, of course, seeing as how her brother's about to compete in a threatening match that might result in his untimely demise. There's no time for sleep when she's too busy thinking about all the things that could go wrong during this dragon scavenge. Her stomach's filled with dread just thinking about it.

Mallory comes over to her bed to wake her up for breakfast. Cress groggily picks herself up and throws on her uniform and finds her glasses that have somehow managed to fall under her bed, which she uses for lessons (on rare occasions when her eyes hurt from squinting and she has a headache) and events like the one today (far away where she is unable to see). She slaps them on her face and doesn't even bother with her hair until Mallory suggests a nice combing might do the trick; Cress lets her brush it out before leaving it down. It's getting darker, she notices as she stands in front of the mirror. It's almost a brown rather than a blond. She sighs and rubs at her eyes from under the glasses.

Axel's waiting in the common room for them, and Cress is silent all the way through breakfast. It's a bit of a blur but Cress bites an apple and then makes her way to her first lesson, dazed and distracted. It's Potions, too. Which makes sense because the world seems to want to watch her fail at everything in life.

Snape takes away twenty points from Hufflepuff because Cress puts in troll toenails instead of hippogriff feathers and her cauldron explodes. She thinks maybe she should be bothered, since Snape turned a mild shade of grey that probably isn't natural for the human body, but she isn't. She already has detention with the git sometime this week, what's twenty points off Hufflepuff going to do to her now?

Lunch comes much too slowly. Cress walks through the hallways like someone's puppet. She hasn't seen Cedric all day and her nerves are eating at her stomach. She's going to need to take a Calming Draught if this continues. Axel lets her have her space, goes off and gives his blessings to Viktor — still a weird concept for Cress but she isn't going to ask because Axel seems happy and that's all that really matters — while she wallows over a bowl of mashed potatoes (which shouldn't be out since at lunch they usually have sandwiches and other useless things but she asked Gadby for a favor and he delivered). She feeds tiny Viktor some, too, because he's angry that Axel had to leave him here. (Big Viktor still doesn't know about him.)

Ginny comes over when she's on her second bowl.

"He'll be fine," she says, nudging Cress's shoulder.

Cress doesn't give Ginny a hug because a) she doesn't know if Ginny will snap her neck if she tries, and b) the position is awkward and it would just be too tense. She does tell Ginny that she wants to hug her, though, and Ginny grins and opens her arms. Cress hesitates for a moment and then slips into them easily and finds that it isn't that tense. Like, at all. And wow, she's missed Ginny a lot. She hasn't been able to talk to the girl in a while due to being swamped with O.W.L.s and research for this forsaken first task, and Cress kind of hates herself for it. But Ginny doesn't seem to mind since she's sitting here, comforting Cress. Because Ginny is a blessing to this world. Cress is going to name her first-born after her — even if it's a male.

"I agree," Mallory says when Cress pulls back from Ginny. "Cedric is a strapping man, he'll do brilliantly."

"Of course, he will," Ginny states. "This is Cedric we're talking about. He's a prefect, the top in his class, has great arms, a nice arse... Basically, everything you need in a man."

"He's also my brother," Cress says because she feels like Ginny was getting way too dreamy there. (And the arse comment was totally unnecessary. Cress totally doesn't divulge in her fantasies about Fred around Ginny. She could give her the same respect.)

Ginny waves her off. "Yeah, there's that too."

"Cedric is a very handsome bloke," Mallory tells Cress, cheeks pink.

"Fuck yeah, he is," Hamlin says, sliding down the bench to sit beside Mallory. "Have you seen that jawline? I could cut cheese on it. Gods, he's beautiful. Like, gorgeous. The epitome of perfection."

"Please... stop." Cress runs a hand over her face. "Can we not talk about what an attractive person my brother is? He could very well be burned to death today!"

"He's not going to burn to death," Ginny says.

"Nope, it's only Tuesday. Burning to death is scheduled for Thursday," Hamlin says.

Cress rolls her eyes and adjusts her glasses. "Why are you here again?"

"All Cedric's other friends are talking about bloody Potter and that blasted article again." Hamlin rolls his eyes in irritation. "It was funny the first ten times, but it just got annoying after the eleventh."

"You're all lunatics," Cress tells him.

"I'm not participating!" Hamlin exclaims. "Not anymore, at least..."

Cress shrugs. Ginny glares at Hamlin. Mallory is finishing off a piece of pie that Gadby brought out for her. The Great Hall is chattering with students, most of them excited for the first task of the tournament. Cress wishes she could join in on the festivities, but there's still a gnawing presence in the back of her mind, telling her all the things that could go wrong.

When it's time to depart to the first task, Professor Sprout gathers the Hufflepuff House, most whom have painted their faces and decked themselves out with those sodding badges, and instructs them to follow her to the field where it would be taking place. Cress walks with Mallory, Axel, and Hamlin; Ginny is with her other friends from Gryffindor since all the Houses must remain in order until they get there.

"PUD!" Lee yells when they get there. Cress swivels around and finds him. He isn't hard to miss. Him, Fred, and George all have their faces painted in Gryffindor crimson and molten gold. "Oi! Come sit with us!" He flails madly to the section where they're going to sit in. Cress sees Fred and George give her identical smiles of hope. She turns to her friends, arching a brow, hoping her face isn't desperate.

Axel shrugs. "I don't care."

Mallory says, "I don't mind, either. It might be nice to sit with them."

Hamlin's already running over there, clapping Lee on the back. "Lee, mate! Good to see you! How've you been, you git?!"

Cress heaves a sigh but weaves her way through the overbearing number of students to get to where Fred and George are. Lee and Hamlin are already making their way up the stairs towards the top. Cress squints up at them.

"Nice glasses," Fred says when she reaches his side. He gives her one of those soft, private smiles that Cress doesn't know what to do with and she all but falls out.

"Thanks," she murmurs, pushing them onto her face. "Lesson exclusive, but now dragon-needed. There's no way in hell I'm seeing Ced from up here."

Fred laughs. Cress wants to bury herself alive in the sound, even if her words came out wonky. Even Axel sniggers from her side and she glares at him, but her cheeks are flaming and she needs to get up the stairs and sit down now. She tries to take them two at a time, but she has tiny legs so she's forced to walk on them like a normal person whilst Fred and George and Axel show off like arseholes and make her and Mallory sashay up them like they have some sense.

The seats overlook a forest with a fair-sized space holed off in front of the stands that had probably been conjured beforehand. There's a Swedish Short-Snout lounging in the middle of it, hunched over a nest of eggs protectively. Around her, students from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts bustle around, talking animatedly as they wait anxiously for the first contestant to come out. Cress thinks she might be sick.

"Down you go." Fred gently grabs her arm and hauls her down so she's beside him. She tries not to think too much of it. She fails. And he's warm. Helga, is he warm. All flaming fire next to her ice-cold body.

(She may or may not lean closer to him. For warmth purposes only.)

(He grins down at her like maybe he knows she's lying to herself.)

(Cress wants to kiss him.)

"I have a feeling Ced is first," Axel tells her. She shakes her head to ride herself of these thoughts — and to break the eye contact with Fred — and stares at Axel. "What? It's just a feeling."

"I hope so. Then he can get it over with quickly and I won't be such a nervous wreck."

Fred snorts — says, "You gotta have more faith in your brother, Crescent."

Cress abruptly coughs. Axel laughs. Mallory hides a smile in her cardigan. Tiny Viktor, from his spot on her thigh, looks mildly amused with his bushy eyebrows and dark eyes that are twinkling. Fred looks confused but unabashed because nothing embarrasses him.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Cress says quickly, catching herself. "Just had something stuck in my throat."

"Sure," Axel drawls. Cress puts the force of You-Know-Who in her glare. He doesn't relent. Arsehole.

"Anyway," Cress intervenes, putting her attention back on Fred, "I do have faith in Cedric. I just don't trust the dragons. Okay, well, I do trust the dragons," Cress says when Axel makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "It's just... they're nesting, right? And they're Mama dragons which means they're going to be a force to be reckoned with and I just — can't do all that. Don't have the capacity to handle all that stress."

"But we've established that Diggory's more than capable of doing it," Fred tells her. "He's a force to be reckoned with himself."

"Yeah, but... dragons, man." Cress sighs and tries not to think about it anymore. Thinking about it only makes it worse, and she does not need to throw herself into a frenzy over something that could turn out all right. And Cedric is capable, more than capable, really. If anyone has this in the bag, it's him.

Cress doesn't worry. She shoves the worry deep into her chest and makes sure it stays there and she talks with Fred and Axel, fiddling with tiny Viktor all the while. It's good and it's distracting and she might really be leaning on Fred now, but it's because he's emitting so much warmth and nothing else. Plus, he doesn't seem like he minds either and his sweater is soft. (And brown, but not like the ugly brown that people usually think of when they think of this color; it's more of a dark, rich brown, one that reminds Cress of hot chocolate and late nights in the kitchen.) (It even smells like it.)

When the whistle finally blows and the first champion does come out, Cress almost knocks tiny Viktor off her shoulder she jolts so much. The crowd roars loudly at the arrival of Cedric and Cress can feel it ringing her ears. She adjusts tiny Viktor and stands up to get a closer look because everyone decided that it would be a good idea to leap up as soon as he came out. Her heart jumps to her throat when she sees that he looks a sickish kind of green, even from her perspective. She briefly closes her eyes and prays to the heavens that Cedric makes it out of here alive.

The dragon roars when Cedric gets closer to the nest of eggs. In a second, it's up and on him, hissing and snarling and breathing fire like a maniac. Cress bites her lip and clenches her fists so tightly that she fears she may have drawn blood. Cedric dodges and weaves everything the dragon throws at him and for a while, Cress can only see a blur of blueish-grey along with the yellow and black of Cedric's tournament uniform.

The crowd continues to roar like one person bellowing out an off-key song. Cress continues to watch on her tiptoes, mind whirling at the spells he could use, the techniques he could apply and she wishes she could be down there, helping him.

After another close call from the Swedish Short-Snout, Cress gasps and lowly says, "Come on, Cedric." She doesn't want to be loud about it, in case her anxiety shows, but she figures it doesn't matter anyway since she's as stiff as a board.

Cedric misses another slash from the dragon and Transfigures a rock into a dog. Cress almost sobs in relief. Finally. She was worried he would be stuck out there forever until he grew tired and the dragon decided that it was hungry for its next meal.

The dragon goes for the dog and Cedric, in a moment of confidence — or maybe it's panic; Cress is going to go with panic — runs for the golden egg hurriedly. Cress grips Fred's hand, too worried about Cedric to really care. She would have grabbed Axel's but him and Mallory were beside her hugging in fright. Fred doesn't seem to mind though, so she keeps her grasp on it and watches and watches as Cedric gets closer to the egg and the dragon gets... bored.

"CEDRIC!" she yells and it's broken and there's fire — so much fire — and Cedric hasn't gotten the egg yet and no. No, no, no, no. He can't be. "Cedric, no," she mumbles lowly, eyes welling up.

But then he's there, the egg is in his hand — and he's burnt but he's alive and that's all that matters. Cress sobs in relief, stares at the burn marks on her brother and scorch marks on his cheeks. The bright grin on his face. And she cheers with the crowd, loud and cheerful for her brother. She doesn't even hear what the judges say or listen to Bagman introduce the next champion. Cress lets go of Fred, throwing tiny Viktor at Axel and running down the stairs to the tents, headed in the direction Cedric went.

Madam Pomfrey's fixing him up when Cress enters the tent. Cedric gives her a small smile when he sees her. "Wasn't too shabby, was I?"

Cress doesn't throw herself at him because Madam Pomfrey would probably skin her alive should she try but she cries and she smiles, wide and huge and relieved, and says, "You were amazing, Cedric."

She doesn't tell him how worried she was or how much today terrified her because it doesn't matter. He's alive and he accomplished what he needed to do and that's all that matters.

That's all that matters.

"You're being generous," he says. He grunts when Madam Pomfrey touches a particularly sensitive spot. Cress grimaces. "I wasn't that great."

"Shut up." Cress rolls her eyes. "And stop being modest. Merlin, bro, you're like the perfect package and I'm pretty sure everyone is going to fall in love with you. All of my friends basically are."

Cedric blushes. "You're ridiculous." The crowd continues screaming and cheering for whatever champion went out there, but Cress ignores it.

"But, really," Cress tells him, "I don't care what the judges say or who gets first or last. I just know that you were utterly fantastic. I'm sorry for every doubting you."

"It's okay," he says softly. Madam Pomfrey finishes patching him up and Cress goes to sit beside him on the cot. She stares at him sadly. "Stop that. I chose to do this, Cress. Don't feel bad because I got hurt."

"It was a pretty nasty burn," Cress responds. "How do you still have skin left?"

Cedric huffs. "It skimmed me. I wasn't burned alive."

"Looked like it to me."

"You're ridiculous."

"Cedric, that is a burn! Are you blind?"

"Obviously you are if you think this is an actual burn! Please, I know what's wrong with my own body."

"Do you, though? If your leg was blasted off, you probably wouldn't even know until someone told you. And then, you'd be like, 'Oh, that's nothing serious. Just a cut.'"

"I would not!"

"Would to!"

"How would I not feel my leg being blasted off?!" Cedric asks, hands flailing.

Cress throws hers up in the air in exasperation. "I don't know, Cedric! You tell me! You're the one who broke your bloody arm when you were ten and refused to get help because it was 'just a scratch.'" She rolls her eyes at his indignant face.

"I thought it was!"

"Cedric, the arm was bent! Like a fucking boomerang!"

Cedric rolls his eyes. "Now, you're just making things up."

"Madam Pomfrey told you it was a burn!" Cress groans and throws her hands up, pushing her glasses up on her head because they keep falling in her face while she's trying to tell Cedric why he's wrong. "It's a burn, Cedric."

"Okay." He levels her with a look. "It's a burn."

"Helga, thank you!" Cress sags in relief. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes," Cedric says with a pout. Cress doesn't know why she got a child for an older brother, but here she is, talking to an infant.

She's glad when Hamlin comes in, all frantic and worried, grabbing Cedric's shoulders and making sure he is still intact, his brown eyes wide in concern and his hands flailing madly. Cress smiles into her hand but that pang of sorrow for Hamlin stirs at her when she remembers the obliviousness of Cedric. She hopes Hamlin'll get Cedric to open his eyes to the greatness that his best friend is, but for now she'll just have to watch as Hamlin embraces Cedric like a lifeline. As Cedric grips Hamlin back just as securely.

She leaves after they start getting sentimental and walks back up to the stands. Her seat is still open and she takes it. Fred greets her with a grin.

"Everything okay?" he asks, the whites of his teeth prominent through the fading paint on his face. She nods happily.

Harry Potter is down there, on his Firebolt, flying away from the Hungarian Horntail's sharp projectiles and angry roars. Fred turns away and cheers for him when Potter does something spectacularly skilled. Cress watches, greets Axel and Mallory and answers their inquiries of concern smoothly. Axel tells her about Viktor's trial and Mallory fills her in with Fleur's and Cress has found a newfound respect for the other school's champions. Tiny Viktor has returned to Axel's pocket, Axel tells her, because supposedly he didn't want to see any of the other champions compete. Cress laughs.

A hand grabs her own. She glances up to see Fred staring at the field anxiously, watching Harry weave through the dragon to get the golden egg. When he feels her eyes on him, he turns and smiles.

"You okay?" he asks.

Cress bites her lip, can hear her heart beating in her ears as she adjusts their hands until they are intertwined with one another's. Her face's on fire, but she thinks this is okay, decides that she might just take Mallory's or Axel's advice one of these days and tell him how she truly feels. But, for now, Cedric's okay, Harry caught his egg, the first task's officially over and she can breathe easier than before. Fred is here by her side like he wants to be with her. Tomorrow, a new obstacle will arrive but that's in the future and Cress isn't going to worry about that right now. For now, Cress is going to bask in the glory of today.

"I'm great," she says, gives his hand a squeeze.

Fred beams.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

"Will you — uh, go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Ginny gives her a deadpan look. "That was the same as last time. Too much nerves frayed in there. You have to make it more convincing. Sturdier and less shaky. More like you want to actually ask him to go to the ball with you. You sound like you want to strangle yourself, or that someone has a wand to your head, forcing you to do it."

Cress groans. Axel nods his head in agreement. Mallory looks oddly upset about the whole thing, like she wants to push some confidence into Cress but doesn't know how. Cress appreciates her either way. Tiny Viktor, who has a new pet dragon — a gift from Cedric after the first task — is trying to teach the model (that Cress modified) how to sit.

So far, the tiny Swedish Short-Snout has refused to do anything since it's bigger than tiny Viktor, therefore assuming that it shouldn't have to listen to him. Tiny Viktor's growing agitated; Cress can relate.

She's been in the Hufflepuff common room for the past hour, getting tips from Ginny and all her friends on how to successfully ask Fred Weasley to the Yule Ball. It's been going horrible, to say the least. They keep telling her to picture that she's actually talking to Fred like that's actually going to work. Cress always freezes up and then Ginny yells, Mallory sighs and Axel just rolls his eyes in exasperation.

It isn't fun; Cress hates school activities.

Professor Sprout should have just kept her mouth closed about the whole thing all those weeks ago. She should have just let them leave Herbology without saying a word and Cress might have kept her sanity for the duration of winter.

But, no, Professor Sprout stopped them before they could leave and explained the whole Yule Ball and how it was a chance for the students to mingle with the other schools without the stress of the tournament weighing down on them. And sure, that might be nice and all, but then there was the whole prospect of date. Bloody dates. As in someone to go to the ball with. Cress didn't like that as much.

She thought, at first, that she would just go home. Just hop on that train with Mallory when break starts and hightail it out of Hogwarts because there was no way that she would be able to scrounge up a date, much less scrounge up the courage to ask Fred Weasley to the Ball. But Axel and Cedric and even Ginny — who had stopped her in the Great Hall and said that if Cress left the school during break, she would make her regret it — were very adamant on her staying and Cress was forced to sign that idiotic paper that would ensure her stay when break does, in fact, begin, and ask Fred Weasley to the Yule Ball.

Cress tried to put it off for as long as she could, but as the days grew colder and the castle grew with festivities as students started getting excited about break starting and lessons halting, her chances of snagging the date she desires are growing slim. She knows that Fred is definitely a catch and that most girls (if they're smart) have probably lined up — or are going to because Lee's sly smirks meant something and so did George's silence — and there's no doubt that he won't say no. He'll say yes or he'll ask someone and there goes Cress's perfect chance at obtaining a date.

(She'll be forced to go alone and then no one will ask her to dance and people will stare and laugh. She'll never be able to show her face again.)

That's where Ginny comes in. She entered the Hufflepuff common room after lessons the day before break was to begin. How she got in? Cress has no clue. The girl just walked through the entrance and plopped down on the couch beside Axel and Cress like she belonged there. Cress can't say she was disappointed to see her.

Well, she wasn't, until Ginny opened her mouth and started spewing out this bullshit about how she needed to gather the courage to ask Fred to the ball because the ball is soon and Cress needs a date and Fred needs to be that date. Then Cress just wanted to run and dive headfirst into the Black Lake, even though she can't swim.

But Ginny was relentless and hounded her until Cress finally started working on ways that she could ask Fred to the ball. And that's where they are now. Cress in near tears; Ginny on the verge of a vengeful rage; Axel done with everyone and everything; and Mallory just sitting there with a pleasant smile on her face as she gives Cress the encouragement Cress needs.

"Again," Axel says. "This time, make it sound more cheerful, like you aren't swallowing nails."

Cress huffs, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I feel like this isn't going to work! No matter how hard I practice, once I get in front of those beautiful brown eyes that melt the bloody snow with how warm they and that glorious hair that shines as fiercely as the morning sun, I'll freeze up!"

"Ergh—" Ginny mock gags. "That's my brother, Cress. Keep the poetics to yourself, please."

"Yeah," Cress snaps, "tell that to the arse you told me my brother had."

Ginny sends her a smirk. Cress rolls her eyes and slides farther down into the couch. Cedric and Hamlin enter the common room. Cedric has snow in his hair, and Hamlin is smiling brightly, arm around Cedric's shoulder companionably. They're laughing about something but when Cedric sees Cress's face, he falters.

"Oi," he says, "what's gotten into you?" He glances at Ginny, face twisting in what looks to be confusion or constipation. Cress can't tell. "And what's she doing in here?"

Cress grumbles underneath her breath. Axel says, "We're trying to get her to work up the courage to ask Freddie boy to the ball. Also, Ginny is here because she is giving Mo moral support. Heaven knows she'll need as much as she can get," he mumbles. Cress hits him in the thigh. He smacks her forehead.

"Oh," Cedric says, "how's it going?"

"Crescent thinks she's going to freeze in front of Fred," Mallory supplies helpfully.

Hamlin snorts. "Well, of course. Have you met Baby Diggs?"

Cress lands on the floor with a groan of frustration. She wants to get up and pummel Hamlin in the face for the use of the despising nickname — they had been doing so good — but her legs are numb and the fire is right there, all warm and comforting to her glacial veins, so she decides against it. She flips him the bird, though.

He laughs, as expected.

"It's useless," she moans. "Absolutely useless. I'll never ask Fred to the ball and we'll never dance under the moonlight—and I won't get to snog him and I'll die alone and you'll have to tell my four children that their mother was a failure at life and to not grow up like me."

"You're not going to raise your kids?" asks Ginny.

"Nope. There's going to be an accident — a big one with a lot of fire and tons of blood — and I'm not going to make it and, even though my kids will weep for me, they won't miss me because their godfather will give them a great life and really lead them in the right path." Cress buries her head in her arms with a sigh.

Axel and Cedric ask, "Who's the godfather?"

"Er — Ax, of course," Cress says easily. "At least, you will be to two of them and Cedric gets the other two and Mallory and Ginny can split the godmother spots."

"Wonderful," Mallory says with delight, hazel eyes shining.

Cedric says, "I'm upset that I only get two out of four, but I'll take it. I promise not to lead your children down the wrong path."

"I can't promise anything," Axel says, snorting. "I mean, I can, but I'm not because I'll most likely break that promise and corrupt your kids in the most unimaginable ways, so it's a nay from me."

Ginny says, "I'll watch those buggers but I won't enjoy it, know that."

"That's fair," Cress says. "It's a lot of responsibility. Plus, my children are going to be wild. You can disown them if you want."

"I'll take that into consideration," Ginny replies.

Cress thinks the conversation is over, but Hamlin squawks and then throws himself down beside her and says, "Where am I in all of this!? I deserve to be a godfather, too!"

She doesn't tell him that he mostly likely will be since him and Cedric are soulmates and probably going to get together before the end of the year is over. She lets him stew in his misery because it's what the git deserves for the horrendous nickname earlier. Instead, she moves on to the next topic.

"So," she starts, "I've decided that I'm going to walk up to him during dinner tonight and ask him. Just going to wing it, too. No more rehearsal. If I freeze, I freeze. It'll only be embarrassing if he says no."

"I just don't understand what the big deal in asking someone to the ball is," Cedric tells her. Cress clenches her teeth. "I asked Cho just fine and she accepted."

"Oh my — for Helga's sake, Ced, please just shut the fuck up!"

For days, weeks, months even, Cedric has been trying to give her pointers, telling her that asking someone if they wanted to attend a ball with you wasn't as hard as she made it out to be. The first few times, Cress let him rant because pointers were being accepted, and her brother seemed to get by in life pretty smoothly, so the ball should have been easy as cake for him. But then Cress started to realize that this is Cedric Diggory she's talking to — the one boy who can walk through a field of angry unicorns and come out without a scratch on his face while unicorns flocked his side like his loyal minions. Him giving her advice on how to ask someone to the ball was bound to end in disaster because Cedric is a professional at everything he does and Cress is not.

Plus, she's growing tired of him talking about how he asked Cho to the ball. Like, she gets it. You asked her. She said yes. You don't really want to go with her because you're in love with your best friend, but you are anyway because you're deep in this relationship and haven't found a way to escape yet. Cress gets it, really, but hearing about it every day has gotten old and she just wants it to stop.

Cedric stares at her like she murdered Sir Shakespurr. Cress rolls her eyes and picks herself up, sitting against the table. Hamlin is still in the floor beside her, head on his arms, soft snores coming out of his mouth. Tiny Viktor is wrestling with the dragon beside his face. Cress smothers a smile.

"I'm just saying," Cedric says once he gets over his initial indignation. "You've fancied Fred for years, sis. And you guys have finally gotten past that awkward friend stage and even though I don't really know what's going on between you two, it seems like he's interested, too. I'm sure you could just write it on a piece of paper and he would say yes."

Ginny nods. "He would say yes. Doesn't matter what you say, he would say yes. Git's got stars in his eyes when he looks at you, I swear."

Cress ducks her head in hopes no one can see the blush tainting her cheeks, ears and whole body, really. She watches tiny Viktor hop on the model of the Swedish Short-Snout and lasso it in, trying to get it in control, in favor of staring at them. She does not want to see the smug expressions on Axel's, Ginny's, and Cedric's faces; Mallory probably still looks smug, too, but it's probably softer and less mocking. Tiny Viktor, if he was paying attention, would probably clown Cress with just his eyebrows alone. She's glad he's worried about his dragon.

(They're really going to have to give it a name.)

"Sod off," Cress grumbles. Ginny gives her a knowing look. Cress adjusts the tie on her uniform so it's not as choking. "I'll go ask him right now, then. Before dinner." She stands up with a huff, ignoring the amusement on her so called "friends'" faces. "And I'm going to freeze up and he's going to say no and then I'll prove to you that he does not, in fact, have stars in his eyes when he looks at me."

Ginny sniggers — traitor — and says, "Good luck with that, mate. I send you my best."

"Please, Mo, just don't choke up," Axel says, sighing with his hand over his eyes like she's already done it and came back with an embarrassing story. Cress is highly offended that he has no faith in her.

"I won't," she says in defense.

"No," Cedric says, "you probably will. And that's okay," he adds hurriedly when Cress turns her glare on him, "because it's just a part of who you are. And if Weasley is smart, he'll fancy you just the same, even if you can't spit your sentence out."

Cress clenches her teeth. "Not helping."

"Sorry," Cedric mumbles.

"I believe in you," Mallory pipes up, giving Cress a grin. "I think either way, Fred will tell you yes. You're too good for him not to."

Cress thinks she might cry. She feels like she says this too much, but, damn, does she love Mallory Ackerman with all her heart and soul. That girl is a blessing from above and the world should be bowing on its knees to just get a glimpse of her.

Grinning, Cress says, "Thank you, Mal. I actually feel better hearing those encouraging," — she sends Axel, Cedric, and Ginny a glare— "words."

"Oh," Mallory tucks a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear, sniffling into a tissue (the colder weather makes her more prone to colds; she's been in and out of the hospital wing for the past few weeks), "it was nothing. I only want the best for my friends."

Cress leaves the room after giving Mallory a much-needed hug and hoisting tiny Viktor and his dragon on the table where they won't get stepped on. Hamlin continues snoring on the ground as she steps over his limp body; she makes her way through the basement corridors, swallowing down every ounce of fear, anxiety and panic that peaks whenever she thinks she might spot Fred's ginger hair in the sea of people.

Actively seeking him out is a weird thing for Cress. Okay, well, not really. She's went looking for Fred on more than one occasion but now she has a purpose other than just wanting an excuse to talk to him and stare at the freckles dotting his face like a breathtaking constellation. But, now, she has a question that could potentially ruin her life and make her want to crawl in a hole and live with the badgers for the rest of her life. And she isn't ready.

Heavens, she isn't ready. Cress is never good under pressure, if she's being honest with herself, and asking Fred Weasley to attend the ball with her is a big ball of pressure that's about to smack her in the face with full velocity. And she's not going to be able to dodge this metaphorical ball since this is something she must do if she wants to continue living a life that is not so mediocre. So, she's going to have to let that blasted ball hit her square in the face and take all of her mum's advice about smiling and not getting to into your head and just ask him.

That's all Cress needs to do. She's got to ask him and in the best-case scenario, he'll say yes and she'll jump for joy and then probably shed a few tears later whilst she writes her mum a letter telling her of her success.

Cress is almost to the Gryffindor Tower when the boy stops her.

He stands in front of her in one of the sixth-floor corridors, shuffling on his feet while he halts her. Cress furrows her brow. The guy stares at her with dark eyes. He's big, all broad and muscle-y, and he towers over her tiny frame like some giant. His dark hair is falling into his tan face, making him reach up and grab at it to push it back. He's wearing a Durmstrang uniform and still glaring at Cress like she did something to personally offend him.

She's so confused.

"Uh," she says intelligently then silently berates herself because you don't say "uh" to a fucking pirate, Cress. Helga. It's like she wants to get herself killed by those giant, manly hands that look like they could throttle her.

The guy's voice is deep and gravely when he says, "You are Cree-scent Digg-ry, no?"

"I am," Cress replies, mind whirring as to why this Bulgarian knows her name. Half the people in Hogwarts don't even know her name, much less Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. "Er — why do you ask?"

Cress is glad that the hallway's vacant except for her and this strange boy because she's pretty sure someone hired a hitman on her. Like, an actual hitman to murder her bloodily and probably slowly because aren't assassins and hitmen made for people who have a vengeful streak against someone? Cress wonders who she pissed off this time — thinks it might be Axel. She takes a moment to count her blessings before the Durmstrang takes a step closer and she clenches her eyes shut, praying for a quick death.

"V-Vould you go to the Yule Ball vith me?"

Cress pauses, slowly blinks her eyes open and sees the towering Bulgarian shuffling on his feet in front of her. He looks nervous, eyebrows furrowed and hair mussed up, but there's hope and relief mixed in there somewhere, his shoulders sagging, and Cress's stomach sinks. No, she thinks. No, no, no, no, no. NO!

Why? Why did the handsome Bulgarian have to ask her to the ball? Why? No one has asked her yet, not one person. Which isn't a surprise because no one really pays attention to her, but still. That's what she was counting on.

The fact that no one desired to attend the ball with her was her way out of declining offers in favor of asking the person she really wants. And then this gorgeous pirate comes up in here and ruins all her plans for that. Now, she's being forced to politely decline him so she can go ask Fred to the ball and hope she doesn't get the same reaction.

Her heart clenches in her chest. She wills the floor to disappear so she can fall through it. It doesn't. When she finally finds the courage to look up, the Bulgarian's still standing there, back straight and eyes set. Cress really doesn't want to hurt him. Rowena, why did someone have to pick now to decide they liked her?

"Er — I, uh." Cress fiddles with her tie, wringing it in her hands. She gives the guy a tight smile and he musters up a grimace in return. She breathes through her nose and tries to get her heart under control. "I would love to go to the ball with you," she says, hating the way his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, "but," she adds after a moment (sue her, she's trying to keep her composure here) and the spell is broken, "I am afraid I am going to have to decline. I am so sorry. I wouldn't do this if it wasn't completely necessary. Because I mean you seem like a great, strapping guy. Really. Truly. Strapping."

Cress throws that in just to let him know that it isn't his fault she's in love with a ginger who makes her snort up water on the worst occasions.

But Bulgarian pirate's eyebrows do a dance on his head as he frowns, like it still doesn't add up. Cress is positive that if he wasn't here to kill her before, he most definitely wants to now. Her stomach churns in guilt and sorrow; she wishes she could have said yes to him but that would mean losing her chance to ask Fred and she doesn't want to risk that. He's the one she wants to go with and if that means letting a few people down, then so be it.

(She's going to hurl. Rejecting is hard to swallow. Cress hopes being rejected isn't the same.)

"It is fine," the guy says curtly, stiffening up. "Apologies." He bows and then next thing Cress knows, he's sashaying down the corridor and down the stairs, leaving her alone in the hallway.

Cress sighs through her nose. She feels bad, still, but it ebbs away as the nerves about asking Fred return in full force. She wipes her sweaty palms on her skirt and takes a deep breath before climbing up the seventh-floor stairs.

And lo and behold, the world is working for Cress for once because Fred is just about to go into the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Fred!" she calls out happily, and a little anxiously. He turns around, grinning, pausing in the doorway and stepping back to come out. He closes the portrait, listening to the Fat Lady hum as he walks over to Cress. There are flowers in his hands.

There are flowers in his hands. Cress feels like crying.

"Little Diggory!" he exclaims cheerfully. "What brings you up here?"

"Er —" Cress is at a loss for words. She wants to answer, but all she can see are those stupid, hideous sunflowers that Fred's carrying in a bouquet. They're all bright and yellow and they glare at Cress and she wonders how he even snagged such prospering flowers in the fucking winter.

"Speechless, I see." Fred grins cheekily. "Fear not, Crescent, everyone gets this way around me. It's because I'm so bloody gorgeous."

He flips his longer hair over his shoulder and sends Cress a smirk, rich eyes gleaming mischievously. Cress forgets how to actually breathe for a moment.

"You're a lunatic," Cress manages to get out once her heart has calmed down a considerable amount. She wipes her hands on her shirt this time and wishes that his enticing appearance didn't make her breathless.

Fred beams. "That is true, chap." He adjusts the flowers until they are tucked into his arm. Cress stares at them, hoping they wither with her glare alone. "But they say crazy is the best a person can be."

"No one says that," Cress says.

"And how do you know?"

"Because no one says it."

"Always a cynic, you are." Fred tuts and shakes his head.

Cress rolls her eyes, but her lips quirk. She thinks she can do it. She has this. She is going to ask him to the ball and he's going to say yes and those flowers that are probably for Angelina are going to be forgotten because he will have said yes to her so there will be no reason to ask Johnson. (Cress takes a moment to feel bad for her traitorous brain; she sends all her love the Gryffindor girl.)

Then, Fred says, "Oi — Little Diggory, you know... if you wanna ask me to the ball, you should probably do so, like yesterday. I don't know if you know, but ladies are, like, lining up to ask me. I'm hot stuff right now."

"Literally no one has asked you to the dance, Fred Weasley." Cress rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. Fred is giving her that stupid, gorgeous smirk of his, that intense sparkle lighting up his eyes like a firecracker. She hates that she loves it so much. Her courage to ask him just flew out the window, though, and now she's stuck because the plan was for her to bring it up, not him (but she will give him kudos for breaking the ice coating her brain). Helga, what is it with people ruining her plans today? She sighs, and, for good measure, she adds, "George says you're actually getting desperate because every girl you've asked has rejected you."

Which is totally a lie since George only told her that no one that he knew of has asked Fred but Cress is panicking and she isn't above being petty anymore. She thinks if it were a profession, she would excel in it.

Fred stares at her, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, so you're keeping tabs on me now?" he asks with a too radiant grin. Cress bites her lip. "That's creepy. Endearing but cre—Wait, where are you going? I was kiddi— Little Diggory, come back!"

Cress smothers a grin in her hand and starts trekking down the corridor. Fred's footsteps patter behind her until he's in front of her, cheeks colored and hair askew. Some of the sunflower petals have fallen off onto the cold floor. Cress sniggers and tries not to feel too pleased about that.

"Hush," Fred mutters. "This," —he gestures to his hair— "is your fault."

"I bet." Cress sends him a teasing grin. "Always gotta blame someone, don't you, Weasley?"

Fred squints at her. "You're trying to lead me into something that will inevitably lead to my demise, aren't you?" Cress continues to smile. "You're a devious little bugger. I don't know how people don't see it. You can't hide your evil ways from me, though. I see everything. I know who you really are."

"An astute observation, Freddie," Cress deadpans. "You've got me figured out, oh no! I'm quaking in my boots!"

"You're wearing sneakers," Fred says.

Cress groans. "It's an expression, you git."

Fred gasps dramatically. "Name-calling? So early in the day? My, my, Miss Diggory, what has gotten into you?"

"I'd say a virus, but really it's just one bloke named Fred Weasley," Cress says, laughing at the affronted look on Fred's face. "Really makes me wonder how I keep a conversation with you. You're such a dolt."

"But you love me, anyway," Fred winks, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Cress doesn't die, but it's near thing. She chokes on plain air and has to wipe her hands on her skirt and shirt just so she can keep herself occupied instead of blurting out that yes, she does love Fred, idiocies included.

Helga, she should have brought someone. On what world did Cress believe that talking to Fred Weasley alone was a good idea? It's the worst idea, probably the worst one she's had in a long time. Cress should have brought Mallory, or Ginny, someone to act as her buffer because it's obvious that she needs someone to be here with her or else she'll turn into a puddle of racing hearts and starry eyes in front of Fred.

And Fred just stands there like he didn't just turn Cress's whole world upside down with a phrase. He just stands there in all his perfection and Cress wants to hate him for it. Wants to so badly, but she can't because her heart it still pounding, her ears are on fire and her stomach feels like a bunch of elephants trampled around in it. She needs to lay down.

She flees to the common room after spewing out a lame excuse about Axel getting his hair stuck in a magical glue trap (he did not, but it's the concept that matters, bare with her), and Fred lets her go with a grin. Ginny groans when Cress throws herself on the couch next to her.

"Are you kidding me?" she asks, outraged.

Cress shakes her head, blames it all on stupid Fred and his distracting smiles and lovely eyes and glorious laugh and wondrous frame and Ginny calls her pathetic. Cress agrees. On the table, Tiny Viktor finally gets his dragon to sit; he looks at Cress with a glowing smile.

She's glad someone accomplished something today.

⋆˚࿔

Friday's supposed to bring Cress an immense amount of joy. She should be walking with a pep in her step and singing Christmas carols with Axel like it's the end of the world. She should be ruining Christmas carols with Peeves and getting in trouble by Filch and McGonagall for her efforts. She should be celebrating the fact that lessons are done and break has officially begun, giving her the chance to actually breathe and relax since there isn't any more O.W.L. material that the professors need to cram in her head at the moment. She should be relishing in the glory that she, in fact, asked Fred Weasley to the Yule Ball and he did reply with an enthusiastic yes.

But Friday is not the time for that because a) Cress did not ask Fred Weasley to the bloody ball because she got cold feet and dashed all because he brought out the 'L' word and she couldn't handle it, fuck and b) Mallory is leaving today. Just up and leaving like she isn't taking Cress's heart with her.

It really puts a damper on things, honestly. Cress can't even enjoy all the loud decorations (icicles that never melted on the staircases, twelve big Christmas trees decorated in holly berries and —- get this — real, hooting owls; Cress doesn't think she's seen the professors work so hard on decorations in a year) because all she can think about is the fact that she's going to have to walk Mallory to the Hogsmeade station here soon.

When lessons end, Cress lugs herself out of the Transfiguration classroom with a sigh. She doesn't want to acknowledge it, but she's pretty sure she bombed that test. Great. Now, she has to bundle up and escort Mallory to the station along with Axel, Cedric, and Hamlin while thinking about the fact that she's a scholarly disappointment.

Cedric and Hamlin are going because they have nothing better to do with their lives other than annoying Cress and her friends. Or so it seems since they were all to psyched about going to the Hogsmeade station with them. Cress doesn't understand it.

Axel sighs out from beside Cress. The dragon (that they still haven't named) sitting on her shoulder twitches at the noises coming from the onslaught of students, but it doesn't wake. Cress glances at Axel.

"What?" she asks.

"Break is here. I should be happy because there aren't anymore blasted lectures about how we need to take this seriously. There's no more extra homework and essays but I just can't bring myself to feel cheerful," Axel explains, letting tiny Viktor climb up on his shoulder. When the action figure sees the dragon on Cress's shoulder, he gives her a look and she sighs, but plucks him up and places her on her own shoulder, by the dragon. He grins wolfishly.

Cress replies, "I know what you mean. All this cheer in the air — all these joyful students and happy campers and I can't join in on any of it." She looks at Mallory, who's humming "White Christmas" to herself. "Why do you have to leave again?"

"Because my mums love Christmas," Mallory says with a tender smile, wrapping her scarf tighter around her. "And I love Christmas with them. It's my favorite holiday. And it's the only time they both have off and I'm on break, so I like to spend as much time with them as I can."

Cress wishes Mallory wasn't so amazing. Sometimes it's hard being friends with someone so selfless and glorious and compassionate. Cress feels like a right gremlin beside her. She loves Mallory, though, and she thinks it's so sweet that Mallory's giving up a Yule Ball (one that George Weasley asked her to, no less) for her family. Helga, Cress is going to cry again. But she can't since she's already cried twice today and she's saving her third for the station.

"You're so lovely," Axel murmurs, awestruck and a little in love. "I would marry you in a heartbeat if I didn't fancy boys so much."

"Oh," Mallory says, ducking her head with a faint blush. Cress grins. "Well, I would accept your proposal. You are very kind, Axel."

"Wait," Cress says, "are we allowed to marry you, Mal? Because I call dibs."

"I just said I would marry her, you arse," Axel snaps.

Cress rolls her eyes. "But I will marry her. She's the perfect bird for me!"

"What about Peyton?" Axel raise an eyebrow.

"Peyton's happy with Bentley." Cress waves him off, stops tiny Viktor from flying off on the dragon whilst evading bodies in the entrance hall. They step outside and Cress is hit with the bitter chill of December. Snowflakes flutter to the ground in quick recession and nip at Cress's nose until it's red. Axel brings out the extra coat he always has for Mallory and she gives him a grateful smile as they trek through the snow to where they're supposed to meet Cedric and Hamlin.

"Don't you dare shove my sister aside like she's chopped liver, Mo! Peyton deserves all the admiration and mor — Vik, no!" Axel huffs in frustration as tiny Viktor flies off into the frigid sky on the back of his dragon. He takes off after him after sending Cress a glare like he thinks it's all her fault. (Granted, it might be, since she let him escape the second time.)

Mallory sniggers into her hand and Cress watches as the Short-Snout blows out flame after flame. She can hear Axel's indignant cries from where's he's trying to catch his tiny companion. Cedric and Hamlin walk out of the greenhouse and meet them whilst they're trailing behind Axel.

"You really need to put Vik on a leash," Hamlin says.

Cress rolls her eyes. "Believe me, I've tried. He's going through his juvenile phase. Nothing will stop him."

"Giving him the dragon might not have been too bright," Mallory supplies.

"You're telling me," Cress replies with a snort. "He's been a right delinquent with that thing. Stays up most of the night, setting things on fire. I always wake to my things being charred. It's maddening."

Cedric chuckles. "You're the one who thought he needed a companion."

"I said he needed a pet. Like, a tiny dog. Or a tiny cat. Not a bloody dragon."

"He would tear a dog and cat up," Hamlin says. "The dragon is perfect for him. You just have to learn to control them both."

Cress sighs. "I know."

The trek continues easily and Cress watches Axel drag tiny Viktor and the dragon in with an angry cry. Some Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs give him strange looks, but he's too busy glaring at the action figure to care. He starts making his way back to their group, dragon in one hand and tiny Viktor in the other, but his slick shoes slip in the snow and he goes back with a gasp. Cress clenches her teeth, expecting impact, but it never happens. Instead, Axel lands in thick arms of real Viktor.

She gapes.

She tries not to, really, but Viktor's all sturdy hands and determined arms and Axel's like putty in them. There's snow falling into his black hair that's starting to grow out again. He's got his yellow and black scarf pulled around his neck securely, cheeks flushed from either the bitter chill or the fact that he's in his new friend's (crush's) arms. Tiny Viktor remains secure in Axel's hand but Cress can almost bet that the action figure is giving actual Viktor a sardonic glare. Which is unsurprising since small Viktor tends to glare at anyone who gives Axel the time of day. It's pretty endearing except for now, the actual Viktor is there and he is looking at the action figure and Axel looks like he's about to run for the hills.

He glances up to where they are, as though asking for assistance in this horrid situation, and Cress just shrugs. She doesn't know what to tell him or how to help — which is shocking since she gets into embarrassing situations like this all the time. But in her defense, she's never reacted well in any of those moments, so he can't really expect much from her now.

Axel glares like he knows what Cress is thinking; Mallory shivers from beside her; and Cedric and Hamlin are besides themselves with laughter. At what, Cress has no clue but it must be pretty amusing since they're both red in the face and leaning on each other like they're legs are weak. She shakes her head with a sigh.

Axel raises a hand and motions them towards the direction of Hogsmeade. Cress furrows her brows, silently questioning him since he's supposed to be walking there with them. He shrugs, slaps tiny Viktor on the dragon with a grunt and lets the dragon loose in the air. The Swedish Short-Snout flies over to her and lands on her shoulder. When Cress looks at tiny Viktor, he looks dejected, dark brows furrowed down on his face while he pouts down at his dragon, stroking a hand down its scaly neck.

Mallory takes him and sets him in her pocket with a small, sympathetic grin. She waves at Axel and he tries to give them a smile in return, but his mouth doesn't seem to be working. Cress can understand; if she ran into Fred with a small action figure of him in her hand, she would be disheartened, too. She hopes the conversation goes okay.

They continue the journey to the Hogsmeade station and the dragon burrows itself into Cress's bag on the way there. Hamlin and Cedric are actively talking about the Yule Ball, Cedric questioning Hamlin about who he's taking. He's being oddly persistent and Cress can see Hamlin's eyes darting around the village like he's looking for an escape route. He fiddles with his scarf and Cedric stares at him intensely.

Cress says, "Cedric, Merlin's tits. He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. Quit pestering him."

"But he won't tell me," Cedric whines pathetically. Cress sighs, sneaks a glance at Mallory who is sniffling into a handkerchief.

"He doesn't need to tell you anything, you git," Cress snaps.

"I told him who I was going with," Cedric protest, glancing at Hamlin in outrage. Hamlin whistles lowly and fiddles with his shaved head.

Cress rolls her eyes. Mallory says, "In his defense, Cedric, you informed the whole school as to who you were going with the moment it happened. Perhaps Hamlin wants to keep it a secret for now."

Hamlin shoots Mallory a grateful look; Cress is glad that she said something before Cress had a chance to. Had Cress opened her mouth, she probably would have ended up spilling the beans on how Hamlin is possibly, maybe, in love with him and then Hamlin would have probably ran for the hills and she would have destroyed one of her very good but very peculiar friendships. (But Cedric might have actually opened his stupid, grey eyes and realized that he's actually in love with his best friend so it would have been worth it, in Cress's opinion.)

Cedric, intelligently, keeps his mouth shut and doesn't comment anymore on the subject. Although, Cress notes, he looks a little petulant and whilst Cress can empathize with him, she feels as though he's brought it on himself.

Hamlin remains oddly silent.

They reach the station in due time; it's crowded with the first, second and third years that have to go home for break. Cress frowns, watching them all get on the Hogwart's Express with longing on their faces. She can relate, can feel the tears coming on again even though she tries to push them back. They're ruthless and she's sobbing into Mallory's shoulder as she hugs her tightly in goodbye.

"You don't have to go," she says.

Mallory sniffles. "But I must. Mama and Mum are waiting for me."

"Bring them here," Cress tells her. "It's okay. They can get down at the dance and we can have a right laugh and they can take my bed and it'll be a wondrous Christmas and you won't have to leave and you can go to the ball with George—"

"George Weasley asked you to the dance!?" Hamlin asks, whistling lowly. "You go, Mals!"

Mallory giggles, a little abashedly, and Cress dies a little inside and grips her tighter. She doesn't want to let go but the train is going to leave soon and Cress isn't going to see her until after the new year after this. How sad is that. Cress doesn't know how she lived her life before Mallory came into it. (Really, what did she do? Cause chaos and destruction with Axel and secretly pine for Fred Weasley whilst scraping by her classes? Yes, no — that's exactly what happened.)

The horn sounds, signaling that there are only a few more minutes before departure and Cress pulls away to let Cedric and Hamlin embrace Mallory. She takes tiny Viktor, who she received from Mallory a moment ago, and sets him on her shoulder. He clings to strands of her hair to stay right and Cress lets him, figuring that he deserves this for being foisted off by Axel earlier. The dragon remains sleeping in her bag and Cress can see little puffs of smoke coming out of the hole in it every few breaths.

Axel shows up shortly before Mallory has to leave and he embraces her tightly, burying his head in her hair and resting his cheek atop her head. Mallory holds onto his torso and Cress can see her shoulders moving up and down. Cress sniffles.

Tiny Viktor smacks her in the face — a double-tap, like he was saying, get it together.

So rude.

"Be careful, okay," she hears him murmur. "Don't trust strangers. Go directly home. Keep your head down. Do not buy watches from street vendors. And don't listen to someone when they tell you they have candy. It's a hoax. Always a hoax."

Mallory laughs wetly. "My mums are picking me up, Axel. They'll be at the station waiting."

"Oh, great." Cress can physically see Axel sag in relief and she can't hold it anymore. She goes up and inserts herself into their hug, wrapping her arms around both of them and sobbing.

"I'm going to —- miss you. . . so much," Cress says, inhaling the soft lilac that Mallory always has a hint of on her. She pulls her closer. "I'd come with you if I could, if my life wasn't laid out on the line by Fred Weasley."

"Me too," Axel agrees, holding them tightly. His arms are wrapped around both of their necks and he kisses both of their foreheads. "Not with the Fred part, but I'd come with, too, Mal. It's going to be so lonely without you. Gonna miss your great advice and lovely snuggles."

Mallory says, "I'll miss you guys, also. I don't want to part, either, but it'll only be for a few weeks." But she's crying, too, and they're all crying and Cress wants the train to hit her on it's way out of here.

The horn blows once more, informing them that it is, in fact, about to depart and Mallory pulls away. Cress steps back, trying not to jostle tiny Viktor while she gives Mallory a sad grin. Cedric and Hamlin come to stand up beside them, Hamlin waving and Cedric tearing up because goodbyes are hard for him and he probably thinks of Mallory as his little sister and doesn't want her to leave. Cress feels the same way.

"Listen, you guys," Mallory says, stepping onto the stairs of the train, "don't let this ball be one you regret. Crescent," —she sends Cress a stern look and Cress stands up straighter under the glare— "ask Fred Weasley to the ball today or it'll be too late and you'll be forced to go with someone who doesn't make you as happy as him. And Axel," —Mallory gives him a look, too— "I know Viktor has already picked another partner to go with, but don't let that to discourage you. Go with someone who'll appreciate you and make you feel like the prince you are. Please. Now," she adds, taking a step further into the train, "I am leaving. I love you guys and I hope you have a happy Christmas."

The gleaming train starts rolling down the tracks as Mallory gives them a big smile before departing into the compartment where Gadby put all her things at. She leans out and waves goodbye at them. Cress puts a hand up and waves, using the other one to wipe her tears away. Axel and her shout, "I love you," simultaneously. Cedric gives her a side hug while saluting her goodbye. Hamlin stands by Axel and blows her a kiss goodbye. Even tiny Viktor is waving, minuscule hands frantic as he shakes them.

"I'm going to miss her," Hamlin says when the train disappears into the mountains, smoke the only proof of it now.

"She'll be back soon," Cedric says, tightening his hold on Cress and steering her toward the direction of the exit.

"I hope she doesn't mind I spent over one thousand pounds on her for presents," Axel voices as they walk into the bitter chill.

Cress shuffles closer to Cedric to keep herself warm and snorts. "Of course, she'll care. Mal said she didn't want anything materialistic."

"True, but she deserves it," Axel states.

And Cress can agree there. Mallory deserves all the presents in the world and more. She hopes that her present will suffice, even though she didn't have much money to get anything with. (But the new sweater and matching ring set that Cress got for all of them because she is nothing but a walking cliché should tickle Mallory's fancy.)

When they get back to the castle, Cedric follows Hamlin like a lost puppy to the Great Hall for dinner and Axel and her loiter in the entrance hall for a few moments. Tiny Viktor hides in her bag in favor of seeing Axel.

Cress says, "What'd pretty boy Viktor say about tiny Viktor?"

"Nothing much." Axel shrugs, casually unbothered in the way that meant he was actually freaking out inside. "Actually, he thought it was pretty brilliant that you charmed him to where he had a conscience. Almost fainted when he found out you charmed the dragon too. Wanted me to ask you if you could do his for him."

"Sure," Cress tells him, shrugging herself. "Not like it was all that hard. Just tell him to bring it to me whenever."

"Will do."

They stand there for a few more moments, students slinking by them and Cress doesn't ask about Viktor taking another partner to the dance since Axel already went into a big rant about it earlier in the week and then instructed them to never bring it up again or else they would face his unfaltering wrath. She thinks about what Mallory says instead, supposes that she should go and swallow her fears and ask Fred to the ball before it's too late. This time, she can't back down or getting bloody scared when he mentions idiotic phrases or does something that makes her heart beat faster. Cress is going to have to make it short and sweet and just get it over with so she can sleep easy.

She leaves Axel with the promise to catch up with him in the common room later and runs up the stairs into the direction she saw Fred go into as she walked into the school. He's with George and Lee this time, and they are taking the stairs three at a time and Cress is probably not going to catch them if they keep this up. She huffs and runs up the stairs one at a time (short legs suck) and rattles the dragon and tiny Viktor in her bag. Cress pays them no mind, though, and reaches the seventh-floor corridor where the Gryffindor Tower's at just in time for the Fat Lady's portrait to swing open.

"Fred!" she calls, out of breath, but relieved nonetheless. He pauses in the doorway, mid-laugh, and turns around to give Cress a beaming, albeit confused grin.

George and Lee push him on the shoulder with a chuckle and then continue on into the common room after sending Cress identical winks. She doesn't want to know what those are about. She sets her hands on her knees and takes deep breaths. Fred walks over to her and pats her back soothingly.

"There, there," he says. "Deep breaths, Little Diggory."

"Are you. . . patronizing me?" Cress asks faintly, breathing deeply through her nose. "Because. . . I will end you. . . if you are."

Fred smirks down at her. "No, no. Why would I ever patronize you, Crescent?"

"Because you're a prat?" Cress says, finally standing up, breathing back to normal. She fixes her stray hairs and adjusts her tie back to the way it was. Her sweater vest, she feels, is beyond help with the way it stretched out earlier from Mallory's grip during the hug. Not that she cares.

"I'm getting an odd feeling of déjà vu, chap," Fred pipes up. He tilts his head with a beaming grin. "Have we had this conversation before? I feel like we have."

"Sod off," Cress grumbles, shoving at his shoulder. She frowns when he laughs at the fact she doesn't even move him an inch and pulls at her sleeves. "You're a right git, you know that right?"

"'Course, I do," Fred cheerfully says. "It keeps me awake at night."

"Oh, goodness." Cress resist the urge to throw herself off the top of this castle. Fred never makes things easy for her, does he? No, he can't just simply let her come up her and stop him when he's trying to go to his common room and ask him a simple question that could potentially change her life forever. Fred has to bring out all the tricks with his luscious locks and gorgeous smirk and smoldering eyes and Cress is forced to find a distraction so that she doesn't fall into a puddle of her feelings on the ground.

Fred says, "So, what did have you running up her like you might be being chased? Are you being chased, Little Diggory?" He glances behind her, down the spiraling stairs like an arsehole. "You would tell me if you were in danger, wouldn't you?"

Cress feels like he's just doing this for the effect. Like, he wants her to realize that yes, they had this similar conversation before. Almost the exact same one, honestly. She's not at all enthused by this. Glaring, she huffs at him and fiddles with her fingers before taking a deep breath. She's going to do this. Cress is going to swallow her nerves and fucking ask Fred to the fucking ball even if it kills her.

She opens her mouth, takes another deep breath and very hurriedly says, "Fred Weasley, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Okay, so as far as asking someone to a ball, Cress thinks she did pretty well. She gives herself at least an Acceptable for it. There was no stammering or stilts in the question although, she did get a little hasty during it — but not hasty enough to where he didn't understand it. Now, all that's left is his response. Cress looks up from her shoes and stares at Fred and she expects a smile, all teeth and crinkly eyes, with a yes waiting on his lips but all she gets is a frown.

Cress tries not to let her heart shatter too much (but she wishes she were in danger now, if only to have an excuse to run away).

"Crescent," he starts quietly, brown eyes apologetic and Cress should have known. She should have realized that he wouldn't have gone to the ball with her, even if she asked. It was all in her head and Ginny was wrong because there aren't stars in his eyes when he looks at her, only a blackhole that chills Cress more than the coldness outside. "I can't go the ball with you."

"Yeah, no, I kind of figured that when you looked at me like I murdered your goldfish," Cress responds with a hollow laugh. She steps back when he takes a step forward. "But, it's okay. I get it. You asked Angelina. The girl you fancy. Which is expected since you bloody like her and that's fine because she's Angelina and she's a brilliant woman and anyone would be lucky to have her and and I'm sure you guys are going to look lovely together and I'll just—"

"I asked her because I thought you had already accepted someone else's offer," Fred says before Cress can actually make a move to go.

She halts, staring at him in complete and utter astonishment, wondering if she heard him correctly. She thinks she didn't, but he's giving her a gentle smile, stepping forward confidently. He chuckles. "Yes, you heard me correct." Cress blushes. His laugh rings like a star's cry. "I was originally going to ask you yesterday — had a foolproof plan and all — but when I went hunting for you, I heard you say you would love to go with someone else and my genius plan was ruined! I even got flowers!"

"Wait," Cress eyes widen, heart pounding in her chest, "so the sunflowers were for—"

"You? Yes, they remind me of you — they're wild and their petals are illuminating. I asked Georgie what they meant and he said it was something about adoration, so I couldn't not get them for you if I'm going to ask you to the ball, Crescent." Fred grins at her, lopsided and a little boyish. Cress thinks her soul left her body. "But I had thought I was too late so they were kind of moot and now they're laying waste in my room. Anyway, later in the night, I was talking to Harry and Ron and they put me on the spot and I don't do well under pressure, so I told them I was taking Angelina and then I asked Angelina right there and it wasn't sparkly or anything and there was no plan and we're only going as friends since I don't really fancy her anymore and I wanted to go with you because you would look smashing and everyone would be a fool not to see it and we would have such a great time. Damn, sucks I didn't stick around for that conversation now, heh. . ."

He trails off, scratching at his neck; there's a faint blush on his cheek. Cress is going to swoon over it like a Victorian maiden if he doesn't stop. Her mouth is probably parted in what could be shock or adoration, but she can't even bring herself to care because Fred said he wants to go to the Yule Ball with her. Granted, he isn't actually going with her, but he wants to and that's what really counts. (And he said she was going to look smashing but Cress can't get into that right now without the fear of falling apart.)

(Don't forget about the fucking flowers that he got her because they reminded him of her. How fucking cute. She takes back what she said. Cress loves sunflowers. She loves 'em. They're the most breathtaking and beautiful bunch of flowers she ever seen. She's going to get buried with them. Swears on it.)

"I — er. . ." Cress wracks her brain for something, anything, to say, but it looks like he fried it. Which is not surprising since Fred short-circuits every inch of her body when he's around. She scratches her head, says, "You're very lovely, Fred."

Her eyes widen in realization at what she said no two seconds later and she stares at Fred, who is grinning into his hand, face crimson. She can almost bet hers is the same color. She wishes her mouth and brain could work together and filter what comes out when she speaks. She's really about to run to the top of the castle and throw herself off into the deep snow — or maybe the Black Lake, she's not picky — and hope that the glacial temperature of it freezes her but then Fred is beaming at her and he laughs and she doesn't think she's ever heard anything so angelic in her life.

"Thank you, Crescent," he says, grinning down at her like she was something he couldn't stop staring at. His voice is rich, warm and raspy when he continues. "I also find you entirely enchanting."

Cress can feel her heart in her throat and she wants to reach up and hug him, kiss him, something because he is just standing there with his chocolate-colored eyes and fiery hair and Cress has never wanted something so much in her life. His smile's doing things to her stomach and she wants to see that breathtaking picture for the rest of her life.

"Thanks," she whispers, face on actual fire. She has to pull at her collar when it starts to feel like it might be choking her out.

Fred takes a step closer, the scent of cinnamon and burnt parchment burning through her like she was the flimsy paper itself. "I'm sorry I can't go to the ball with you," he says, eyes softening into that apologetic guilt like before.

"S'okay," Cress replies, shrugging and trying to ignore the respectful distance he's keeping while also toeing the line of being too close. "At least I know why you can't. Would have been worse if you would have just flat out rejected me. I would have never recovered from the mortification."

Fred laughs again, breath fanning on her face, and it's music to her ears. She smiles at him and he grins back and her heart doesn't feel like it's shattered anymore. She feels like she's floating on a cloud and Fred's there, too, and they're in their own little world and it's brilliant.

The spell is broken, however, when Harry comes running out of the Gryffindor common room, emerald eyes frantic and night-colored hair mussed up like he's been running his fingers through it. When he sees Cress and Fred, he visibly perks up and scoots over there like it's a life or death situation. Cress stares at him, perplexed. Fred looks none the better. From her peripheral vison, she can see tiny Viktor poking his head out of her bag, along with his dragon companion.

"Crescent Diggory, right?" Harry says to her upon arrival.

Cress raises a brow. "Yes?"

"You work with Hermione doing the blasted spew stuff, right? Been coming to all the meeting and whatnot because you joined some time ago, right?"

"Er — yes?"

"Great. Nice. She talks about you a lot. Do you want to go to the ball with me?"

It's a strange day, Cress notes, as she stares at Harry, confused and a little blindsided. She had expected to come out of this day with Fred Weasley as her date to the Yule Ball, not for him to reject her (with good reason) only for Harry Potter to come running at her like she was a damsel in distress and him her knight in armor. She wonders if the professors put something in the pumpkin juice.

"I, uh, why?" she asks curiously.

"Because I don't have a date and you don't have a date. Ginny told me," he tells her when she gives him a questioning glare. "Actually, she was the one who told me to ask you. Ron was actually going to come, but Ginny wouldn't let him. . . something about honoring the 'bro code,' I dunno. But I need a date and so do you and we should go together since your egghead brother asked the person I wanted to go with."

Ah, there it is. The devious little reason as to why Harry wants to go to the ball with her. Cedric asked Chang and Harry asks Cress. It's only right. This way, Cedric will be shocked that Harry asked his little sister to the ball and Harry will at least get some satisfaction from it — or so Cress assumes. Honestly, Cress commends him for the amount of pettiness he's portraying. Makes it easier for her to accept.

Which she does. She says, "Sure," because it gives her someone to go with and it'll only be as friends. Cress steals a hesitant glance at Fred, but his face is unreadable. She hopes that doesn't mean anything bad.

"Great," Harry says. "Meet me in the entrance hall before the ball begins. We have to dance."

With that, he's gone, disappearing back into the Gryffindor Tower as quickly as he came. Cress gapes at the spot he once resided, but she's not too worried since her mum made her take dancing lessons when she was younger. She sighs out and decides not to worry about it until the ball and turns back to Fred. He's smiling at her again.

"Is that, er, okay? That I'm going with Harry?" Cress doesn't know why she asks, but she figures she better clear the air just in case.

"Of course," he says softly. "After all, I asked someone else, too. I would be a hypocrite if I got mad. Glad it's Harry, though. Would have had to smite Ron if he even thought about it. . ."

Cress tries not to blush, but it's kind of hard when Fred is standing there, being a little possessive (is that what she can call it? She has no clue) and she's still not over the fact that he called her enchanting. Cress is going to need years to recover from this. About ten, if she's truthful.

(Her mum is going to be so proud, though.)

Fred doesn't make her pounding heart or jumping stomach any better when he leans in close to her. Cress thinks he might be doing this on purpose, really. Probably loves seeing her all flustered and riled up. Gets a kick out of it, the arse. She tries to calm herself, but he's leaning and smirking and they're so close and it's great but she might convulse.

"Do make sure you save me a dance, Crescent," he says lowly, loud enough for her only.

Cress bites her lip, tries to make sense of the world itself, but it seems as though everything she's ever known is wrong and nothing is the same and Fred's smell is intoxicating her and his words are killing her and she needs to sit down. Or Fred needs to calm down with the phrases that make her want to bash her head into a brick wall.

"Hmmm, that depends. Can you keep up, Freddie?" She raises a brow to try and ignore the racing of her heart.

Fred only laughs, a new one—low and dangerous like gravel scraping in the sun. His eyes are dark when he says, "For you? I'd make sure to."

When he leans back and takes her hand, Cress isn't expecting him to plant a sodding kiss on it, but that's exactly what he does. He lifts it and then his lips are gentle when he places them on her hand, soft like a pillow. Her whole body's sweltering like she dunked in a lava bath, her heart about to burst from her chest. Fred keeps her fingers tucked loosely in his when he pulls away, like the thought of letting go never occurred to him.

"Until the night of the Yule, my fair princess," he says softly, looking at her with a teasing smirk.

"I shall await our assembly, my valiant knight."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Cress spends the first three days of her break wrapping presents. She locks herself up in her dormitory, away from any distractions (i.e., Axel, Hamlin, Cedric, George, Fred, Lee), sits down at the edge of her bed and tried to perfectly wrap each and every present that she got her family and friends.

Amos gets a pair of socks wrapped in hippogriff paper; her mum gets a nice new robe in a deep violet color for work tightly secured in a bow-themed paper; Cedric gets a pocket watch that he's been wanting since he's been ten or so wrapped in Batman paper; Hamlin gets a crisp new black trench coat that would look lovely on him (wrapped in Sonic paper for reasons); Mallory gets a new sweater and ring with an alexandrite gemstone forced in there wrapped in paper that showed moving dragons on them; Axel gets a new journal (shopping for him is hard but he mentioned the journal long ago so Cress is counting it as a win) and a matching ring (like Cress's and Mallory's) with a tanzanite birthstone in it wrapped in paper that tiny Viktor picked out (flying Snitches).

She even buys her new companions gifts since they deserve it and Cress loves gift hunting. Ginny gets two Muggle books (To Kill a Mockingbird and Wuthering Heights because they're the best) and a charm necklace; George gets a nice book filled with some of the spells that Cress thinks might help him and Fred with their new products and a sweater that her mum knitted for him (it's dark blue and a little large with stars dotted all over it but she thinks he'll like it anyway); Lee is getting a nice little pouch that is charmed to cake him in murky puddle water when he opens it. Cress got it because she is still a little bitter about the whole incident and Lee bloody deserves it, the git. (However, she also buys him some new ink and a book on Quidditch that she thinks he may enjoy.)

Getting Fred a gift, however, was the real trouble. Throughout the past months, Cress has wracked her brain for idea after idea, but she's come up short-handed each time. She got her mum to knit him a nice, maroon sweater that would go magnificently with his beautiful eyes, but the generosity stopped there because her mind went dead and she couldn't scrounge up any other ideas.

She thought about getting him chocolate, then decided against that because it was too juvenile, seemed too much like she wanted him to be her Valentine more than anything. Then, the idea of jewelry came to mind and, whilst Cress believes it to be a cop-out gift, that's exactly what she got him. It isn't anything fancy since Cress had a budget — just a nice leather bracelet the color of mahogany wood that she hoped he'd like.

(And she added in some nice hot cocoa kits because she couldn't stop herself.)

(It's all wrapped in sunflower paper.)

She finishes on the third night with tiny Viktor — who is getting his own customized broomstick for Christmas — and he gives her a small thumb up. Cress beams.

"Wasn't too bad, was it?" she says to him.

He shakes his head and crawls up onto her leg, plopping down. Uma, Viktor's dragon that her and Axel named earlier on in the week — because she was making these weird noises that sounded a lot like, "UUU—MAA!" and it just seemed like fate — is perched on Cress's pillow, soft snores coming out of her snout with billows of smoke. Cress pats her head and then uses her wand to levitate Fred's present under her bed.

A yawn escapes her mouth. Dinner's probably going on right now, but she's too tired to even try and move off her bed. Her plush pillows and cozy quilts are calling her name right now. Cress snuggles into her bed, both tiny Viktor and Uma curled up beside her head, and goes to sleep.

Santana, the snake, shakes her awake the next day.

"Up, you oaf," she snarls at her — as if Cress being in bed is some major crime. Like she used an Unforgivable Curse and Santana's the Auror taking her in for the death penalty.

Cress blearily blinks her eyes and groans into her pillow as Santana stands above her like a dictator. Outside, Cress notices, it's snowing and much too cloudy for her to want to do anything but sleep, but Santana's relentless, the sick bird probably about to kick her out of the room so her and Imogen can have some "alone time." Eck.

"I'm up, you piece of shit," Cress mumbles, sitting up and throwing her feet down on the ground. She hisses at the chill but nonetheless stands, going to her trunk to get a pair of knitted socks because there is no way she's getting a cold from these freezing floors. Cedric's sweater (that she stole) hangs off her frame as she yawns.

"What time is it?" she asks Imogen because Santana's still glaring at her as though she'll smite her if she doesn't leave in two seconds.

Imogen smiles, and Cress wonders how her and Santana even got together. "It's ten past ten. You missed breakfast. But your mate Axel said he was going to take you to the kitchens when you woke up."

"Ergh — it's so early, though. You couldn't wait until after noon to get freaky?"

Santana glares at Cress. Imogen mildly blushes, ginger hair curtaining her face. "Sod off, prat. What me and my bloody girlfriend get into is none of your concern."

"I didn't say it was," Cress responds. She puts on a pair of knit-leggings and shoves some snug boots over her socks, tucking her wand into it before she picks up the sleeping dragon and tiny Viktor. "All I'm saying is that you could have waited one more hour and the room would have been yours." Cress walks over to the door. "Don't do anything on my bed, Santana, or I'll kill you."

"Bite me, Crescent!"

Cress smirks and walks down to the common room. Tiny Viktor, who is well awake now, straddles Uma and they both take off, soaring through the warm room like a mini plane through the sky. Axel is sitting on the sofa, enraptured in a novel. Cress plops down beside him with a sigh.

"Done being a hermit?" he asks her.

"I wasn't being a hermit," Cress denies, rolling her eyes. Axel sends her a look over the top of his book. "I wasn't! I was wrapping presents for you fiends."

"You know we're magical, right? Wizards and witches," says Axel with a tone that suggests he believes Cress has lost her marbles. Cress suspects he might be hitting the dot on that one.

She scoffs, anyway. "While that might be true, Christmas is a time for slowing everything down and just enjoying the holiday. I wouldn't have felt as good about my gift-wrapping had I enchanted the paper. It would have felt like cheating. I'm sorry I'm no cheater, Ax."

"You're actually weird, is what you are," Axel responds with a snort. He closes his book and stands. In one quick movement, before Cress can even blink, he's got Uma and tiny Viktor in his hand. Viktor looks mildly displeased, but Uma flies onto his shoulder and perches there, falling asleep in an instant. "Come on," he says to Cress, "we're going to get food. You missed the last three meals."

"To be fair," Cress says, getting up and following him out of the door, "I was going to come that one night, but Snape got to me first and demanded I finish my last night of detention that should have been done weeks ago but wasn't because he's a prat who likes to prolong the suffering of children."

Axel hums. "Valid argument. Snape is an arsehole, but still. You should have missed one dinner, not three."

"I still ate!" Cress protests, which is true. She ate some fruits and candies that her mother sent her in a care package at the beginning of the school year. (Granted, the Chocolate Frogs tasted kind of stale and Acid Pops actually tasted like acid, so maybe it wasn't the best decision.)

Axel gives her a withering kind of look. Cress doesn't try to argue with him anymore, lets him chew her out about the importance of eating before they reach the kitchens where Gadby greets them merrily.

"Miss Cress! Mister Axel! How joyous it is to see Gadby's two companions!" he exclaims, hopping over to where Axel and Cress are. Other house elves shoot him dirty looks because he's leaping hysterically and his hat, that's longer than his whole body, it seems, is flopping everywhere. Cress sniggers at him.

"Nice hat, Gads," she comments with a smile, accepting his hug graciously.

Gadby beams. "Gadby thanks you, Miss Cress! Gadby is very proud of his hat! Gadby made it himself!"

"It's beautiful," Axel says. Cress nods her agreement enthusiastically. Gadby hangs onto her back as she walks to a table filled with little sandwiches and snacks. She takes a ham and cheese one and chews it hungrily.

Gadby hops of Cress's back and onto the table, ignoring the indignant cries of the other elves as he does so. He gives Axel and Cress a wide-eyed grin, excitement swirling in his topaz eyes. "Gaby is very excited for the ball of Yule!"

"Are you?" Cress asks, raising a brow at the elf. She smiles at his dopey, wide eyes — lit with a wonder she'd never seen on anyone but Gadby. "I am, too."

"Did Miss Cress ask Mister Freddie like she wanted to?"

Axel snorts. Cress gives him a glare because her being too late to ask Fred Weasley to the dance is not a joke, dammit. It's a miserable thing and she deserves support, not this mockery that he's giving her now. She gnaws on another sandwich to refrain from pouncing on him and tells Gadby, "Sadly, no."

Gadby gasps and looks like he might cry. His topaz eyes are watering now and Cress forgot that he gets super emotional when things don't work out or if something goes awry.

"But I have a date," she hurriedly adds. "It's alright, I'm actually going with Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter?!" Now, Gadby looks like he may faint. Cress honestly doesn't know where she went wrong. "Miss Cress is going to the ball with the Harry Potter?"

"Er, well, yeah." Cress fiddles with the crust of one of her sandwiches. "Honestly, it's not a big deal." Because it's not. He's just Harry. She's just Cress. And they both happened to be too late to ask the ones they wanted to take and it just — worked out this way.

Axel rolls his eyes. Cress thinks he's still bitter about Viktor Krum (the real one) asking someone else to the ball. Which, okay, she gets it because Fred Weasley asked someone else, but Axel said he was going with someone else and, although he wouldn't tell her ("It's a bloody secret, Mo! Step off!"), he claims that he's over the whole debacle with Viktor and is happy with who his partner is. Cress hopes that's the case because she doesn't need him being a petty soul on Christmas Day all because of a stupid Quidditch player.

"Gadby still thinks Mister Freddie would have been a better choice," Gadby mutters, adjusting his giant hat that tiny Viktor and Uma ran into whilst they were flying.

(Cress should really do something about them. They've been getting out of hand ever since Uma got her name. For some reason, bestowing a name upon the dragon has resulted in tiny Viktor becoming more enthusiastic about wreaking havoc on the world as they know it. Cress is getting grey from all the stress.)

"I agree, Gadby. Fred is the ideal choice for our dearest Mo," Axel says.

Gadby nods, wringing his sleeves in his brittle hands. Cress nibbles on some scones and takes a sip of her mint tea, relishing in the warmth it sends down her throat. Part of her wishes they would just move off the subject of the Yule Ball altogether because, prior to popular belief, Cress is not ready for the dance. Every time someone so much as mentions it, her heart does this nervous little flutter and she feels like running into the first broom closet she sees and hiding out for the rest of her life. Axel told her it was because she was going with Harry, therefore she would be in the spotlight for one night. Cress thinks that he's not too far off, even if he should shove it.

It's not the fact that she doesn't want to go with Harry — she does — it's just that being with Harry's like finding the biggest, brightest light you could get your hands on and shining it on yourself. Going with Harry is going to put a bounty on her head and she's probably going to end up with more people trying to converse with her because of it. Merlin knows Rita Skeeter is probably going to try and get her grimy paws on some juicy gossip, but Cress will be damned if she lets that woman pry any information out of her that could potentially ruin her life.

She finishes her lunch (brunch?) in silence and Axel and Gadby say nothing more about the Yule Ball, for which she is grateful. When they're done, they leave Gadby to get back to work and Cress gives him three Sickles (her last ones) for the trouble he went to in getting her some food. He smiles and hugs them both goodbye and Cress trails behind Axel as he takes them outside.

It's a tradition that they have, building snowmen. Axel comes over to her house some days before Christmas and they spend their afternoon outside, rolling up giant balls of chilling snow and stacking them atop of each other until they formed a very dysfunctional but still sturdy man of snow. After that, they would go inside and her mum would give them hot chocolate and treats and Cress would curl up in the armchair with Axel because Cedric and Hamlin always commandeer the couch, leaving room for no one else.

Now, however, they aren't at Cress's house and there is no Blythe but there is snow and Cress feels her heart warm at the smile Axel sends her when he gets to a particularly thick patch of snow. The bitterness of winter nips at her nose achingly, but Cress does not mind the coldness of her nose or the fact that the snow is already dampening her boots. She sniffles and uses the Impervius Charm on them to decrease further damage. Axel wads up some snow in the ground and says, "Maybe you should conjure up some gloves, Mo. I don't want to be at fault if you catch the plague."

Cress huffs, but conjures up some knitted gloves that her mum sent her days ago. She slips them on her hands and pulls her hair into a low knot on the back of her head, puffing out her breath just to see it visible in the air. She smiles, takes a step towards Axel, who is now rolling a growing white ball her way, and helps him. It's the most fun she's had all year, and Cress is reminded of past years, filled with snowball fights and days curled up by the fire, just him, Peyton, and herself and she wishes both her and Mallory were here, helping them name their snowman, whom they decided to call Bluebell for various reasons.

But Axel's here, they're laughing and Cress is cold, but that's okay because there's snow in Axel's hair and Bluebell has a stick for a nose and it's fun and she feels like she's younger again and it's enough to make her love winter more and more.

(And if Cress snuggles up to Axel on the armchair more than usual in the common room later that night while they're eating cookies and scones and sipping on cocoa and tea, it's because she's cold and nothing else. It has nothing to do with the fact that she has missed her best friend and likes to reminisce about old times spent together. Absolutely nothing.)

(Axel smirks at her anyway.)

⋆˚࿔

Christmas Day starts out unusual. Axel is sleeping in her dormitory with her, splayed out across Mallory's bed because them sharing a bed was not an option considering that every time it happens, one of them ends up on the floor before morning comes. Cress is none too sure how he tricked the barriers and wards that kept him from entering said dormitory but he sauntered up here with her at eleven on Christmas Eve, yawning and complaining about how his dormmates stayed up talking about irrelevant things and how all he wanted was a good night's rest, don't take this away from me, Mo.

Who was Cress to push him away from an alluring slumber? At first, she was worried that Imogen and Santana would be worried (Mildred usually stays in the Slytherin dormitory with her twin on weekends or holidays) but the two of them were sleeping soundly on Imogen's bed, so Cress sent Axel to Mallory's bed and snuggled into her own, herself.

She's awake now, and the snow's still falling outside, coming down in soft flakes outside the small window in the dorm. It's chilly in the room and she's shivers when she pushes her quilts off, but there are presents at the end of her bed and she thinks, Christmas, before she bounds over to Mallory's bed and wakes Axel up with an excited squeal.

"Happy Christmas, Ax!" she exclaims, ignoring the groan that slips past Santana's lips in favor of tapping Axel on the shoulder. "Ax, wake up! It's Christmas and there's presents! Presents!"

"Oi, Diggory! Can it!"

"Don't be a Grinch, Branson! It's not a good look on you," Cress snaps cheerfully, all while pestering the now waking Axel. Tiny Viktor, who slept on Mallory's pillow, glares at her in dreary anger. Cress is not swayed.

Axel murmurs, "What time's it?"

"It's got to be at least eight," Cress supplies. Axel groans. "Oh, come on! It's Christmas, Axel! Don't be a Santana!"

"Crescent, I swear. . ."

"Yeah, yeah," Cress says indifferently, waving her off. "You'll off me and use my remains as interior decorations, yada yada. I hear this every year, Branson."

"And one of these days," Santana looks at her with a glare, throwing the covers off her but securing Imogen in tighter as she stands from the bed, "I'm going to actually end you. Swear on it."

Cress rolls her eyes, unbothered by Santana's statement. "I await the day you actually try to murder me, Santana. Really, the anticipation is killing me."

"Good," she grumbles, then slams the bathroom door on her way in.

Imogen sleeps on.

When Axel finally picks himself up out of Mallory's bed, his hair is unruly and there's a frown on his lips as he yawns and scratches at his belly. His nightshirt rides up and he does nothing to manage it. Cress watches him collect himself while trying to contain her excitement about the presents sitting at the end of her bed. Tiny Viktor and Uma wait on her bed with her. After a few minutes, Axel brings out his wand and summons all his presents from his room, sitting on the bed with her. Cress uses her wand to open the door for them so they don't smash into the wood.

"Ergh." Axel purses his lips together in discomfort when the plethora of gifts for him plot themselves at his feet. "So many."

"Oh, hush," Cress says. "Be grateful."

"I'm grateful for what you, Peyton and Mal got me, but my blasted witch of a mother sent me something," he tells her with a pinched expression.

Cress winces. "Ouch, mate. I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Not much I can do about it. I refuse to open it on the moral grounds of, 'I hate that smarmy ogre.'"

"Don't, then. 'S'probably why she sent it in the first place. Mind games and all that." Cress taps the side of her head.

Axel snorts, wiggling the package in his hand. "Oh, you are so right. Maybe we can burn it later, too."

"No, you pyromanic," Cress snaps with a short laugh, plucking the small package out of his hand and under her pillow. He says nothing but his shoulders sag in what must be relief so Cress can only hope that she did the right thing.

They start opening their gifts, one by one, and Cress receives a new necklace from Cedric; a new book titled, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens from Hamlin; some parchment (Cress is running low again due to her paper airplane predicament) and treats from Mallory, along with a Walkman like the one Axel has and Cress almost sheds tears looking at the crisp beauty of it; Axel went off on a limb and got her every article of clothing that he thought she would possibly need in the years to come and a new ring with a ruby gem encrusted in it; her mum and Amos sent her some knitted sweaters (thanks to her mum) that Cress can't wait to wear and some school supplies and sixty Galleons.

George and Lee seemed to have charmed her up an indestructible hoodie, if their cryptic note is anything to go by. It's dark blue and has drawstrings and Cress is very much in love with it, so she'll have to send them her thanks. Ginny got her some new books on goblin theories (Cress has been really into them lately) and a new pair of shoes that Cress has been dying to have.

The last package Cress opens is badly wrapped like a child did it. She smiles because she knows who it's from, doesn't even have to guess. It takes all her strength not to tear into it like a savaged animal but she somehow refrains from it. When she manages to get the wrappings off, there is a Hufflepuff-yellow sweater inside with a black 'C' on it. Along with it is a note. Cress pulls it out and reads:

Dearest Crescent,

Hello, Cresc

Crescent,

I'm running low on parchment right now, hence the reason my horrible life choices, really what am I doing mistakes are crossed out and I have yet to start on a new piece. Don't hold it against me, okay? I am only human. My heart can only take so much.

But, I guess we should start this, huh?

I'm writing you this letter because Mum told me to (well, she told me and Georgie to, but George charmed you up a hoodie (SPOLIER ALERT!!) for his apology) I wanted to tell you how deeply, truly, magnificently (all the descriptives, Crescent, all of them) sorry I am for poisoning — gifting you a substance that could have undoubtedly led you to your demise. Mum made you this sweater because she felt ill about it for weeks and couldn't handle the fact that her creation almost killed an innocent girl. (I use the term "innocent" lightly, Little Diggory. We all know you're a right menace if you so choose to be.)

She asked me what kind of sweater you would like and I couldn't very well go up to you and be like, "Oi, by the way, my mum wants to knit her guilt into a sweater because she almost killed you. What color do you fancy the most?" It's rude and unethical and you would have probably hexed me into a new year should I have done so. I took the easy route, instead, and said yellow with a black C. because even though we both know how great you would look in blue, yellow would make you shine the brightest and what kind of man would I be if I passed up an opportunity like that?

(An idiotic one, I'll tell you that.)

I feel like I've missed the point of this whole letter thing. Well, not really a letter since I'm not sending it to you — it's more of a note kind of thing.

Anyway, the point was to apologize for almost killing you and to tell you Happy Christmas even though that's months away. I'm writing this note to you in the library while you're across from me because the mood just fit, and I was feeling oddly poetic , but you aren't going to receive it until Christmas morning when you're all tired and cranky and probably not in the mood to be reading my behemoth of a note. Which is totally fine, considering I've been blasting on about nonsense for the past few paragraphs.

So, to conclude this letter in a way that won't bring shame to Ginny's poor name...

— Happy Christmas, Crescent.

When she finishes, her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Cress rereads it for good measure, and then stares at the sweater laying on her lap, her stomach swooping as something warm worms its way into her heart. Not for the first time, Cress wonders how someone as phenomenal as Fred Weasley exists. She thinks it shouldn't be possible, for someone to make her feel like she's on top of the world with just one letter.

No one should be able to make her feel like she's free falling and she knows it but doesn't care even though the impact of hitting the ground is going to kill her but that's okay, because that weightless, glorious feeling of euphoria that hits her as she plummets down, her stomach turning and flipping like a pancake in a pan, is worth it.

The fabric is soft in her hand, like touching the petal of a delicate flower. Cress takes it and clings to it tightly, securely — not wanting to let it go in fear that it will somehow get ruined. Axel sends her a knowing look from besides her just as something clings to the ground. It fell out of the sweater, and it's silver, laying on the ground, gleaming up at her. Cress reaches down and grips it and her heart leaps in her throat when she sees what it is.

A charm necklace with a little crescent moon surrounding a dark sapphire pendant in the middle of it. It sits in her hand, a cool weight even though her face is on fire. Cress stares, astounded at the marvel that Fred is. Her heart might be in her throat, she might cry and Santana might throw a shoebox at her head, but that's okay because Cress is infatuated and it's Christmas — the best one she's had in a while.

⋆˚࿔

"Oh, god, no," Hamlin says when Cress walks into the common room a few minutes later. He's lying on the couch with Cedric, all curled up in the sweater that Cress knows was meant to be Cedric's but is Hamlin's anyway. He's staring at her sweater in distaste. "Take it off, Cress."

"Fuck you, I'm wearing this forever." She wiggles in the yellow just for measure and the displeased expression on Hamlin's face brings her an immense amount of joy.

"You look like a fucking bee," he retorts.

Cress rolls her eyes. "Mrs. Weasley knitted this for me and I'll be damned if I let you bring me down just because you want one, Hamlin. Back off, you prat!"

"I don't want one," Hamlin mutters in what Cress believes to be a petulant voice.

Cedric says, "You do, mate."

"Fuck you, Cedric."

Cress laughs as the four of them leave for breakfast. Tiny Viktor and Uma are flying around as they do so, Uma by herself and tiny Viktor on his new broomstick. He had loved it when Cress pulled out a red package for him earlier, his eyes lighting up when he saw it was a broomstick. He had actually smiled at Cress, so she thinks she did pretty good with his present this year. (She thinks she should have since it took her months to carve that thing and then enchant it to where it would fly like a regular broomstick.)

She resolutely does not think about the fact that, when they get back, the common room is probably going to be a mess. Cedric snarks at her anyway. Cress eats porridge with a lot of sugar and pointedly ignores Lee's cries of protest about her gift as she passes the Gryffindor table on the way out of the hall. However, Fred catches her eye and he sends her a small smile, private and for her only. Cress almost trips over herself trying to muster one back.

The rest of Christmas Day passes by easily, Cress and Axel loitering on the couch (in a common room that is surprisingly not messed up), trying to wrestle tiny Viktor into a small suit that she made for him long ago. He doesn't seem to like it much, but Cress levels him with a look and tells him that he needs to be cooperative because she made him a fucking broom — from scratch — and he should be grateful and therefore more lax in putting the suit on. He glares at her, but relents nonetheless, so Cress takes her victory.

(And, if she weeps a little at the fact that tiny Viktor is in a suit, then that's no one's business but her own.)

(And Axel's.)

When it hits five thirty, Cress departs to her dormitory, stomach rolling as she heads over to her trunk to pull out her dress. She bites her lips, her mum's encouraging words of wisdom echoing in her ear to ease the self-doubt she feels about wearing it. She closes her eyes and calms the aching storm in her brain, thinks of everything good that is going to happen tonight rather than focusing on the bad. Her heart slows down and she goes to take a shower.

Once that's out of the way, Cress comes back into the dormitory, robe wrapped tightly around her and hair in a towel. Santana, Imogen, and Mildred are all in the room, getting ready and chatting. Cress asks Mildred, "Would you mind helping me with my hair?"

Mildred nods, small smile playing on her lips. Cress feels her chest swell in relief and is glad the process runs smoothly. She dries her hair, slaps makeup (a big step for her) on her face — mascara, foundation, blush, and even some tinted lip color because Cress is going all out tonight — and Mildred curls her hair with some kind of wand thing that is supposed to plug into one of those socket things, but doesn't since they don't have one so she's forced to heat it with her wand. Then, once she's done with that, she pins it up behind Cress's head, in a knot form, letting some curls hang loose and tightening others into the contraption. Cress doesn't think she's used as many bobby pins in a lifetime as she has in one night.

"Thanks," Cress says lowly when Mildred's done.

Mildred nods again, but doesn't let Cress move from her spot at the vanity. The girl reaches past her, hand clinging to a bottle of something. Cress has no clue what it is until Mildred sprinkles it in her hair. It's blasted glitter. Glitter. And it's silver and sparkly and shines up Cress's up-do as though she were sprinkled with stardust, so she shoves down every remark she was going to make in favor of smiling at the dark-skinned girl.

Once again, Mildred nods, and then she goes over to her bed and slips into her peach-toned dress, her hair and makeup already done. Santana and Imogen are already gone, Santana claiming that she has better things to do than watch Cress freak out over a blasted ball. Cress thinks she was being ridiculous, but she still complimented Santana's long, silky dress of emerald and Imogen's lacey red one.

Her own navy-blue dress sits on her bed. It's simple, plain, just how Cress would have wanted it had she of shopped for it herself. With shaky hands, she disrobes and then slips into the long dress. It billows around her feet, encircling them, the dark fabric waving like murky waters at night.

The dress has a V-neck, small, but just enough to compliment her curves (the few she has) and the sleeves hang off her shoulder. At the waist, a thin bow is tied neatly, and Cress flakes off the excess fuzz and takes in a deep breath before sliding her silver flats on. (She'll be damned if she forces herself into heels.)

Before she leaves, she clasps a necklace around her neck, and then saunters into the common room where Hamlin, Cedric, and Axel are waiting.

Cress tries not to fidget too much under their gaze, but it's hard since they're staring at her like she's a peculiar stranger that they're meeting for the first time. Hamlin whistles. Axel actually applauds. And Cedric — well, Cress is pretty sure he might be crying.

No, really, there are tears welling up in his eyes and he sniffles and turns his head like he needs a moment. Hamlin rubs his back with a sigh. Cress shakes her head, not too roughly so as not to shake the curls out. She walks towards them with a tentative smile and takes in their appearances.

Cedric is wearing a crisp pair of dress robes, a formal black jacket that hangs to the bottom of his thighs in the back (Cress doesn't know suit slang) and a white button-up shirt that clings to his form. His hair is slicked back in perfection; he smells like a walking men's catalogue. Cress can see the shine from his shoes from where she's standing. Hamlin, too, has a formal black and white suit on, and he adjusts his black bowtie, running a hand over his growing hair like he's nervous. Cress still has no clue who he's attending the ball with.

Axel, however, is decked out in the color of night (all except his bowtie), like he might be attending a funeral rather than a ball. His hair — that has gotten noticeably longer since the cut — is parted and gelled to utter perfection, his sapphire eyes bright and matching with his wonderful bowtie. Tiny Viktor is in his breast pocket, his own suit on, but still unkempt with his shaggy hair and eyebrows.

"Don't you chaps look dashing," Cress says because the silence was becoming deafening. Cedric is still sniffling and she wants to conjure him a handkerchief but Hamlin supplies one from nowhere and Cedric blows into it.

"Thanks, Mo," Axel says. "You clean up nicely, is all I have to say."

Hamlin nods. "I was expecting you to walk down in mediocre robes with your hair unruly, if I'm honest. I'm glad I was wrong."

"What a way to make me feel special, Hams." Cress rolls her eyes.

Hamlin beams. "I aim to please, Cress."

Cedric blows into his handkerchief one last time, gives it back to Hamlin, then comes over and kisses Cress on the forehead, bringing her into a hug right after. Cress grips him back, even though she's aware that it's almost time for the ball to start and they should probably be in the entrance hall right now, but Cedric is holding her tightly, and because she thinks he needs this right now, she indulges him. He presses another kiss onto her hair.

"You look amazing, Crescent," he says softly.

Perhaps he's just being modest, but his words sound earnest, sincere, and Cress has never held such admiration for someone as much as she does Cedric. She thinks he'll make Hamlin a happy man when he finally comes around.

"Thank you," she responds quietly. "But, let's talk about you. You look like you walked straight out of a catalog for wedding tuxedos."

Cedric pulls away from her and Cress takes a step back to see him coughing into his hand. He seems flustered, cheeks tinted in a rosy color. Cress smiles. Cedric says, "Thanks, sis." It's quiet and a little hesitant and her heart sings.

Perhaps this ball won't be so horrendous.

⋆˚࿔

It's horrendous. Absolutely terrible. Cress is three seconds away from pulling her hair out and she hasn't even left for the entrance hall.

The reason for that would be the one and only: Draco Malfoy. He's loitering outside at the barrels, hands in his pocket and white-blond hair slicked back in perfection. Cress wants to deck him in the face.

The bitter coil of anger and resentment grow when she sees Axel walk over to him with a confident smile. Cress actually gapes and she wonders if maybe the world turned upside down. It feels like maybe it has. For Axel to be attending the ball with Malfoy out of all people, something must have gone wrong in the world. Tiny Viktor, who has been foisted off onto her shoulder, is not pleased, either, and, for once, Cress agrees with the figure. Malfoy can shove off.

"What the fuck," says Cress, blindsided. She stares at the two of them, both talking in low voices because apparently, they became acquaintances or something in the timespan of a week.

Cedric and Hamlin leave them alone, but they make sure to send Malfoy a withering look over their shoulder. Cress can't help but love them for it. She glares at Malfoy and Axel, too, and tries not to go in for the kill because it's Christmas Day and she's a lady and must act like one. If only for a night.

"Ax," she says slowly, under her breath, as she takes a step forward, "what the fuck is Malfoy doing here?"

"Going to the ball?" Axel states, staring at her with a raised brow. Malfoy's steadily not glancing her way. Cress has an urge to pull her wand from the strap on her thigh (you never know when you could be faced with impending death) and hex him. She purses her lips.

"With you?" she asks as if tasting something sour.

Malfoy flinches. Good. Bloody git, what's he even thinking?

Axel nods.

Cress does not commit murder, but it is a near thing. Her ears do this ringing thing and, for a moment, she's not in her body. She's out of it and looking down at the limp body of Malfoy while she stands over it, cackling like a loon. Axel's crying, but she thinks it's worth it because Malfoy deserves everything that he's getting. He deserves the hexes and punches and storms of rants and arguments. He deserves it all. And he does not deserve to take Axel to the ball after what he did to her best friend last year.

She says, "Why?"

"Dunno." Axel shrugs. "Why not?"

"Because he's an arsehole!?"

"Oi—" Malfoy starts only for Cress to shut him up with a deadly glare.

"Swear on my life, ferret, if I hear another peep from you, I will make your death look like an accident."

Malfoy gulps. Cress feels an odd sense of accomplishment because of it. She turns back to Axel, who's frowning and reaching for her. He takes her to a secluded area, out of earshot from Malfoy.

"What are you doing?" he hisses.

"Me?!" Cress asks incredulously. She huffs a laugh like it might stop her from imploding. "I'm not the one taking my ex-bully to the bloody ball! What the hell is wrong with you, Axel?! He punched you in the face!"

Axel raises a hand, like he might run it through his hair, but then decides against it. It hovers in the air. He sighs, says, "I don't know, Mo. It's like—Viktor went with someone else, you know? And, like, I know he doesn't fancy me or whatever and we're just friends—which I am okay with! Totally okay! It just kind of sucks sometimes. He's here, within reach, and Valko isn't, so there was no distraction waiting and then Malfoy came up to me one day and just—he asked me to the ball. I had no one to go with so I said yes." He gives a hollow laugh. "Pretty foolish thing to do, right?"

"Yes," Cress says bluntly, but she feels for him, really. Axel has been struggling a lot lately, what with the fact that Valko seems to be lettering him more and more as he gets closer to Viktor and she thinks, even though she hates the idea of it so much, that Malfoy might be a good distraction from all the chaos in his brain. She sighs. "I just want you to be happy, Ax."

"I know," he whispers.

"If Malfoy hurts you. . .," she trails off.

Axel quirks a smile. "I know, I know. This time, I'll let you have at him."

"That's what I like to hear."

When they reach Malfoy again, Cress takes him over and promises bloodily harm should he do anything to ruin this night for Axel. Malfoy, to her surprise, promises her that he'll make it the best ball Axel has ever had and she thinks that maybe, somewhere deep down in the cold catacombs of his dark, bitter soul that Malfoy feels a little guilty for what happened last year. She decides to give him a chance (one chance) and leaves them in the corridor, making her way into the entrance hall.

Students decked out in robes of silk and cashmere greet her. There's a plethora of color, a sea of emerald greens, lilac purples, deep fuchsias, crimson reds, and sapphire blues swimming in her eyes, mixing and contrasting with the rich blacks of the males' robes. Cress is in awe. She is pretty sure her mouth is agape, but she cares not. The excitement that she had been pushing away for this very moment has risen and it encases her at large. Cress beams, scans the crowd for Harry.

She finds him standing with Ron and Padma Patil. Cress saunters over there, curls bouncing behind her. Tiny Viktor is still sitting on her shoulder, but Cress can't find it in herself to make him get off. Call her crazy, but she feels like this is as much as his night as it is hers.

Padma is the first one to see her. She exclaims, "You look fantastic, Crescent!"

Cress stops beside Harry and fiddles with the necklace around her neck. "Thanks, Padma. You're looking breathtaking yourself," she replies with a smile. Padma beams and gives her thanks.

Harry says, "Your hair looks fancy. What in bloody hell did you do to it?"

"Oh, Harry, one day, I'll introduce you to the world of curling irons," Cress says, smiling. She's relieved that Harry's comfortable around her; she doesn't know if she can take anymore compliments tonight. She links her arm around his when he offers it and smiles shyly. Harry gives her an awkward one back.

"Where is Hermione?" Ron asks, moments later.

Cress is scanning the crowd, not for the Granger girl, but for another Weasley boy. She glances past the Slytherins coming up the stairs from the dungeons, Parkinson sneering like an angry beaver who just had their dam destroyed, and onwards to the Great Hall entrance. He's standing there, laughing with Angelina and Cress's breath's taken straight from her lungs and thrown into an abyss.

Fred's wearing dress robes, all worn-looking and so, so beautiful on his body. They fit perfectly, hugging his lanky form like a glove on a hand and Cress almost trips over herself. His head is thrown back with laughter, his shining teeth dazzling in the candlelight. She can't see from where she is, but she bets his eyes are lit with a mirth that chills her but also warms her to her core. Her heart thuds in her chest; she wishes to be over there, to be the one laughing with him instead of Angelina. She pushes her petty jealously away, reminds herself that she cowered out upon asking him or else she could be in her place, and turns away.

When Professor McGonagall calls the champions over to let the rest of the students enter the Great Hall, Cress realizes that Hermione's with Krum. She feels like she doesn't know what to do with this information.

But, Hermione looks absolutely gorgeous, hair slicked into a nice, elegant-like bun at the back of her head. No longer were the untamed curls. Her dress is periwinkle-blue and flows down her like a magnificent waterfall. Cress notices, too, that Hermione is also holding herself regally, surer of herself than before. There is still that nervous titter, but she looks more confident than Cress has ever seen her.

"Hi, Harry!" she exclaims when she sees them both staring. "Oh and hi, Crescent!"

"Hello, Hermione." Cress waves awkwardly.

Cedric just about snaps his neck back to get a glimpse of her. "Crescent?! As in my sister?" His gaze lands on Cress. "Bloody hell, Cress, you didn't say you were going with Harry!"

"You didn't ask," Cress points out.

But Cedric isn't really listening anymore; he's gone into a rant about how he's her big brother and he deserves to know these things and that she shouldn't keep him in the dark, it's not right. As her sister, she should be more open about these things — as open as he was with his. Cress rolls her eyes and tunes him out because he goes into an indignant rant like this at least once a year. She can't be bothered this year, so she watches students pile into the Great Hall.

Axel and Malfoy pass them. Axel's laughing softly at something and Malfoy's wearing that small, ghost of a smile that Cress notices him wear when he's particularly pleased with something but doesn't want to show it. Relief wells up in her. She's glad that Malfoy is actually trying to give Axel the ball he deserves.

(She doesn't look at Viktor Krum, but she can see, out of the corner of her eye, him tensing. Cress attempts to hide her satisfaction.)

When all the students have piled into the Great Hall, it's time for the champions to start doing so. Harry's grip on her arm tightens ever so slightly as they walk in and Cress can feel her heart starting to race in her chest as they make their way in there. It doesn't help that everyone's applauding and staring at them, their attention solely on the main event for the night. Cress wants to vomit from all of it. She really wishes she wasn't in the spotlight right now.

However, the Great Hall itself ebbs some of the panic away. The walls have been covered with frost and it reflects off the crystals on the starry ceiling. Mistletoe and holly are woven into said ceiling and give Cress a very fuzzy feeling as she gapes at it. She almost trips into a round table that has replaced all the House tables just admiring the decorations. Tiny Viktor grips her ear so he doesn't fall off.

Harry's trying not to trip over himself, too, and Cress thinks maybe they weren't the right pair for this kind of thing. Both had no luck with walking normal. It just isn't in their nature, it seems.

Cress is relieved when they finally reach the top table where all the headmasters of the three schools are currently sitting, along with Ludo Bagman, and a redheaded male who Cress knows to be Percy Weasley. Said man pulls out his chair and sends a pointed yet smug look Harry's way. Cress tries not to sigh as she sits down next to her date.

"I've been promoted," says Percy. Cress sets tiny Viktor down on the table where he sits, criss-crossed. He frowns up at her. She shrugs. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

Honestly, Cress thinks it's foolish of Harry to give into his curiosity. Merlin knows the man has probably been waiting for an opportunity to talk about what happened to Mr. Crouch all night. Percy has it all over his face. And, when he goes into a giant rant about how Mr. Crouch is unwell, her assumptions are confirmed. She resigns herself to a long dinner and hopes that it's over before she wants to drown herself in butterbeer.

Her golden plate stares up at her, almost taunting her with its emptiness. Cress's stomach grumbles and she wonders if they aren't allowed to eat dinner. If they're just supposed to sit her and look at these menus and imagine what it would be like to have some delicious pork chops or Shepard's pie along with some glorious dinner rolls. She teeters on asking Dumbledore when the man himself says, "Pork chops!" to his plate and they appear.

Oh. So, no starving then. Good to know.

Cress fills her plate up with Shepard's pie and some rolls since it's not really a Christmas feast without the rolls and she picks up on Viktor's conversation with Hermione.

"Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, not as comfortable, I am thinking," he says. Cress hangs onto every word because this is it. The chance she has been waiting for. Now's her chance to finally get the dirt on Bulgaria and Dumstrang! She leans closer as he continues, "Ve have just four floors and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these — though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —"

"Now, now, Viktor!" the professor who loves to ruin everything good in Cress's life says hurriedly. "Don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

Cress despairs. She needs Krum to continue with his description of Durmstrang. She needs the hot, raunchy gossip. She needs to know if there are boars and if they have to fight a dragon, dammit!

She stares at Krum. "Oi, Krum!"

He stares at her passively. "Yes?"

"I have some questions for you."

"Very vell, then," he says, but he looks like he might be nervous. Cress has no clue why.

"Okay," she says quickly, "do you have boars there? Are there dragons? Do you have to fight one to get into your school? Like, a first year comes, what do they do to get accepted into the school? Kill it with their bare hands? Smite it? What? Who sends your letters? Owls? Vultures? Boars? Also, have you dabbled in the way of the pirates?"

Professor Karrot (Cress will not ever pronounce it — or spell it — correctly, sue her) stares at her witheringly, but Cress couldn't care less. This is information she's been yearning for since she was a babe. (An exaggeration, but you get the point.) She'll be damned if someone takes this away from her.

"Oh, vell, ve haff boars, yes," Krum supplies. Cress nods eagerly. "And ve also haff vultures but they do not bother us very much. They are very rude, I am thinking. Ve also have bears and wolves and foxes; I enjoy the foxes very much." He scratches at his chin, looking dazed, and then takes a bite of his food before saying, "But I am not understanding vot a pirate is."

Cress ignores the fact that he totally disregarding her very important question about how they got into the school, but she lets it slide because he gave her some great information. Information that she has needed for some time now. Information that will help her sleep better at night.

(She can't wait to tell Mallory about it.)

"I wouldn't worry about it," she tells him. Tiny Viktor pokes at her hand. She ignores it. "It's best if you don't know actually, but know that they're cool."

Viktor nods like this pleases him. He doesn't not give out any more information, which is fine, Cress will just pry it out of him someday. When he turns back to Hermione, she turns back to tiny Viktor, who is sending her the deadliest glare she thinks he's every conjured up.

"What?" she asks incredulously. "I was talking to him!"

He remains unimpressed, cheeks puffed as he eats a piece of roll despite Cress telling him not to earlier.

"Oh, shove off!"

For the remainder of dinner, Cress listens to Fleur Delacour rant about Peeves and the decorations that Hogwarts has to offer. She makes small talk with Cedric, makes faces at Hamlin, who came with the one and only Lee Jordan, and tries to stop tiny Viktor from jumping off the table in search of Axel about fifty times. Harry and Cress are playing a mean game of Rock, Paper, Scissors when Dumbledore asks the students to stand so he can move their tables to the side of the Hall.

Dumbledore conjures up a giant platform that gets pushed up against the right wall. Instruments of all assortments appear but Cress can only recall a guitar, a drum set, and bagpipes. Everything else is a mystery to her because instruments weren't really her forte. She reluctantly sets tiny Viktor in her bag, not really wanting to lose him when she is required to dance.

When the other champions started to stand after the lanterns had been diminished to nothing but a dim light, Cress stands slowly, holding a hand out to Harry. "Come on, Harry," she says softly. "Let's dance."

He gives her a tentative smile and trips over his dress robes in his haste to stand. The Weird Sisters, who are up on stage, perform a sluggish, sorrowful ballad as Cress and Harry make their way out to the dance floor. Cress ignores the piercing, most likely jealous gazes that she can feel on her and listens to the music as she guides Harry to grab her waist, resting one hand on his shoulder before placing her other hand in his own.

The dance's slow and a little awkward, but Cress doesn't mind as they twirl in a circle. Professors pair up and they skirt past Harry and Cress; he trips on her feet on more than one occasion, but all in all, it isn't too bad. Hamlin passes with a Bulgarian girl who Cress has seen with Viktor Krum on more than one occasion and he gives her a cheeky smile to which Cress rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. She smiles at Harry when song is finished, a more upbeat, faster song replacing it.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" he asks.

Cress shrugs and agrees. Together, they walk to the table that Ron Weasley is currently commandeering and Cress has to bob and weave to avoid being taken out with Angelina's elbows on her way past her and Fred. She adjusts her dress as she sits next to Harry and conjures some water in an empty, fresh goblet.

"How's it going?" Harry asks Ron.

Axel comes over before Cress can hear a response — if Ron even gives one — from the ginger male. He grabs Cress's hand and says, "Come on, Mo! Let's dance!"

Cress glances quickly at Harry to make sure she wasn't ruining his plans of sitting and rotting, silently asking if he wants to join them. Harry shakes his head and gives her a quick smile, indicating that it was okay if she went. Cress smiles and lets herself be dragged away into the crowd.

⋆˚࿔

Axel's a good dancer. Cress knows this. Has known it for a while now, ever since they were kids and Axel always lost himself in the music. He was always so graceful and glorious out there, like a swan taking off into the sky. He could dance for hours and hours and just make up his own world.

Which's why Cress had to leave him.

Don't get her wrong, she loves dancing and she loves dancing with Axel, especially when Ginny, George and Lee joined in — that was a real riot — but Cress is one girl and whilst she may be an okay dancer due to lessons when she was younger, it wasn't her thing most of the time. Especially since she didn't have the endurance for it.

So, she tells Axel she needs a breather, grabs her pouch on the way out and goes outside. It's chilly, snow falling in a steady pace as she crunches through the courtyard. Students are out here, either paired up with another student, snogging behind a rosebush, or alone, tears falling down their face in quick recession because of drama with someone else in the ball.

Cress takes a seat beside one of them on a bench. He gives her a glance but doesn't seem particularly embarrassed that she caught him out here. She opens her arms for him. He slots into them easily, arms gripping her waist. Tiny Viktor, who she had let out moments earlier, jostles on her shoulder but doesn't fall. He doesn't notice, seems to be enjoying the coolness of the night.

"I can't do it, anymore," he wails. "I can't continue on like everything is fine when it's not. But I want it to be! I want it to be okay! I want us to be okay! I don't want to love him anymore! I want to move on—I tried to move on! Countless times! But I always end up with thoughts of him! It's always him I'm going to love. What's wrong with me?!"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Hamlin," Cress defends quickly. "Absolutely nothing. You're in love. That's fine. Everyone falls in love and they do it differently and most of the time it sucks but it gets better."

"It won't get better," he mumbles. "It's been so many years, Cress. So many years of me wanting and waiting and watching as he fell for another person and it gets harder every time. I'm falling apart," Hamlin whispers, voice broken as he sobs into her shoulder.

Cress feels her own eyes prick at his despairing words. She wishes she could help him in this situation, could cheer him up or something but advice has never been her strong suit and Hamlin's uncharted territory for her, so she's at a loss.

She settles for embracing him, for giving him the only form of comfort that she's good at. Her arms encase his giant shoulders and she rubs his hair in what she hopes is a soothing manner. Snow melts in her hair and chills her skin but Cress pays it no mind, focuses on the steadying of Hamlin's breath and the fact that her shoulder seems to be getting drier, not wetter.

Hamlin pulls back after a few moments. "Thanks," he says quietly. "That helped."

"I'm glad," Cress responds just as quiet.

He gives her a small smile. "You know, you're not so bad, Cress. Minus all the horrid things I could point out but won't because you quite literally held my sobbing form."

Cress puffs out a laugh. "Aside from the crippling despair I get when talking to you, you're alright, too, Hamlin."

"Please, I am amazing."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Hamlin laughs, eyes rimmed red and tear streaks staining his face. Cress smiles with him but she feels something hard in her stomach, something telling her that she can't leave it like this.

"I'm not good with advice," she starts. "I actually suck at it, really. But I want you to know that Cedric is an idiot, an absolute wanker, for taking this long to see something that is right in front of him. I don't know how a man is so oblivious to his own feelings — and for this long, nonetheless! He should be sued!"

Hamlin gives a wet laugh. "S'not his fault. I haven't exactly been out there with my affections."

"Eh," Cress says, makes a face. "You guys are pretty affectionate."

"No, we're not!"

"Hamlin, if I walk into a room with you and Cedric, I'm never shocked that there's literally no space between you two. Like, I couldn't fit my finger between the space it's that small." Hamlin stares at her indignantly. "It's true and it's okay. It's how you two have always been. You always had to be touching, always holding onto each other and linking pinkies as though if you didn't something would go array."

"A lot of best friends do that, though."

"Er, some of them," Cress says. "Like, the ones who are secretly in love with each other but are too scared to admit it."

Hamlin looks away. "I can't watch him and Chang together anymore," he says after a few moments. "I can't do it, Cress." He looks at her, eyes shining with heartbreak in them miserably. Cress's heart twinges for him.

"You don't have to, Hamlin," she tells him, puts a comforting arm on his shoulder. "Don't go back in there. Go find someone and distract yourself, let yourself be selfish for one night. Don't think about my idiotic brother for anything. Forget him. And just have fun, Hamlin. You deserve it, perhaps more than anyone tonight."

There's a beat of silence where snow falls onto Cress as Hamlin takes in her words. He purses his lips and stares at her for a long moment before nodding. "I suppose you're right. I deserve to be selfish for one night." He pauses while Cress nods. "But, if I'm being honest here, that's not the kind of advice I would tell someone in this situation."

Cress gapes, offended. "I said I sucked at advice, Hamlin, sue me!"

Hamlin laughs and pats her on the back. "Just teasing, Cress. But, seriously, thank you. You gave me a lot to think about."

"You're welcome." Cress shivers as she stands. She removes tiny Viktor from her shoulder and places him back in her pouch where he curls up in his small bed, blanket over his head. Must be his bedtime, then.

"Now, you need to go back inside," Hamlin says with a cheeky smile, pushing her past a carriage and towards the castle. "A little birdie told me Freddie is saving you a dance!"

She rolls her eyes. "You and Lee are the worst duo Hogwarts has ever seen. I miss the days when you guys were arguing about the Quidditch match."

"Oh, hate all you want, but me and Lee are the best of mates and we get that raunchy gossip, Cress." Hamlin wiggles his eyebrows. "Try not to be too scandalous tonight."

"I hate you," Cress grumbles as she walks away, back towards the Great Hall.

"I love you, too!" Hamlin echoes from behind her.

Cress rolls her eyes and sets her pouch down somewhere where she'll remember it. Spotting Harry, she starts to make her way over to him and Ron — Fred and George are in an intense conversation with Ludo Bagman and she would rather not interrupt that — before someone comes in and swoops her up, twirling her into a waltz.

It's Lee.

Cress is not surprised.

"Way to give someone a heart attack, Lee," Cress grumbles, grabbing onto his hand so she's not taken on a trip of a lifetime.

Lee smirks. "Oh, please, pud. Don't be such a grump! This is our first dance together! Rejoice in it! This is one for the books!" He twirls her again and does some dramatic move before wiggling his eyebrows.

Cress sighs. "You're insufferable."

"But here we are," Lee says. "Dancing under the moonlight."

"There's no moon up there," Cress points out as Lee drags her across the dance floor. They narrowly miss hitting Neville and Ginny; Cress will never forget the withering glare that Ginny sends to her.

Lee pouts. "Must you always be such a spoilsport."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

Cress shrugs. "I'm not."

Lee groans, but he continues to drag her across the floor with a dramatic flourish. He's got the elegance of a baby elephant learning to walk and Cress wonders how he made it so far in life. She's going to have about three bruises just on her pinkie toe and about eighty on her foot all together.

When the song's over, Lee dramatically bows. Cress is trying to control her breathing. She thinks she might need a lung transplant. Merlin, what is it with people and having the stamina to dance all the time? Must be those Quidditch lungs, she's realizing. Maybe she should have picked up the sport.

"Thank you for the dance, Cress," Lee says with a cheeky grin. "Now, I got to scat before Freddie murders me with his glare alone! Bye!"

And he's gone. Just like that. Cress wishes he wasn't so strange.

Sighing out, she glances at an empty table and imagines all the water in goblets she could be drinking right now. Weird Sisters start a new song just as she takes as step towards that sweet, sweet table.

Someone taps her shoulder. Cress turns around, tries not to keel over and die. It's a near thing when she spots the faded black of Fred's dress robes, orange burning from the vest underneath. Her eyes trail upwards, up to his gorgeous face. She pauses there, unsure if Lee was correct about his glare being on him.

Fred grins at her, a little nervous but determined, crooked in the best way possible. Cress's knees wobble.

"Might I steal a dance, Crescent?"

She doesn't have to think about it, but her brain still short-circuits as she answers. "Er— absolutely. Yes."

Without any warning, Fred takes her hand in his and places his other on her waist. It's so quick she wonders if he did so he wouldn't lose his nerves. Except Fred doesn't have nerves, so that can't be right. But she's pretty sure she's one hundred degrees warmer, but she takes her own hand and places it on his shoulder. He gives her a softer smile this time, less nerves more him. Cress's heart races like a bee's wings in her chest as they move across the dance floor a lot easier than her and Lee did. She thinks this is what she's been waiting for the whole night. For Fred to come and ask her to dance.

Cress grins to herself.

"You know, I've been looking for you all night," Fred says gently as he twirls her. "Tried to find you earlier but you had disappeared." He pulls her back in, flush against him.

Cress hisses a breath to stop herself from blowing up like Harry Potter apparently did to his aunt in his third years. It does not help, not really, but she doesn't start bloating, so she figures that's a good sign.

"Was with Hamlin," she mumbles.

Fred nods as though expected. "He okay?"

"Mhm," Cress hums. It's all she can do without telling him Hamlin had a breakdown to which she gave him some pretty horrible advice for.

From where she is, Cress can make out the freckles dotting his face, the flecks of hazel in his eyes. She stares and maybe she gapes but Fred's so breathtaking that she must gape. He twirls her again and leans close to her ear as the song reaches its bridge.

"By the way, you look absolutely beautiful tonight," he whispers to her, earnest and truthful in her ear. Cress gulps as he sends her a private smile. "Captured a lot of people's attention as you were walking in earlier. Not going to lie—was a little jealous."

"You—You were?"

Fred chuckles like her surprise is cute. "Of course! I've always believed I could rock a dress like yours!"

And Cress laughs, tries to picture Fred in an identical dress to the one she has on now. The thought amuses her, makes her grin at him. "You could actually pull it off," she says with a nod, gathering up the courage to stare at him once more.

"That's what I've been saying!" Fred exclaims. He sniggers once more and then leans back into Cress (she's pretty sure he knows that he's killing her right now). His voice is low when he says, "But no one looks as gorgeous as you do, Crescent Diggory."

Cress is pretty sure her heart's going to end up in Canada with the way it's beating in her chest. Her face's burning red like the Bulgarian capes, and she tries not to splutter, but it's a near thing — like she's choking on blasted air. Her hands feel clammy; she wants to take them and wipe them on her dress but doing that means ending this dance and Cress would cut both her feet off than do that.

She stares at him, bashful in the pale blue light of the crystal chandeliers. "You look dashing yourself, Fred."

"Why thank you, my fair princess." Fred twirls her again and smirks, hand grazing her hip, thumb brushing up and down over the soft fabric of her dress as he whisks her around. Cress swallows the warmth, but it threatens to choke her. "Pulled these out just for this occasion only! My finest robes! Take 'em in, Crescent! It's a once and a lifetime opportunity!"

But she sees the hesitant way he's twirling now, the way he thinks that his robes really aren't that much too look at. Cress squeezes his hand, and lets herself lead a little, the way she did with Harry earlier, as she leans up into his ear.

"I dunno, Freddie," she teases, "wear these all the time and I won't stop at one dance."

Fred stills, just momentarily, but enough for Cress to know that it landed where she wanted it to. She normally wouldn't say anything so bold, but Fred thinking he looks horrible in those beautiful robes? She won't have it. They could be a literally rubbish bag and she would know he would look good in them, but the black and orange combo that matches both Angelina's dress (she loves and hates it simultaneously) and his fiery hair is absolutely breathtaking. She'll be damned if she doesn't let him know.

A moment later, he laughs under his breath, slightly winded and very shocked. When he leans down, Cress isn't expecting him to say, "Good thing I wasn't going to stop at one dance with you, yeah, Crescent?"

There's a smirk on his face when she turns her burning face up to him. Fred winks, spins her once, and then pulls her even closer than before, hands burning where he touches her through the fabric of the dress. The melody of the song is lost on her as she stares at Fred, his eyes warm, soft in the cool light. He smells like cinnamon and something burnt, like parchment near a fire. Like something she could get lost in if she's not careful.

"Must you always one up me," she mumbles, ignoring the heat in her cheeks at his delighted laughter.

The song trails off, the horns giving into something softer, a violin in the background. Fred spins her around one more time for good measure. As it does, Fred smirks, dipping her low.

"Hope you didn't want to stop yet," Fred murmurs as he pulls her back up, Cress's eyes wide with exhilaration. "Because I meant it when I said I wasn't done with you, Diggory."

He leans in close, a breath's inch away, and Cress almost digs her flat into his shoe. Refrains at the last second. She does go an intense shade of holly berry red and snarls, "If you don't twirl me in two seconds, Weasley..."

Fred laughs, a soft tease this time. He moves her in languid steps, his head coming to rest on hers in a comforting way that makes her heart ache as they sway across the dance floor. Cress feels fuzzy all over, warm down to her toes. She thinks this is what she's been waiting for. This very moment, with Fred.

Dancing with him feels like — it feels like flying, soaring through the sky on her broom, breeze blowing her hair back. It feels like she's reaching for a star, chasing and chasing it, reaching out with her hand and finally grasping it — finally holding that tiny orb of warmth in her hand. And it's burning but it's a good burn that radiates heat through her body, makes her feel whole. It's breathtaking and it's beautiful as it stands in front of her and Cress is seeing her own stars just looking at the one she has.

(Fred is the star.

And Cress thinks maybe she's reached him.)

⋆˚࿔

Fred makes her dance to five more songs after the first two, which is a crime in itself. Cress endures two more Weird Sister ballads, "Burning Love," by Elvis Presley (Axel conjured up a giant speaker and demanded that they listen to it; Dumbledore relented, if only to give the Weird Sisters a break), and two other Muggle songs that Cress doesn't know but dances to anyway. But it wasn't like she could have said no to Fred; saying no to him would have been like denying a toddler candy and you just don't do that.

(Plus, Ginny, George, Axel, and Lee all came out there with them during "Burning Love" so that was fun.)

She walks over to the table with her pouch and sits down, taking a giant swig from a new goblet of water. Fred takes a seat next to her.

The Great Hall's almost barren now, save for Chang and Cedric, who are talking in low voices in the right corner of the Hall, and other Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students. The starry night's cloudy now. Cress stares at the ceiling for a long moment, takes in the beauty of the decorations and then throws her head down on the table.

"What's it with people and their crazy stamina during dances?" she asks, turning her face to where she's staring up at Fred, who is grinning down at her. Cress tries to ignore this. "I mean, it's almost unrealistic how much endurance you guys have."

Fred winks. "I can't give away my secrets, Crescent."

George scoffs as he sits down. "It's not a secret." He glances at Cress, leans in like he's about to tell the world's biggest secret. "Freddie here wanted to be a dancer when he was younger. A proper ballerina. Mum said no but Freddie never let go of his dream to become a dancer. He danced all day and night, training for that one special dance in the future. Our little nutcracker." He's snickering as he leans back, pinches Fred's cheek.

"You got it all wrong," Fred argues, slapping his brother's hand away. "I wanted to be a jazz dancer, you prat. Ballerina was but a child's dream. Now, it's all about jazz. That sweet, sweet jazz."

George laughs. "Alright, Matt Mattox."

"Oh—" Cress laughs. "I like that!"

George high fives her.

Fred glances between the two of them, narrowing his eyes. "This— this right here is oppression. I am being oppressed right now and it's a threat not only to my humanity to but to my heart. My fragile heart that cannot bear it anymore."

"Don't be such a ninny, Freddie. At least Matt Mattox had the moves." George pats Fred's head and stands up with a yawn.

"He did." Cress nods on the table, hair probably smushed from the action. "He's got your body frame, too. I suspect it'd be a great Halloween costume. Could even get all your dancing out, Merlin's tits."

"Oh, hush, Crescent—" Fred throws a napkin at her, the dark blue cloth smacking her lightly in the face, "—you loved it and you know it. S'why you didn't leave after the second one."

Cress hates how smug he sounds, but something flutters in her when his smirk softens into something tender. Ugh. Her feet are throbbing too much for this.

George slaps the table before Cress can say anything. "Well, kids, I don't know about you, but I'd rather watch paint dry than to see you two flirt." Both Cress and Fred open their mouths, but George holds up a hand. "Now, now, no need for defenses. I'm just stating a fact, plus it's time for bed for little 'ole me. This beauty does come with a price, you know?"

"Yeah, and it's expensive," Fred mumbles, crossing his arms.

Cress covers up her snort with a cough. "Yeah, yeah, George. G'night, you prat. Happy Christmas!"

"Goodnight, Little Diggory," he replies and then, as though he remembered something, he asks, "Oh, hey. Can I borrow your owl?"

"Sure," Cress says slowly. "But why?"

"I'm sending a letter?"

Cress doesn't balk, but she's pretty sure all his friends are here, so... "Who, though?"

"Our dearest Mallory."

Cress raises an eyebrow but remains silent. Fred catcalls and whoops at his brother, clapping him on the back with the force of a rhino. George scoffs and pushes him off and, as he's leaving, he tells Fred that if he doesn't seem him in the dormitory later then George is sending out a search party for them both. Fred doesn't blush because it doesn't seem like it's in his nature for his cheeks to tint, but he does smack George upside the head whilst Cress stews in mortification. George cackles on his way out.

The Weird Sisters conclude yet another song and Cress blinks her eyes slowly, yawning. She hadn't realized she was so tired.

Fred glances at her with a small grin. "I suppose we should get to bed, too, then. Is nearing midnight, after all." He stands and holds out his hand. "Come on, then. I'll walk you down."

"Ever the gentleman, Freddie." Cress places her hand in his and allows herself to be supported.

"I try," he replies, picking up her pouch off the table and holding it in his other arm. Cress would swoon if she wasn't so tired.

The walk to the Hufflepuff basements is quiet, mainly because Cress is focusing on keeping herself awake enough so that she doesn't trip over anything. Though Fred is making it extremely hard because he's a big tower of heat and it's waving off of him and he smells like cinnamon, vanilla and the chocolate he was eating in between songs and it's attacking her senses, making her dizzy from the assault. She's one more whiff away from falling under.

When they reach the barrels, Cress is still leaning heavily on Fred, but she can't bring herself to feel remorseful about it. Her eyes are heavy, so heavy that she can barely keep them open as she stares up at him with a dopey smile.

He grins down at her, a soft breath chuckle escaping him. "Dancing really takes a lot out of you, huh?"

"Mhm," Cress hums tiredly. "S'okay, though. Had a lot of fun with you. Was definitely worth it. Would do it over again if I could feel my feet."

"Well, horrid pain aside, I'm glad you had a good time, Crescent," Fred tells her softly, adjusting his grip on her, letting her lean more comfortably. "I had a lot of fun, too."

Cress blushes, but she smiles. "Good. Wouldn't want you to have a subpar time with me. Would look back for my reputation."

"And we can't have that, can we?" Fred sniggers.

"Absolutely not. I have to maintain it somehow."

They stand there for a few more moments and Cress basks in the comfort of the corridor. The dimly lit candles are making her tired and the baked smells coming from the kitchen are wafting into her nose, sending her mind into overdrive. She yawns loudly and it echoes off the stone walls.

Fred laughs, taking a step forward with her in tow. "We should get you into the dormitory."

Cress trips over her dress as she sways drowsily behind him. But, she doesn't fall. Fred's there, and he catches her in his arms, encasing her waist to support her. She blinks and stares up at him, into his molten-brown eyes and her heart skips a beat.

"Careful now," he says lowly, voice raspy from yelling to a Weird Sisters song earlier. But Cress isn't really listening because Fred's right in front of her. In her face. Staring at her with an oddly serious expression. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt now, would we?" he whispers and it sends shivers down Cress's spine.

"No," she whispers back. "No, that would be utterly terrible."

At this point, she isn't even sure if she knows what they're talking about. Her eyes are drawn to his plump, pink lips that look oh-so kissable, and she finds her eyes trailing back up to his face, almost like a gravitational pull. Fred stares back just as intently, his eyes smoldering in the low light.

Almost like an afterthought, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. Cress feels her heart roar in her chest, ears ringing like waters rushing into them. Fred caresses her cheek and he's leaning towards her slowly, like he's silently asking her if this is okay. Cress grips his arm, leaning her whole entire being into it, because she wants this so bad, wants it more than anything she's ever craved in her life. Eyes fluttering as her stomach jumps with anticipation, Cress lets their breaths mingle until Fred's hand is caressing her waist, her own fluttering by his hand, barely grazing.

"You can tell me to stop," he breathes close to her lips, eyes hooded as he tilts her head up just so.

But Cress is past that. She curls herself closer to him, letting her breath stutter out, letting her eyes flutter shut as she whispers, "Not on my life, Weasley."

And his laugh is a breath of air against her face. Cress's stomach's in knots, her hand clenching at Fred's robes. His lips are close, she can feel the breath of him brushing her lips, warm like a summer's day on this cold night. And just as they almost brush hers...

Someone rams into them.

Cress goes flying backwards in shock, eyes snapping open in shock as she stabilizes herself. She isn't going to lie, she's a little miffed and is probably going to end up blowing a gasket on whoever ruined what was about to be the best moment of her life.

Her mouth gapes as she turns on the culprit. But her sentence dies in her throat since it's Axel standing in front of her. And he looks disheveled, his eyes lit with panic, bowtie unsecured around his neck as he runs a hand through his mussed-up hair. He glances between the two of them and gasps.

"Fuck!" he exclaims. "Fuck, fuck fuck! I'm so sorry! So, so, so sorry! Holy fuck! You two were totally about to kiss and I just rammed into you and—fuck! Mo, I'm so sorry!"

Cress wishes that he wouldn't have worded it like that if only for the sake of her. Now, she's a right mess, blushing to the tip of her head whilst Fred politely smiles at Axel with an unreadable expression on his face. Cress doesn't want to know if he's planning on murdering her best friend. She sure hopes not.

"Are you okay?" she asks, instead, because it looks like Axel is about to go into a panic about something.

Axel nods, head jerking. "Me?! Yeah, I'm fine. Absolutely peachy! Totally okay! The best ever!" He laughs and it's high-pitched, so Cress is inclined not to believe him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Oh, yeah, sure! Maybe when you get in the common room. Or tomorrow. Or whenever you get the chance. It doesn't matter! I'm sorry for ruining the moment! Happy Christmas, you two!"

And just as fast as he came, Axel leaves.

Cress stands there for a moment, a little blindsided by the conversation that seemed particularly one-sided. She figures that Axel's probably hiding something, but she doesn't really want to get into that right now, so she stares at Fred, who is already staring at her. Cress fidgets on her feet and tries to give him a grin.

"Well, that was peculiar," she says, laughing nervously, trying to diffuse the lingering tension and not think about how close his lips had been just moments ago.

"Certainly was the weirdest thing I've seen tonight," he says, standing up straighter and adjusting his crumpled (yes, Cress did that) robes. "Is Jenson going to be okay?"

Cress shrugs. "I dunno. Probably. Maybe not. There's a fifty-fifty chance that I'm going to walk into an obliterated common room."

"Oh, sounds absolutely lovely."

Fred grins at her, softly like the sweater she had worn this morning. Cress's mind goes back to the almost-kiss and how she wishes Axel was a second later. Just one second and things would have been better. Now, she's going to think about this for a while and she's going to be highly disappointed for the rest of her life and it's all Axel's fault. (Not that she's going to blame him right now. She'll do that when he's over whatever happened tonight.)

Almost against her will, Cress yawns once more, her eyes getting heavy again. She wishes exhaustion didn't creep in so easily when the rush of adrenaline has disappeared but she figures this is her luck.

Almost kissing a guy must take a lot out of her.

(Oh, Helga, she almost kissed Fred Weasley. Oh god, oh god, oh god.)

Fred rubs the back of his neck. "You really should go to bed, Crescent."

"Yeah," she replies, sticking her thumb in the direction of the barrels. "Then I'll just..."

But neither of them make any moves or indicate that they're going to start leaving. Fred stands there, looking down at her with his warm chocolate eyes and Cress kind of wants to ask if he okay since he looks a little troubled but she has no time because he's wrapping his arms around her shoulders and embracing her tightly.

Her eyes widen in a mute surprise but Fred is a sturdy figure against her. Slowly, she brings her hands up and latches onto him tightly. He holds her securely like he's a child who was instructed not to let go of his kite or else it would fly away like a wisp in the wind. Cress basks in it, loves the feel of his worn cloth against her bare shoulders and she loves the smell of vanilla and chocolate that are permeating her senses in a flood of comfort. She grips him back and she might nuzzle into him, just a little, but that's her business.

When he pulls back, Cress tries to contain her disappointment, but she's pretty sure it must show on her face. Fred laughs quietly, his eyes lit when he leans down again.

Cress doesn't even have time to prepare herself before he's kissing her on the cheek, lips soft yet chapped on her burning skin. Fred pulls back before she even has time to absorb it all.

Part of her's glad that he didn't kiss her on the mouth. Like, really glad. Had he done that, Cress probably would have died from the force of it and Madam Pomfrey would not have resuscitated her because it was Cress's fault and hers alone. Which, okay, Cress can accept. Death by kiss doesn't seem too bad, especially if it's by Fred Weasley.

"Happy Christmas, Crescent," he says to her, smiling like she's the present here, like he's happier with her in this corridor than he was on the dance floor. Cress isn't even sure if it's Christmas anymore, but she cares not. She stares at him, her knees jelly and her stomach in her throat, watching as Fred swivels on his foot and starts walking away.

"Happy Christmas, Fred!" she calls out. Her voice cracks and her whole face is on fire because of it but Fred only glances back with a playful wink.

"Oh, and I love your necklace. Suits you more than the sweater."

Cress fiddles with the charmed crescent moon necklace latched around her neck and she smiles to herself and thinks, I do, too, Fred. I do, too.

⋆˚࿔

(Cedric finds her there, in the corridor, minutes later, smiling down at her necklace. He stops and stares at her and then he asks, "Oi, both you and Fred have these same, flustered smiles on your faces. And you're both very red. Did you guys finally snog? Or wait, shag? Cress, oh my goodness, do we need to have a talk about your virtue?"

And Cress splutters and she smacks him on the head all whilst Cedric laughs like the Slytherin-corrupted boy he is.)

⋆˚࿔

(All in all, she'll think later, as she's staring at her ceiling like a lovestruck fool, huge grin plastered on her face, it was a night to remember.)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Snow trickles to the ground in a shower of icy tendrils. The cold wind frosts up the windows like Jack Frost sneaking through villages, a mischievous smirk on his face as he nips at the children's noses and at the pure, clear glass of windows.

Owls, speckled with greys — solid with blacks and whites and tawny browns — fly past the window, hooting with wings spread wide as they soar through the blizzard. In the distance, pearly crystals of snow coat the trees, making the forest white and serene, like a painting that's moving with delicacy.

Cress stares out the window and longs with the feeling to be out there. Cedric sniffles into his pillow and refuses to say anything, even as Cress sighs out, pointedly and a little threateningly — since he's been refusing to say a word since he snatched her before she could go to breakfast and took her up to his dorm, throwing himself onto his bed before she could even collect herself.

That was twenty minutes ago.

She's still waiting for his explanation. And it better be good or else he's going to end up with a right hook to the jaw.

He groans into his pillow and then proceeds to beat it with his fist as though he has a personal vendetta against the fluffy thing. Cress sighs through her nose and takes a seat on Hamlin's bed. Perhaps, she can wait him out, let him finish with his little tantrum or whatever and then have him explain what the hell is going on.

Uma the Dragon sits comfortable on her shoulder. Cedric continues wailing like a banshee into his pillow (yes, she's overexaggerating, but sue her, she's hungry). Cress wonders what went wrong.

After a few more moments of his overbearing tears (Cress doesn't even know if he's actually crying since she can't see his face, but she's going to guess he is; Cedric always cries), she says, "Okay, what in fuck's name happened? Why are you rubbing snot into your pillow so viciously?"

Cedric sniffles loudly, pulling his face out of his pillow so Cress can see that, yes, he was crying. His eyes are blood red, veiny and there are bags under them — as though he hasn't slept all night. Cress bites her lip to keep from frowning.

"Cedric," she says softly, standing and walking over to him. "Oh god, Cedric, what happened?"

"I—" Cedric sighs, chokes up a little and then fiddles with a sweatshirt that must be Hamlin's. Only Hamlin would wear a bright orange sweatshirt. "I. . . I messed up, Cress. I messed up bad."

Cress takes a moment to absorb the brokenness of his voice, the way he's curled in on himself, holding onto Hamlin's sweatshirt as though it's his only lifeline, and she thinks, oh, no. Cedric sits beside her, seemingly small even though he towers over her by a good bit. Cress sighs, feeling heartbroken seeing her proud brother reduced to tears.

"What did you do, Cedric?"

Cedric swallows like it pains him. "I—Hamlin was gone last night. And, I—I just. I couldn't sleep, you know? Was worried. Thought something happened to him. . ." He closes his eyes, sniffles again. "He came back early this morning. . . said he was with someone—" Cedric breaks like the words are knives and his throat's already raw. Cress sees his Adam's apple moving before he says, quietly and a little wrecked, "And I lost it. . . I couldn't— my mind wasn't working or something, and he was there and I was so angry, Cress! It was like something snapped and I couldn't stand it, couldn't stomach the thought of him with someone else and I lost it! I don't know what happened but I. . . I kissed him."

Cress's eyes widen in shock, but she refrains from gasping. "Cedric, are you serious?"

"Yes." He nods solemnly like it's a great feat admitting that. "Yes, I kissed him and I loved it and Cress, I'm in love with him." Cedric stares at her with stormy eyes, the crimson cracked through them resembling a blood moon through thunderous clouds. "I'm so in love with him it bloody hurts."

"I know," she answers quietly. "I know."

"How could I have been such an idiot?!" he chides himself, running a hand through his hair. "All these years, Cress. All these years he's been infatuated with me and he's been hurting because of me and my foolish choices and it's all my fault! I broke him, Cress. . ."

Cedric looks at her like he wants her to argue with him — wants her to tell him all the reasons as to why he didn't break Hamlin's heart into a million pieces — but Cress just smiles at him sadly, rubbing his shoulder consolingly.

Cedric did break Hamlin's heart, even if it wasn't intentional. Cress had watched, for the past few weeks, Hamlin cave in on himself, smirks waning into tiny smiles that seemed fake even to her. She watched him force laughter out, watched him trail behind Cedric and Chang, trying to be jovial and happy but failing. Like his smile was made of fire and he was only just realized it left him burned. She watched Hamlin's mask break, watched the walls around him shatter until he was left defenseless, picking up the remains of what once a beautiful thing.

"I'm sorry, Ced," she whispers.

He makes a pained noise in the back of his throat and starts tearing up again. "I told him I was sorry," he explains, "because I am. I'm a terrible person and I put him through so much and he's been there. This whole time— he's stuck by my side." Cedric hugs the sweatshirt closer to him. "Cress, I don't deserve his love."

"Of course, you do," Cress replies, voice low and stern as she glares at him.

Cedric gives a hollow laugh. "No, I don't. I don't deserve Hamlin in general. He's way too good for me. He deserves someone who will treat him right. I've known him for most of my life, and I still haven't learned how to make him happy!"

And there's that self-deprecating tone that he always uses when he thinks he did something particularly shitty. Cress has grown up with it, has heard him use it when he had to break up with his first girlfriend because he didn't fancy her anymore; has heard him use it when Amos put too much pressure on him that Cedric felt he couldn't live up to. She hates that tone with every bone in her.

"Cedric, are you listening to yourself?" Cress asks, trying to contain her temper. Yelling at Cedric when he's sad is not a good idea. "Yes, what happened was a shitty thing and it could have been prevented had both of you just used your words for once in your life. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve Hamlin or that you won't make him happy. You've got a giant heart, Cedric. A big, fat heart that wants to love everyone and Hamlin knows this and he knows that sometimes you're oblivious to things that are right in front of you, and he loves you despite that! And — if he heard you talking like this — he would probably send you flying into the Whomping Willow."

"Yeah." Cedric chuckles quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. "He would."

He states it fondly, like he wouldn't mind getting chucked into the Whomping Willow if Hamlin is the one to do it.

"Hamlin loves you in spite of your flaws, Cedric," Cress continues, shakes her head when she realizes who she's talking about. "No, actually, he probably loves you because of them. He's Hamlin, Ced, and he probably thinks he doesn't deserve your love."

"Now— that's absurd!"

"And it's Hamlin, as I have stated. Your best friend, and, quite frankly, your bloody soulmate." Cress sighs and leans back on her hands, letting Uma rest on her lap. "I honestly don't understand how it took me so long to connect the dots. I mean, you and Hams, brother." She shakes her head in exasperated fondness. "Couldn’t be clearer than if it smacked you in the face. Absolute soulmates, the two of you."

Cedric buries his face in his hands. "Oh, sod off."

Cress grins, relieved when the tense air dissipates from the air, leaving them with a fresh atmosphere. Cedric's still sniffling, but he doesn't seem as distraught as earlier, the tense hold of his shoulders gone, replaced by a more relaxed stance.

"What I'm trying to say, Ced," says Cress after a moment of silence, "is that you kissing Hamlin hasn't ruined anything."

"But," Cedric replies, frowning like a child who ruined their accidentally made their imaginary friend disappear, "he ran. Like, booked it out of the common room faster than a Firebolt." He gives Cress a disbelieving stare. "You're saying it's because I didn't ruin anything?"

Cress ponders on this for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Hamlin probably went to regain composure and think about what the bloody hell just happened? Isn't what you're doing?" Cedric nods glumly. "Okay, well, he's probably gone to wallow to Lee about it and ask him what it meant because if I'm correct in my assumptions, Hamlin didn't think you fancied him back."

"I didn't think I did, either," he says, and Cress raises a brow. "I had thought maybe I was overly dependent on him and whatnot, but I had never believed— couldn't bring myself to think more of it. But, actually," —Cedric huffs out a laugh— "it was Cho who told me I fancied him."

"Your girlfriend? Chang made you realize you were in love with your best friend?!"

Cedric nods. "One day, we were lounging underneath an oak tree in the courtyard and — out of the blue, mind you — she told me she wanted to break up."

"Seriously?" Cress asks because this is news to her.

"Yeah, and when I asked why, she told me it was 'cause she wanted me to be happy. And I was confused. Of course, I was. Cho and I were happy, were we not? And I asked her and she had said, 'We are, just not as happy as we could be if we were with different people.'" Cedric chuckles again and it's an ironic one. "Said that there was probably a reason we 'fancied' one another and it wasn't to. . . shag." Cedric's face is red; he's such a pansy. "That it was more distraction than anything else, and — if we were with the people we wanted, we'd be happier. And. . . right as she said that. . ." Cedrics lets out something between a fond scoff and broken sob. "I look straight up and it's almost like fucking fate. Had to of been. Because Hamlin was standing on the other side of the courtyard, laughing at something Lee said and I just. . . I knew. I knew it was him — and I know why Cho said we were distractions and not dating."

"Of course, I hate to be the one who can't make her as happy as she could be, but it's probably for the best. . . I'm pretty sure she's in love with Mildred's twin sister?"

"Marigold?!" Cress asks, feels like she needs a little more time to process all this because Cedric and Chang broke up? All this time, she's been thinking they've been canoodling like a couple would and they're not even dating! What the hell?

Cedric snaps his fingers. "That's the one! Yeah, Cho is in love with her."

Cress takes a moment to collect herself, breathing in deeply and throwing a hand across her forehead as though it will give her the strength to go on. She knows, deep down, that it won't, but the idea is worth it. Honestly, Cress does not get paid enough for dealing with the shenanigans that Cedric brings into her life.

"Cedric, why the hell didn't you tell me about your breakup?" Cress questions slowly.

Cedric shrugs. "Dunno. Didn't seem like the right moment. Plus, everyone was getting dates for the Yule Ball and Cho and I agreed that it would be best to just go together. As friends."

"Goodness," says Cress, refraining from rolling her eyes and snapping on him. "Goodness gracious. Cedric, what the fuck?"

Seems like she didn't do too thorough a job.

"What?" Cedric's affronted, staring at her with wide grey eyes.

Cress can't even think straight, she's so disheartened. She thinks, goes back to last night and thinks about Hamlin's tears and how they could have been prevented had Cedric just opened his eyes a little sooner and asked Hamlin to the dance.

Oh, Merlin, Cress has a migraine.

"Okay, wait," Cedric says quickly, running a hand through his hair. "I know that face and I know what you're going to say but. . . in my defense, I had no idea that Hamlin even fancied me until this morning! When I kissed him, I was just going off on a limb. I expected a bad reaction, maybe some hitting, but then he looked at me and he was so—so heartbroken. . . and I realized. . . It was like he was already broken, but by me doing that. . . I think I hurt him more," Cedric tells her, voice choked as he stares out of the window.

"You probably did," Cress replies, fiddling with her sweater. "But, it was inevitable. Putting Hamlin in that kind of situation must have been stressful and emotional. He doesn't truly know how you feel. . . and I'm guessing you didn't tell him?"

There's a moment of hesitation before Cedric shakes his head in shame.

"Oh, goodness." Cress honestly wishes she got paid for being the sister of Cedric Diggory. She feels like she needs to be. "Okay, well that's where you start. Tell him how you feel and clear up this air around you two, okay? Hamlin will hear you out and he'll talk to you about it and then you guys can snog to your heart's desire once you're finished. Just try not to break any furniture."

"Why must you be so crude?!" Cedric splutters, cheeks blazing. He hides himself away in the sweatshirt. Cress stands because she's done her part; now, it's up to Cedric to finish the rest. Uma flies up on her shoulder once more.

Cress says, tapping him on the head. "Don't worry, big bro, it'll work out for the best."

Cedric stays silent. Cress takes that as her cue to leave.

⋆˚࿔

"I just want to put this out on the table: I did not steal tiny Viktor."

Cress gives Fred a withering glare. He grins back sheepishly as he holds out her pouch in one hand and tiny Viktor, who's sulking majorly — arms crossed and eyebrows extra vengeful — in the other.

"Are you saying you just conveniently forgot to give him — and my pouch, mind you — to me last night?" Cress asks.

"Yes!" Fred exclaims. "Completely forgot to! Honestly wasn't even on my mind, if I'm honest. Just noticed that I had your pouch when I went to the common room, and I thought — like, really, really, really thought — about going and taking it back to you, but you would have already been in bed. So, really? What would the point in that be? Little Viktor did okay with me, I'd like to say. We even bonded!"

But Cress is calling crock on that since it seems like tiny Viktor really wants to be as far away from him as possible. Uma flies over to him and, in a quick moment, tiny Viktor's on her back and they're flying away, disappearing into the castle, her little blue wings flapping in the crisp air. Cress watches them go and prays no one snatches them. Then, she turns to Fred.

"You've corrupted him," Cress says accusingly.

"Wha—?! How?" Fred places a hand over his heart, eyes comically wide in mock offense. "Now, Crescent, I have been accused of many-a-things, but corrupting innocent minds? That's just nonsense!"

"He just flew off into the depths of this castle." Cress gives him a look of disbelief, blue eyes blazing. "He's never done that, not without me or Axel."

Fred chuckles, a little nervously. "Well. . . okay, we might have bonded a little too well last night. He still hates me, that's still happening—but I did, maybe, tell him about all of the secret places in the castle that he could explore. . ."

"Fred!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Fred holds his hands up in surrender. "But how was I supposed to know that he could understand every word I was saying!?" Cress sends him a glare. "Okay, so I knew! But he needs adventure in his life, Crescent! Mate's withering away and soon he'll be nothing. I was doing him a favor."

"Oh, goodness." Cress rubs her temples and resists banging her head on the tree.

They're outside — Lee, George, Axel, Harry, and Ron participating in the world's cruelest snowball fight whilst Fred and Cress sit off to the side. Fred had played earlier, Cress, too, but he tapped out when Lee whacked him right in the forehead with an extra sturdy ball of snow. Fred's head's still red and Cress thinks there might be a knot there, but she's still not too sure about that one.

When Fred had tapped out, he came over and sat beside Cress, who had been sending a letter to Mallory at the time, stating that he had something to give her. And then, Fred pulled out her cerulean satchel from last night and dangled it in front of her and Cress spent a good moment wondering where he hid that until she caught up with it and saw tiny Viktor scowling in Fred's lanky hands.

That's what led up to this moment. This very moment where Cress is contemplating everything in her life because it seems like Boxing Day's a day for everyone to act off their rocker. Not like Fred, he's not acting strange — but Axel and Cedric are both acting peculiar. Although Cress does know what Cedric's problem is, she still hasn't found out what's wrong with Axel.

This is due to the fact that Axel absolutely doesn't want to speak of it. When asked about what happened last night (when he ran into her and Fred, thoroughly ruining her life), Axel avoided her eyes with a jittery stance and said that he would tell her when the moment was right. Cress has decided not to push her luck with him and just let him distract himself with projectiles of snow that is probably mixed with rocks.

"And besides, he'll come back," Fred's voice shakes her out of her reverie.

Cress glances over at him, snow falling onto his knit hat and his shoulders. His nose's red; he covers his mouth with his mitten-covered hands, breathing into them to warm himself. Cress hides her smile in her own scarf and says, "What?"

"Tiny Viktor," Fred says with a grin peeking out from his hands, voice muffled by the mittens. "He'll come back."

"Well, I'd hope so. Little guy's never been out on his own." Cress adjusts her own hat and pulls her gloves on tighter, snuggling into one of her mum's Christmas sweaters that she made Cress. "I hope he can survive."

Fred snorts. "He's got a dragon, plus aggressive eyebrows that will put anyone to death should they look at him the wrong way — I think he'll make it out alive."

Cress hums, tucks herself deeper into her scarf and remains still. The air around them is pleasant, even though snow's descending quickly, swirling into their hair even though the huge oak tree they're residing under acts as a canopy (not a very good one, mind you, since all the leaves are gone). He's a warm presence beside her, his shoulder so very close to her head where they're not touching — but could be if Cress takes that small move to connect them.

She doesn't, of course, because Cress doesn't have that kind of confidence in her. Her heart's already racing in her chest, reminding her of the proximity they share; resting her head on his bloody shoulder's pushing it. Plus, she's still uncertain as to what's happening between the two of them, and is too terrified to ask what happened last night in fear that it was a cruel joke played on her by the love gods.

So, Cress sits and she pushes down every ache in her body that wants to lean towards him, and she listens to him tell stories animatedly — that same, childish grin plastered on his face. She watches, enraptured, feels warm even though the frigidness of the day is numbing every limb in her body, and they stay there, under the snowy oak tree, and Cress lets the howl of the wind soothe away all her anxieties.

⋆˚࿔

Mallory's back.

Like, actually back. Here, at Hogwarts.

Okay, well not yet, but she's just about to arrive on the Hogwarts Express. Cress is jumping up and down in anticipation waiting for her. Axel's the same, gnawing on his fingernails like he isn't aware what he's doing but wouldn't stop if he found out. He's standing beside Cress, the both of them at the very yellow line that separates them from the train that's about to pull into the station. She sighs longingly into the distance and wishes it would speed up.

"You guys should not be this twitchy," Ginny says, standing behind them, arms crossed and hair a beacon of fire. Her tone's bordering on bored; Cress thinks it's warranted because she did pull the girl away from her book in haste to come down to the station. "It's just Mal."

"Just Mal?" asks Cress with a scoff, giving the girl a glare. "Yes, Ginny, and it's just the Queen of England."

Fred snorts, throwing his wand up before pocketing it lazily. "Totally different things, Crescent."

"And what do you know, Fred?"

Fred gives her an offended look, but Cress can't be swayed by his puppy eyes right now. She must remain vigilant for her other best friend to get here, dammit. Fred can't upset the balance of it, and Cress told him that him coming would totally do that (in the nicest way she possibly could, of course) but Fred insisted he be here for both Mallory and his brother, George, who also believed he needed to tag along.

(Which, okay, yeah, Mallory sent him a letter that said she would enjoy his company on the day she returned from break — how adorable! — so George has her beat there.)

"She gets this way when she's anxious," Cedric murmurs to Fred soothingly. "Don't take it personally, mate."

Cress's face scrunches up into an unpleasant grimace. She stares back at the two of them and wonders how the hell this new aspect of her life came to be. Fred and Cedric used to be bloody frenemies and now Cedric's soothing him like they've been friends for years. It's enough to give the girl whiplash.

Also—

"When the hell did you get here?"

Cedric rolls his eyes. "We've been here." He gestures to him and Hamiln, who's leaning heavily on Cedric like his own legs can't support him. Cress narrows her eyes. "Remember, you asked us to come along because you were scared you would pass out from tears of joy?"

"Oh, yeah," Cress reminisces with a chuckle. "I remember that. And then, I remember specifically telling you not to come because it's just a slap in the face to all us low lives who have yet to find our soulmates. Giant arseholes, the two of you, for not listening."

Hamlin drapes an arm over Cedric, just to be a prick. "If I do recall, Cress, it was your scheming that brought this to life. So, really, you've created this monster all on your own."

"Yes, and what bad planning it was on my part," Cress murmurs darkly. She huffs and crosses her arm like a petulant child.

"Oh, don't be such a wart, Mo," says Axel, throwing an arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "I think it's cute. They're happy." He gestures to Hamlin and Cedric, who hold each other tighter when Axel literally points at them, Hamlin kissing Cedric on the cheek just because he can. Cress rolls her eyes, feels like she needs to hop on these tracks before the train gets here.

"Ugh," she mumbles, stares at Axel with a speculative look that Cress thinks shakes him to his core. He coughs after a moment and then turns around, facing the empty tracks, and Cress raises a brow because he still hasn't told her what the bloody hell happened at the Yule Ball. And, at this point, she isn't too sure if he's going to. Probably not. Cress isn't counting on it. She'll have to stew in her misery forever.

The air grows more frigid as the train comes to a stop in the station, its whistle blaring — shrill in Cress's ears. She pulls her scarf over her nose, rubs her hands together, and tries not to jump up and down in excitement. Her eyes are already watering and Ginny is giving her the most bothered look Cress has ever received but Cress ignores it, grinning wide and happily as the giant, crimson train comes to a complete stop in front of the six of them.

Students pile out of the Hogwarts Express, not many of them returning but enough to surprise Cress. A third year Slytherin excuses themselves with a small grin and walks to meet their friends at the entrance and Cress gnaws on her lip to try to contain the eagerness swirling in her body. She lets out a squeal anyway and Fred asks if she's okay.

"Probably not," she tells him, glancing up at him. Cress pulls her hat down and resolutely does not get lost in his rich brown eyes because she needs to be there when Mallory walks off the train and Fred Weasley cannot stop her from this now. "I'm pretty sure I may have a heart attack."

"Well, shit, Crescent." His eyebrows are touching his hairline, they're up so high. "That's a highly concerning thing to say when we're years away from the Hospital Wing."

Cress waves him off, unbothered. "Eh, if I go down this way, that's okay. I'd like to go out with more of a bang, you know? Combustion? Oh— maybe death by fungus? I've always wanted the Forbidden Forest's moss to absorb me. If I collapse here, though? That's okay, too."

Fred opens his mouth to respond, but Cress is distracted by footsteps, soft and quiet as if they don't want to hurt the ground they're walking on, and she whips her head around so fast that her hat almost falls off. She doesn't bother to catch it, though, and runs towards Mallory with tears in her eyes, hat askew — a smile on her face, wide and contagious as she leaps on her friend.

"Mallory! You're back!" she shouts joyously, clinging onto her like a scared child.

Axel joins them. "Oh my darling, how I've missed you so much! You have to promise to never leave me with Mo alone again."

But he wraps his arms around the both of them, all lanky limbs and warm, pressed clothes. Cress snorts into the embrace, the action shaky despite how much she's grinning.

"Oh, yeah? It's you who shouldn't be left alone with me?" Cress asks, rolling her eyes and stroking Mallory's curly hair simultaneously. "I do recall the Yule Ball, Axel."

"Do not full name me right now, I'm having a moment," Axel mutters, clutching Cress tightly because he's a little bitch and wants to see her suffer — especially if he can get away with it.

"Stop fighting you two," Mallory chimes in from the middle of their little "hug sandwich" they're in the middle of. Her voice carries like a feather in the wind. "You are both a danger to yourself if left unsupervised. If anything Cedric should be there to supervise you twenty-four hours a day."

"Do I get compensation?" Cedric asks, and Cress sees him curl a finger underneath his chin as if thinking seriously about the idea. "Because you know what, if it's like ten thousand Galleons an hour—"

"TEN THOUSAND?!" Axel and Cress both erupt from the hug to glare at Cedric's laughing face.

Cress has half the mind to go over there and wipe the smirk off his face. Ten thousand Galleons? Is she that much of a danger? Absolutely not. And just for the record — she would never do the same for Cedric, no matter how much money she was getting. He can rot.

Mallory giggles into her hand, snorting quietly. "I'd say that's fair compensation for dealing with their emotional crisis." Her green eyes shine with mirth, painted so vividly in the winter's setting that Cress can only smile, even as she continues insulting her. "Plus, they happen so often, it's just insurance at this point."

"Well, I'll say," Axel says, a hand over his heart, voice breathless like he's a grandmother who heard her granddaughter showed her ankles for the first time. "Miss Mallory leaves a fragile blossom only to return as a blooming rose. With thorns. Thorns, Miss Mallory."

He waggles a finger in Mallory's face, and she laughs easily, cheeks flushing from the cold. Cress takes a moment to be glad that her friend is back, happy and alive in these dire times. (Dire times being the O.W.L. exams looming in their horizon, of course.)

"It's great to be back," Mallory says with a grin, her freckles shining in the winter's sun. It was supposed to be cloudier today but even Mother Nature knew that Mallory was returning today. The sky is clear, expansive and illuminating white with the nip of winter’s kiss. "Though I cannot help but feel as though this reunion was more for you than it was for me."

She says it with a giggle, but Axel still gasps dramatically, clutching his hand over his heart with a flourish, as if her words struck through him the way a meteor crashes on the land.

"I'll be," he says, dramatic as all those plays he dragged her to in the heart of the city. Even flourishes his cloak as he swoops away from the hug. "Mallory seems to have not missed us. The thorns keep cutting. . . they keep cutting."

"Okay, Jenson," George says, laughter echoing throughout the station, air puffing white out of his lips from the winter's bite, "you've had your time. Let the rest of us peasants get our chance."

Axel sniffs, haughty as it is. "Don't let me stop you, Oh Great Weasley."

Cress moves out of the way, snorting as she watches Axel use his cloak to gesture George through to Mallory. Snow trickles like weightless drops of powder. Cress makes her way to the side like the great supporting act she is, watching as the redhead pulls Mallory into an all encompassing hug. Like a bear embracing an adorable mouse.

He murmurs something in the girl’s ear, something that makes Mallory — composed, regal and sometimes sick Mallory Ackerman — snort without fail. The sound’s soft, as if everything about the girl, but Cress hears it as George snickers another joke.

Probably at her expense, but Cress doesn’t care — not when the black-haired girl is ducking her head, pressing her mitten-covered hands together after George, ever so slowly, pulls away from the hug. Snow curls in her hair, and Cress honestly feels like she’s watching a moment unravel in real time, watching her breath fan out as he continues whispering (words they can’t hear mind you; arsehole must have cast a spell to muffle them) to her, pulling something from his back with the flourish of someone confident enough to give a gift but humble enough to be sheepish — like he’s scared she might not like it.

“Oh my Helga,” Cress says, a breath of anything as she backs up even further, away from the happy Christmas penpals and towards where Fred beckons her with his head, smirk on his face as he reaches from her hand and tugs her gently. She looks around, not realizing she had been the last one to leave, Ax and Ginny yards ahead of her with Cedric and Hamlin at the back. “No, but Fred. . .”

“Crescent, we’re leaving,” he says, smiling at her with all the warmful mirth a guy can muster when he’s dragging her along behind me like a paper mache doll that learned how to move. “Let them have this or Mallory is right, I’m afraid. Seems like dear ‘ole Ceddie will have to be compensated for trying to keep up with you.”

Cress doesn’t gape, because she’s not offended. Not in the slightest. Not even when a surprised laugh exits her chapped lips, puffing in the air like a cloud of shocked smoke. Fred turns, making sure the path is clear enough for them to walk on as they leave Mallory and George behind, then glances back at her giving her a cheeky wink.

“What? Can’t think Mallory was right?” Fred raises a brow, tugging Cress (and her heartstrings) forward until she’s walking beside him, his paces shorter to keep up with her smaller legs. She tries not to melt when his thumb, which is still holding her hand, mind you, starts tracing circles on her mittens — burning Cress from the bottom up even through the soft cloth, skin burning like a candle lit. “Because Cedric told me a story—”

“Oh my— no, just no.” Cress tightens her hand in his grip, but he snorts at the look of horror, the derision, on her face. She almost stumbles her next step because of it, but Fred knocks their shoulders together with the force in which he pulls her in. “Fred, you can’t say that you’ve spoken to Cedric. . . much less about me!”

Because oh Helga. . . oh Rowena. What had he heard? What had Cedric said to him? Were they discussing Quidditch techniques? Flawless hair routines—for Fred’s beautiful messy mane, of course, since Cedric’s hair just looked like oily noodles to her—whilst they brag about how athletic they are?

But Fred had said he’d heard a story, and Cedric runs his mouth the way a waterfall never goes dry. . . Cress has a reason to be scared.

“Oh, don’t worry, Crescent.” Fred’s voice is a warm murmur in her ear as she tries to keep her bearings and not flail like a baby foal who just learned she had legs. His voice is smoky — warm and teasing and like a fire at night, searing through the ice on Cress’s fingertips and through her body. “We don’t talk about you all the time.”

“The fact that you talk to him at all is what I’m worried about,” she mutters, throwing her shoulder into his side with narrowed eyes. Teasing, of course. She ignores the seeping ink spreading through her body, writing in hopes and possibilities at Fred’s words. “It’s either got to be Quidditch talk or how to oppress your respected siblings.”

“Eh, only the one time,” he says, laughing when Cress gasps, haughty and offended. His hand, ever present and warm against her dark blue mittens, squeezes her own, even as he snorts at his own joke.

Cress steps over a branch, shaking her head at the redhead who seems to want to make her life miserable. “Just the one? How kind of you, Freddie boy. I can’t believe you went from hating my brother because he won one—”

“Excuse me,” Fred interrupts, throwing a finger up as though he has a point to make. Cress can’t imagine what that would be, but he’s still sturdy beside her. It reminds her of Boxing Day — all of the things she can’t have creeping back in when she turns, sees the freckles dotting his beautiful, grinning face. “He won due to technicality.”

“And then Hufflepuff beat you again,” she teases, trying to keep the way her thoughts are trying to go heavy from him.

Snow trickles like cold teardrops, melting on Fred’s face and making it redder in the crisp winter’s afternoon as Hogwarts entrance looms in the distance. Cress smiles, wobbly as it is now, his hand burning in hers as if he’s trying to ignite her from the inside out — as if he doesn’t know what one graze does to her alone. Doesn’t know how it makes her hands shake, even now as one of them is pressed into his, his shoulder pressing into hers in the most awkward but comfortable walk of her life.

Fred opens his mouth, promptly closes it. His eyes go distant, and she can see his head churning on a new answer with the memory of that day in his mind. When she played Beater for the Hufflepuff team and Fred was on the other team, alive with the same vigor he always brings to a Quidditch match. She remembers it clearly, glad her mind doesn’t automatically go to Angelina the way it usually does when Fred is involved.

Not out of anger, of course. Never out of anger. First, Fred had stated that he didn’t really fancy her anymore and second — who the hell would hate Angelina Johnson? Cress had a crush on her in her third year, herself. The bird was magnetizing, beautiful and with a laugh that could end world conflict and—

Cress is getting off topic. (She’s also learning that she might have a thing for jocks — Axel’s sister the only exception to that matter.) The point is. . . she’s glad where she is now, even if there’s part of her that still can’t believe she almost kissed Fred last night.

His lips, so plump in the frigid, snow-kissed air, pink and chapped and burning like a pin cushion she could poke. Hand covering hers like a glove, barricading the warmth so well, Cress is wondering if he hadn’t used a silent charm to keep the air around them comfortable. Her breath still puffs, white as fog and just as dense, but in her coat — Fred bumping into her like a problem every other step — she’s warmer than the Hufflepuff fires at night, embers flashing in the hearth like small twinkles of sunlight spilled only for her.

“So,” Fred says, bringing her from her thoughts with those plump lips that have haunted her dreams since she was in fourth year and realized just how amazing dreams could be, “since you won last time. . . does this mean we get a rematch?”

“On what grounds do you deserve one?” she asks, raising a brow with a snicker. “We beat you fair and square, Weasley. It’s okay to admit it with dignity. I would have.”

The cheeky grin on her face makes Fred snort, and he pulls her closer like he can’t help it — like the less space the two of them have between them, the better. The snow crunches underneath their feet, soft and hardening as the temperature gets more frigid. His boots are worn, second-hand leather that looks like a dark brown that wasn’t meant to be that color, and Cress watches them momentarily while they walk, taking in the stutter of his left foot every third step.

Like he can’t help it. It’s too cute, and she’s certain that she’s going to die early on if she keeps finding these little quirks that he has. It’d be a fitting death, since she’s been crushing on the bloke since her first year, but still — Fred Weasley is going to be the death of her even before O.W.L.s.

“Dignity doesn’t exist when you have to deal with Snape as a professor,” Fred says, clinging closer to her as if his warming charm isn’t enough to keep their bodies toasty in the winter’s icy chill. “But I can admit that you looked spectacular out there. . . even if I didn’t get to say it before.”

He looks sheepish, freckles obscured by the rosiness of his snow-kissed cheeks. One hand rushes to push his too-big toboggan over his still-growing hair — thick as it flows down his shoulders — and the other, still rubbing circles on Cress’s mitten-covered wrist, tightens its hold.

An apology.

One that he seems to be keen on giving, for he continues, “Yeah, and er—” he scratches at his cheek with his own gloved hand— “maybe shouldn’t have asked you. . . for advice. . . on-how-to-woo-someone.”

He says the last part hurriedly, but Cress has kept up with Axel’s rants enough times that she catches it, snorting.

“No, might not have been the brightest idea,” Cress replies, smirking when Fred gapes at her. “But only in hindsight, Freddie boy. You couldn’t have known I carried a torch for you all those years—”

“All those years, you say?” Fred asks, voice a dark murmur and a lot closer to her ear than it was before. It warms her from her head to her toes, a sip of hot chocolate on the coldest day. “Do tell, dearest Crescent. . . how long did you carry this torch for? Also, how big was it? Can it be compared to a candle or a blaze?”

Cress’s entire face lights up like a thousand suns pelted her into the ground, but she had to remain standing to keep her dignity—something she’s not too keen on holding onto with the way she just spewed her secrets like some nonsensical witch on the street.

“Shut— don’t even start with me, Weasley,” she snarls, but it’s playful, despite the fact that her hands are shaking. Will he think she’s weird if he found out it was since her first year, when he saved her from total annihilation Lee Jordan-style? “It wasn’t even—okay, so, maybe you could compare it to a spark.”

Will he run when he realizes that it’s deeper than some crush? It had been the act of him seeing her — Cress, a first year, with all her untamed magic — and matching her exactly where she was. Not asking her to fix it, but making his hair exactly like hers, even when Lee laughed at the both of them. She had been more sensitive back then, a watery child who spilled like waterfalls all over her emotions.

He’d been the spark to meet her in the middle, to stop her before she overflowed into something dangerous, something uncontrollable.

But Cress cannot very well tell him that. It would be like social damnation. Fred would look her in the eyes and set his condolences to match her very awkward confession and then she would have to go to Cedric and demand that he fight in her honor. To the death.

It would only be right. The logical thing, really.

“A spark?!” Fred asks, and his voice is high-pitched, surprised. Cress looks at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes flitting around like she can’t quite meet his eyes. “Here I thought I was at least a flame. Small but still well-lit.”

He snorts when Cress makes a gawking noise, like she can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation. Right here, in front of Hogwarts and all these witnesses. Is that what he wanted? To let her die of embarrassment before she could have dinner tonight? It’s a pretty good idea, if so. She thinks she would have done it to her enemy, though, not a bird he danced with at a ball.

The git.

“You’re quite confident that me fancying you is deeper than what it is,” Cress says, tripping over a log graciously. She doesn’t even flail, but that might be because Fred pulls her back and into his chest with a snort.

“I’m quite confident that you can’t walk without assistance,” he teases, voice light as a balloon and just as airy. His thumb rubs a pattern into the back of her jacket, movement she can feel through the layers she’s wearing. “But I’d hoped. . . hoped it was deeper. Else when I kiss you for real next time, it’s goin’ be a little awkward.”

Cress’s entire face is as red as a cherry tart. She deftly doesn’t glance at Fred, despite the fact that there’s no part of her that he’s not touching. His hands on her wrist and waist, holding her against his heat with a grip that suggests he doesn’t want to let go any time soon.

“Fred! Don’t just— you can’t say things like that,” she splutters, throwing her hands over her face, despite the fact that it disconnects contact with him in the worst way possible. “Oh Helga, what if I’d just combusted on the spot? What would you have done then?”

“Picked you up and carried you in my pocket?” Fred asks, throwing an arm over her shoulder in retaliation and walking them towards the entrance to the school. “Cedric would have understood, I think. He did tell me that you might have—”

“Oh, he’s dead,” Cress mutters, rolling a sleeve up, Fred’s laughter in her ear like a song whispering through the winter’s air. He might think she’s kidding, but if Cedric told Fred her deepest, darkest secrets, then he was a goner. A dead man. “I don’t even want to know what dirty little secrets he whispered in your ears.”

“Now they’re dirty?” Fred waggles his eyebrows, tugging her until she’s almost in his neck, his breath puffing the scent of peppermint and Butterbeer into the air. “See, Cress, Cedric only told me you might have some unresolved issues regarding someone you might have a crush on. He never mentioned dirty secrets.” He leans in conspiratorily. “Is that more so Axel’s speed because I am all for asking him, too.”

“You ask no one anything or I tell you what George told me about you,” Cress snarks, leaning into him despite the fact that she maybe shouldn’t be doing this. Not with her spilling her demons like she was in one of those Muggle churches, confessing to their priest. But he’s burning with heat and she’s cold, sue her. “Or should I do Lee? He had a lot to say about you during your whole wooing debacle.”

Fred looks aghast, which is what she had been going for. His mouth parts, then closes like he has nothing to say that wouldn’t leave him stranded here, snow falling quicker the closer night draws. Cress laughs softly at it, even though the most criminal thing Lee’s told her is that Fred sometimes leaves the common room in the middle of the night and they still haven’t figured out why.

(She hasn’t had the heart to tell him that Fred’s been with her, mainly because she’s scared that Lee might start following the ginger if he knew and she likes the routine of just them. For now, at least.)

“Lee doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Fred mutters, and bless him, she wonders what’s going on in that giant brain of his. Wonders if he thinks it’s sinister, when his best friend only ever said he was staying back to woo Angelina to her. That the ginger could get stupid (stated fondly, she checked) when he fancied a girl. “And if he did, he doesn’t anymore.”

“Hm, I’ll tell you after you tell me what Cedric said.”

“Oh, what, after you kept interrupting me? Think you deserve to know now, yeah? On what bases?”

“I was panicking!” Cress argues, throwing her free arm up in defense. “Cedric never knows what he’s talking about anyway! I mean, this is the same bloke that told Hamlin who I fancied! Hamlin!”

“To be fair, I thought Hamlin was the one you fancied,” Fred calls, snorting when she levels him with the deadliest glare she could muster. “Okay, so he’s not. But to be fair—up until I realized him and Cedric were, like, an item, I thought the bloke wanted you. Was very territorial over you.”

“He gets that way when he thinks something is ‘his,’” she says, using air-quotes and ignoring the disbelief on Fred’s face when she says it. “Totally platonic. He pushed me in a bush once, couldn’t have been him to like me.”

“That could totally be because of a crush,” Fred argues and yeah, it might be a solid one, but—

“I had a crush in my third year. . . Peyton, Axel’s sister,” Cress explains, snorting at the memory, “and Hamlin tried then to figure it out for no other reason than he likes to be on the ins with what Cedric knows. The reason he had no clue about—” she knows he knows it’s him, but telling Fred that she actually fancies him right this second might actual send her into a cardiac explosion, “—about the other one is because I only told Axel up until last year, when Cedric was a little dillweed and sniffed it out like some kind of hound.”

Arsehole did it by reading her diary, too. Sure, she had been sadder, had been withdrawing into herself, but it was nothing he needed to snoop for! Sometimes, she was just down, and she didn’t know why — and she’s sure one day she’ll figure it out. Without Cedric pressing her for answers on why.

Ugh, had that never happened, he would have never found out. Would have never teased her at the Quidditch World Cup. Fred probably wouldn’t have blessed her because of it, and then she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself when they landed at the Cup.

But no. No, Cedric wanted to snoop and saw the most vicious, most embarrassing entry she’d ever put in her journal. And he came to her, tears in his eyes, spewing some bullshit about how she’s not alone in it when it wasn’t even Fred that had made her body heavy with a weight she couldn’t shake off.

Brothers.

Hate to love them. Love to hate them.

Cress was going to put Cedric in a chokehold, though, when she saw him.

Fred nods, though, as if the entire thing made sense. As they walk into the warmth of the entrance hall, students bustle by them, clad in dinner robes and casual ones alike. Fred doesn’t remove his arm, even when they walk by some of his friends. He only nods at them, giving all his attention to Cress, who is currently thinking about ten different ways you can hurt someone without causing bodily harm.

“Georgie did the same thing to me, too, once,” Fred says, leading her down to the basements like he knew she needed to escape there before dinner. Before she had to think about Cedric’s task and what he was going to do for the second one. She doesn’t comment on it, but she’s grateful, her heart turning over in her chest like a broom on the Quidditch field. “I was but a bean sprout, though, so I guess it doesn’t really count. But he betrayed the brotherly trust I had built with him for seven years—all to tell Yunaria McDarda that I had a crush on her. She moved away right after, too, which only added insult to injury.”

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t because of you,” Cress tries as they sweep through the sloping corridors, the kitchens’ aroma trailing down to them with tonight’s dinner and desserts melded together. “Maybe she’s like a super powerful witch and when you find her again—”

“Squib,” Fred says, smiling wryly, not like he was ashamed to admit he liked one, but that he thought Cress’s own viewpoint would change on him. “She was a squib. Probably why I liked her so much. Had unstable magic, I guess like you. . .” He scratches the back of his head, shedding his hat and stuffing it in his jacket’s pocket, arm still around Cress’s shoulder as he guides her to the barrels. “And she liked it. A lot. But her mum didn’t like her playing with the Weasley kids. Thought we had some sort of disease because we didn’t wear high-end robes.”

Cress winces for him. Her family wasn’t well off like the Malfoys, but her mother and father’s incomes combined helped them to have a comfortable life with more spending than what they should be able to afford. She’d been fortunate enough not to be a target of Malfoy’s wrath because of that — though she can proudly say that she is a target since she punched him last year — but she’s seen the way the ferret’s treated the Weasleys because of how they dress. Because it’s not up to his ridiculous standards of what constitutes a real wizard, you stay out of this, Diggory.

She’d made his mashed potatoes explode that night because he was refusing to leave a third year alone — in Slytherin, mind you; another Muggle-born like Jonah Spencer, who had been the only one before Jani McCree — and it seemed like the most fitting justice for a little rat that cares more about his clothing than someone’s feelings.

Arsehole.

“You know, I’ve always loved your robes,” Cress admits, her face already heating as she bites her lip to try and get these next words to not come out. But Fred is staring at her, eyes softer in the flickering candlelight at the barrels they’ve reached, sadly enough. He’s not fidgeting, but she knows he hates the fact that his family is always dogged on because of their “status.” So, her stupid brain says, “I— uh, once. . . like when I was younger, and you know had that super big issue with the spark? Not the blaze, of course.”

“Sure, sure, never the blaze,” Fred replies, nodding his head and bringing his lips close to Cress’s crown, right near her ear, voice teasing — husky — as he continues. “But do go on, Crescent, you’ve given me more secrets than Cedric has.”

“You’re so annoying,” she mumbles, throwing her mitten-covered hands over her face, hoping it muffles the next part — or suffocates her. She’s fine with either at this point. “I. . . well, Fred, if you must know—”

“You started it,” he laughs and it’s right in her ear. Currently not doing good things for her.

“Fine, fine, okay!” She waves a hand through the air, discreetly trying to fan herself. “I liked your robes so much that I made Mum take me to a thrift shop to buy a pair but I never wore them in school because I didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you — since that would be rude, but they’re so rustic and nice and I happen to quite like the faded look as well, but I wore them everywhere during the summer, even to Muggle towns with Axel and I know it’s stupid and—”

She makes a noise — unsure if it’s surprise or death that causes it — when Fred plants a kiss on the crown of her head, lips pressing there for one, two moments before he pulls back, chuckling into her head.

“You really are something special, Crescent,” he says into her hair. His arm trembles where it’s wrapped around her shoulder, but his smile is warm, genuine, soft around the edges like melting jellies. “How long ago was this? I have to know, for research purposes.”

"Uh. . ." Cress is still reeling from the buzz of his kiss, the way he pressed it to her head like someone resting their head on a pillow. Careful, gentle, unwilling to leave so soon. "I feel like if I told you it got me into a new hobby and I bought a new pair each year, you might smite me down and make me a wand."

Fred laughs, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchens. His hair is a mess from where he pulled his toboggan off, but Cress has never found him more beautiful, chuckling at her like she was the greatest form of entertainment. Fondly like he wanted to see more of it.

“I need to see them at this rate,” Fred tells her, snorting. But his hand — the one attached to her shoulder like a vice — comes up and ruffles her hair. “Thanks, Crescent. You’re too cute when you ramble. And I’m not offended in the slightest. I just want to see them in person.”

“Yeah?” she asks, smile a tremble of a thing, like she’s been hit by an earthquake, but only internally. “Really? Because I mean — not that I brought them wth me or anything but I’m sure that Mum could —”

“She totally brought them with her,” a new voice pipes up, and Cress is ashamed to admit she jumps so high in the air that it ends up parting her from Fred. When she turns to the barrels, where the insolent voice came from, she sees Axel smiling cheekily at her, waving his fingers like some sort of arse. “Yeah, no, Fred, you’re giving her a greenlight. She only likes thrifted things, but she didn’t want it to look like it was being mean, though she loved wearing them to the Ministry dinners with Malfoy so don’t be fooled. Bird loves making a statement. And thrifted things. Just cares more about your feelings.”

“So, it is a blaze?” Fred asks with wiggling eyebrows. “You carry a giant torch for me, Crescent.”

“I’m going to douse it if you don’t stop,” she grumbles, though it’s false because she misses his arm around her — misses the way his lips felt pressed against the sliver of skin on her head. “Axel, why are you out here?”

“Well. . .” Axel trails off, looking absolutely delighted to tell her news that might shatter Cress’s entire soul. “The entire common room could. . . maybe. . . hear what you’re talking about and I just wanted to come stop it before it turned into a snogging session right in front of the barrels. Think about Gadby, Mo.”

“Insufferable,” Cress mutters, cheeks hot as she refuses to look at Fred. “Aren’t you the one that stopped the last one, too?” She raises a brow at her best friend, who decides to look in the other direction hurriedly as though he’s spotted a unicorn in the very ceiling. “Yeah, you running from anything today or just being a little shit, Ax?”

“A little shit?” Axel puts his hand over his chest. Fred snorts from behind his hand — which is not helping Cress’s case that Axel is a little shit. “Never me. I’m actually here to tell you Cedric has decided it was his duty ‘to help love thrive’ and he’s trying to pull out your robes right now.”

“From my enchanted trunk?” Cress squeaks, throwing her hands over her face, the mittens scratching it when she drags them down to her chin. “Axel, the last time he tried, he was teleported to the Black Lake!”

“Hey, I’m not stopping him from being an idiot this time,” Axel says, hands raised in surrender. “That’s Hamlin’s job now, as his sworn boyfriend and soulmate — per his words, by the way.”

“You’re all idiots, all of you,” Cress says, throwing her hands up. She glances at Fred, who’s laughing with all the joy of someone who enjoys seeing Cress’s things be tinkered with. “Fred, if Cedric’s not launched into the stratosphere in a couple minutes, I shall see you at dinner. Sorry Axel’s the king of cutting off conversations.”

“You forget, dearest Mo,” Axel points out, finger up like she cares, “it was a kiss I interrupted the first time. This, by all accounts, was me stopping you from going into a tangent about how you only like Quidditch—”

“Bye, Fred!” Cress slams Axel’s head back in the barrels, smiling (grimacing) at him. “I’ll see you at dinner. I hope you don’t hate me.”

“Never,” he says, walking over in three strides, pressing another quick kiss to her forehead as though she were someone who wouldn’t implode from it later on. “We can match later. I want to see how the great Crescent thrifts. I go all out when I do — and sorry, if you don’t meet my standards. . .”

He snorts at his own joke, wrapping his arms around her in the warmest embrace of Cress’s life. She buries her own in the layer between his jacket and sweater, holding on for only a moment before they both pull away.

“I doubt I will,” she says, laughing softly, staring at the flush still present on his cheeks from the kiss of heat in the basements. “But just know, even if I didn’t like thrifting. . . I’d still love your robes. They, erm — always look really, really good on you.”

Cress can’t meet his eyes, but he tilts her head up with a curled finger. Her heart’s beating a ruckus in her chest, angry and bashful all at once.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice dark, low. No longer teasing, but something with weight, something that holds her in place. “Say it again. Want to hear it when you look at me.”

Cress swallows, and when she speaks, her voice comes out breathy, spent. “I love your robes, Fred. And you in them. Too much, I’m afraid.”

He breathes out a laugh, soft and tempting in ways she wasn’t sure were possible until just now. Fred adjusts his hand until his thumb is on her cheek, the back of it curled in the space at her ear, where her hair and beanie are tangled. He traces the burning heat of her cheek with patterns that sear her from the inside out.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers, leaning closer, his breath like spice and heat. Cress stares, blue eyes wide with desire, heart thumping out of her chest. “But I’m terrified if Jenson interrupts again, I might have to fight him for my own honor. Specifically because it's the third time, and I can't let it slide after that.”

Her laughter is nervous, but fond. For a slight moment, she leans into his caress, into the way his thumb ghosts over her skin, before she reaches her mitten-covered hand up to his face. Pulling him down gently, Cress leans up on her toes, pressing her cool lips onto his warm cheek. Her hand holds his face in place, and when she pulls back, she grins at him softly.

“Please don’t fight Axel,” she says, laughing, wishing she had taken her mittens off the way he did his gloves when they walked in the giant building. “He might win.”

“I’d say to have more faith in me, but he is scrappy,” Fred says, snorting as Cress pulls her hand away. Just as that happens, a crash comes from the slightly ajar entrance, Cedric’s shocked scream echoing from the girls’ dormitories. She doesn’t even want to know how he got down there. Only looks to Fred, who looks in the cracked entry and says, “I take it he didn’t crack the code.”

“He never can,” Cress sighs, pulling back completely as though she were detaching herself from a magnet. She doesn’t want to go, wants to talk to Fred more and more and more, but she knows dinner is soon and if she isn’t there to stop Cedric, he really will be thrown into another dimension. Possibly. “I have to go stop him from being an idiot, sadly.”

“Yeah, Georgie never came back with Mallory, so I’ll go check on them, see where they’re at.” Fred throws a thumb back towards the corridors where they came from, lips quirking at her. “See you at dinner?”

“Hopefully,” she promises, missing his heat already. “That’s if I’m not in the Hospital Wing, pulling Cedric out of my tote.”

“Oh, let me know if that happens,” Fred calls, backing up without looking away from Cress. “I need to witness it for myself.”

“Is this because Hufflepuff won that one time?” Cress yells after him, his longer legs leading him further than she would be able to catch up to.

“Maybe,” he calls back, throwing a two-finger salute over his shoulder with a kiss. “I’ll see you later, love. Go save your idiot brother.”

He rounds the corner before she can say anything else — and what would she say? To that? To being called ‘love’ like she’s. . .? She’s what? His girlfriend? The object of his affections? In what world would that be possible, feasible even?

“Literally stop overthinking,” Axel says, back at the entrance, his hair sparking like he touched one of his electrical sockets. “Cedric ran into the eels that come out when you get to the first layer. Had some. . . trouble with them. Stop thinking Fred doesn’t want you and come help. Mate was all over you like he wanted to absorb you — you’re good.”

Cress opens her mouth to retort and promptly closes it. Figures Cedric would run into the eels like a dummy. How he even got past the passcode is beyond her; she set it to be impossible, only accessible by her and Axel.

She resolutely doesn’t think about all the ways she wanted to kiss Fred, to have his lips pressed to hers in a burning dance. It would do her no good, would send her even further into a spiral after opening her big fat mouth and telling Fred that she loved older, second-hand clothes. She thought they were better than first-hand clothes that smelled like chemicals and magic and weren’t stitched together with thicker thread. New sometimes meant worse, and she didn’t know how to tell him that, but she’s also not sure she could have because she put her fist in her mouth and beat the words of embarrassment out of her.

Cress follows Axel into the common room, Cedric’s shouts of terror echoing from the fifth girls’ dormitory mingling in with the warmth of Fred calling her love.

⋆˚࿔

Apparently, Cedric has it all figured out. At least, that's what he tells Cress when she asks if he needs any help figuring out the second task.

He informs her that he's known what the second task’s going to be for some time now — and wow, Cedric, way to enlighten her with that information — that he’s certain in the spell he's going to use, in the techniques that he's going to apply to his tactics to help him. Cedric just knows everything about this task. Isn't that bloody brilliant?

Of course, it is, she thinks offhandedly. Cress would rather have Cedric be aware of the obstacles that he's facing beforehand. It beats the alternative where Cedric’s ignorant and he ends up hurting himself badly — like he did in the first task with the dragon.

But, still, there's a nagging voice in the back of her head that makes her stomach churn uneasily, makes it harder for her to concentrate in Divination. It sits like ice, a big glacier floating through the abyss of her turning stomach and she gnaws on her pen as she tries to listen to what Professor Trelawney says.

It's hard, though, paying attention. Cress is thinking about the second task rather than the tea leaves and crystal balls that likely have images of Cress's untimely demise in there. She wishes that it would show her things about the task, about the object that Cedric’s going to have to retrieve from the bottom of the Black Lake. She wishes it would give her something that will lighten the weight on her heart. She wants it to show Cedric, coming out of the Lake, smiling with his object in hand, unconcerned about the world around him because he did it. He made it through the second task with no marks, no threats looming over his head and there's just one more — one more task before he's done.

One more task before Cress can breathe a little easier, can sleep a little better, knowing her brother is safe and sound and not in mortal peril anymore.

She hopes it's nothing that Cedric is afraid of losing. Maybe his old card collection or his first edition books that he loves so much. Perhaps he'll have to fetch that. Cress hopes so.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney speaks, drawing Cress from her reveries.

Cress glances at the wide-eyed woman, hair frizzed up on her head in thin tendrils and says, "Yes?" She's a little apprehensive, though, since the last time Professor Trelawney talked to her like this, she was informing Cress of the obsidian lake that would lead to her death. Or, something like that. The details are a bit foggy.

"Have you glanced into the depth of your crystal ball, my dear?" the woman asks, stepping closer to Cress's empty table and peering into the ball of crystal that has remained blank the whole duration of class.

"Yes," Cress lies, anyway. "I saw me, drowning in that blasted lake you speak so much about. It was very terrifying. I truly think I won’t get much sleep tonight." She tries to keep the sarcasm down to a minimum but she thinks that on some level, Professor Trelawney catches onto it anyway.

The professor's glasses shine as she glares at Cress. "This is no joke, Miss Diggory." Trelawney gazes into the ball. "Now, let us see what awaits you in the future, my dear."

Cress watches, a little indifferently, although her heart twinges in curiosity, her eyes straying to Trelawney's expression. She can't help it. Whilst Professor Trelawney's predictions are almost always off and have caused major disruption in the school, Cress can't help but feel as though that the woman is sometimes right, that sometimes her Inner Eye works, seeing past the veil of the earth and into the future, into a dark place that has yet to be mapped out, yet to be seen and felt and heard and Cress kind of wants to see it, too.

So, she watches and Professor Trelawney's gaze stays transfixed on the ball and the chatter of the other students around them is drowned out by the wail that escapes the professor's mouth.

It's kind of heartbreaking, to be honest. A little dramatic, but Professor Trelawney sends Cress the most despairing look that Cress has ever witnessed and it does not bode well with her. Because whilst she might not be able to see into her future, she thinks that Trelawney might not be joking about this.

"Oh, dearest," Trelawney bemoans, taking her glasses off to wipe the perspiration off them. There are tears in her eyes when she looks at Cress. "The future continues to darken for you, my dear. Such a dark, bleak future." There are eyes on Cress's back, speculative and a little intrusive, and she's starting to feel a lot like Harry Potter if the rumors of Trelawney predicting his death every lesson are true.

"My future can't get any worse," Cress mutters, but the ice in her stomach gets colder and more prominent and she thinks about Cedric's task and prays that it has nothing to do with it.

Professor Trelawney says, "Would you care to know, Miss Diggory? I can tell you, I can show you what I saw, if you fancy to know it."

But Cress would rather not. Her heart’s already in knots, beating too fast and too hard, making it hard for Cress to hear anything else other than the pounding of it in her chest. There's a logical part of her mind that says Professor Trelawney is off her rockers since it doesn't add up. Cress's life has been okay, for the most part.

She's doing okay in classes and her friends are okay and she hasn't dreamed about cold, freezing water in many weeks (mostly since she hasn't really gotten sleep because of extra homework to help her "prepare" for her O.W.L.s, but still). All her friends are okay — at least, she thinks, because Axel is still acting a little weird even though he claims that he's okay and there's nothing awry with him. Cress calls bullshit (he’s interrupted her and Fred twice now — twice), still, but she figures that if he wants to tell her, he will. She won't push.

So, yeah, there's no impending sorrow buzzing in her life right now (except for the fact that the second task is two days away) so she doesn’t understand what Professor Trelawney could be seeing that makes it seem like Cress is going to die.

The other, more gullible part of her shows up and it brings an image of vacant, grey eyes and an ache that never goes away and this part longs to know what Trelawney saw, to know what's going to happen just so she can prevent it. This childish, hopeful part of Cress, with her blanket in her arms, pale blue and so cozy, the one that waits by the door of the house, hoping that Pop Pop is going to come for a surprise visit, hoping that he'll come home sooner than planned, not knowing that he won't come home at all craves the details, desires to grasp onto the foreboding future just so she can stop anyone else from getting hurt — so she can prevent anyone else from leaving her.

This part overbears the other one, swallows it whole until Cress is staring at Trelawney with worry, with uneasiness clenching at her in a vice grip, almost choking her. She doesn't say anything, can't, for the bell rings, signaling the end of lessons, but Cress sees it loud and clear in Trelawney's irises. Something is going to happen. Cress doesn't know what it is, what it's going to be, but it's set in stone, carved in it with a hard knife that carves at Cress, too.

It hurts, stings at her skin. The anxiety pounds away at her head, makes her lungs shrink to the point where breathing is hard, difficult, and she's running into the abandoned bathroom on the second floor, gripping a sink and trying to get a grip on herself.

The mirror is cracked badly, shattered to the point where people should use caution if they happen to stumble upon the bathroom, but Cress can make out her reflection in it. There are splotches of crimson dotting her cheeks and there are angry tears running down her face in salty streams and Cress heaves another breath, tries to control herself, but there's the heavy cloud of unknowing looming over her, crackling with static lighting and booming thunder that shakes her to her core. There's rain, hot and searing, acidic, falling onto her, making her skin crawl and her eyes burn with the force of it.

Cress slides down to the floor, crosses her knees up to her chest and pushes herself back into the deepest corner of the lavatory, head in her hands and heart on her sleeve, bloodied and bruised and oh, so scared.

She feels seven again, after Pop Pop's funeral when she crawled into the smallest space of her closet to hide from the world, to hide from the pain and sorrows knocking on the door, pounding it down to claw its way to her. Cress tries to catch her breath and wonders why she's freaking out so bad, wonders why Trelawney's probably false predictions are having this effect on her.

Cress tries not to think about it too hard, lets her mind wander until her legs are numb from the coldness of the stone floor.

The second task sears itself into her mind, anyway, and Cress doesn't go to dinner that night.

⋆˚࿔

"Okay, but you gave Harry the password to the prefects' bathroom? Harry?!" Cress stares at Cedric indignantly, feeling like she's been betrayed majorly. Cedric has the audacity to look guilty, the arsehole.

He chomps down on his peas and corn (the weirdest combination Cress has ever seen) and says, "I wanted him to be prepared for the second task. He deserved it after he helped me out with the dragons." Cedric sends Cress a look as though him saying Harry's good deed warranted Cedric's actions will help her forget the fact that he's betrayed every sibling law there's ever been.

"So, you had to give him the password to the bathroom? You couldn't just tell him what was going to happen during the task?" Cress asks, giving tiny Viktor a piece of her cornbread. He puckers his lips up in distaste and saunters off to hound Axel.

Cress can’t help but feeling extra betrayed.

Hamlin swallows some pumpkin juice. "What did you tell Harry, Ced? I feel like you were very cryptic about it."

Cedric's face reddens, a pucker mark on his cheek from where the octopus in her trunk had gotten him the other night. "I wasn't cryptic!" he denies which means he totally was. Cress and Hamlin sigh. "What? I told him to take a bath with the egg! I told him what to do!"

Cress snorts, spooning up some gravy with her roll. "That's so fucking cryptic, it's almost bordering on Dumbledore." Mallory giggles from beside her and Cress sends her a grin.

"It was helpful!" Cedric exclaims.

"Yeah, no it wasn't," Hamlin says quickly, laughing at the affronted look Cedric sends him like Hamlin has personally offended him and his children by not supporting him like a loving and caring boyfriend should. "I'm just saying, love, you could have told Potter to actually put the egg in the water with him. I feel like that would have been more helpful in the long run."

Cedric pouts, which is expected. "But, he knows what the task is about, now! That's got to count for something!"

"But," Cress points out, "does he really know what the second task is? Or, were you so enigmatic about your ‘tips’ that Harry floated in the giant pool of a bathtub in frustrations before he gave up?"

"Well. . .," Cedric trails off and looks oddly guilty. Cress sighs into her cup of water before downing it in one go. She wipes her mouth as Cedric says, "I'm none too sure because I'm pretty sure he hates me?"

Hamlin cackles loudly, eliciting stares from people at the table. "Well, of course, he does, Ced! You ruined his plans to woo Chang!"

Cress snorts as Cedric sends Hamlin a questionable gaze like he's not too sure why Hamlin is describing these details happily. Axel, sitting to the right of Cress, back to the other tables, scoops up some bread and then stands, waltzing out of the Great Hall before any of them can ask where he's going. Cress and Mallory share looks and pretend they don't notice Viktor Krum heading out after him.

"I worry about him, you know?" Cedric leans in close, bringing Hamlin in, too, as though he's sharing a deadly secret and not talking about Axel's love life. "Mate's been acting strange lately. I'm scared. Do you think it's drugs?"

"And you wonder why you're the 'Mum' of the group, Ced." Hamlin's voice is sickeningly fond as he stares at Cedric with hearts in his eyes. The subject from before is long forgotten and Cress sighs because what even is her life? Her friends can't stay on one subject for longer than five minutes. Truly would be annoying if she hadn’t been concerned herself.

"Axel is probably not on drugs," Mallory supplies before Hamlin and Cedric can go into a full-on snog session in front of them. "At least, I'm thirty-five percent sure he isn't."

Cress snorts. "If Axel ever tries drugs, I'd be right there with him, blazed myself, so I can declare that he isn't on anything." She sends tiny Viktor — who has decided that since Axel is gone he's going to badger her again — a glare of utter hurt. He looks back at her, unfazed. Cress wishes he wasn't so heartless.

"Then what is it?" Cedric asks, curiously, a little concerned. Hamlin rubs his back soothingly.

"Probably stress of O.W.L.s.," Cress answers, shrugging even though she wants to know what his problem is herself. One day, she'll ask him about it, but for now, Cress has been letting him deflect as much as he can — Mallory, too.

Hamlin hums, eyes squinting as though he's pondering over Cress's answer and debating on whether it's plausible or not. Cedric has his head in his hand and he looks like a stressed dad would if they found their child sneaking into the house at ungodly hours in the morning, sheepish smile on their face as they conjured up lies for the parent to pretend to believe. Mallory picks at her salad and does not say anything. Cress suspects that it's affecting her the most, Axel's secrecy, because the girl hates to see people struggling more than anything.

Cress takes her hand and hopes that it soothes her, at least a little.

Later, Cress and Mallory head to the library to catch up on studying. Hamlin and Cedric retreat to the common room with sly smirks on their faces and silent promises that they're going to get up to no good. Cress grimaces anyway and trails behind Mallory, taking a seat across from her friend and pulling out her Potions book.

The library’s dimly lit, a chill breeze coming in from the cracks in the windows. Cress stares down at her book, the crunched-up parchment with ink stains on it from encounters with Cedric and his quill. The words blur together in her tired eyes and she yawns, feels like maybe tonight she'll finally get a good night's rest since the past nights have been plagued with nightmares again — with swirling black waters and sharp arms blocking her from the air, from freedom.

It's all Trelawney's fault, she thinks bitterly, trying to force some knowledge into her mind. If the professor wouldn't have brought anything up, Cress wouldn't have started dreaming the same nightmare she had many weeks ago. It's like Trelawney wants her to die from exhaustion or something.

Whatever. Cress is going to prevail because it doesn't mean anything. She was just being stupid when she let it get to her the other day. It's behind her and she's okay.

But then Fred and George Weasley come to their table and they have identical expressions on their faces, grim and not too happy. Cress's stomach drops as she stares up at them.

"Hello, boys," Mallory says cheerily, giving them a bright smile. "What are you doing?"

George grins at her. "Hello, Mallory. Having a nice night?"

"It's swell, thank you." Cress doesn't know if it's the trick of the light, but she thinks she sees Mallory's cheeks tint.

"We're here to collect our dearest Crescent," Fred says suddenly.

Cress cranes her neck up to look at him and she feels the ice come back, freezing over her veins with poison. Fear clouds her mind and her throat closes as she tries to conjure up a response to him. Nothing comes out and she's left gaping, wondering.

"For what?" Mallory asks, curiously. Cress is grateful.

"McGonagall needs her," Fred explains and the expression on his face doesn't brighten in the slightest. If anything, it gets worse. "I dunno for what, but the woman looked pretty put off."

And isn't that swell? Cress's heart skips a beat as she collects her stuff. She's dimly aware of her asking Mallory if she would be okay here alone and walking back to the common room, hears George Weasley offer to escort her back and then Cress is being corralled by Fred — his hand gently guiding hers away — and they're walking out of the library where Ron and Hermione are waiting there, talking in low voices. They see Fred and Cress and stop, staring at them.

"Hello, Crescent," Hermione says, bushy hair being pulled in a bundle of energy in her fist.

Cress manages a wave.

They set off for McGonagall's office. Cress hears the footsteps echoing off the stone walls, sees the torches lighting up the corridors, but it's all blurry. Her eyes seemed to have stopped working, blinded by the cloud fogging her mind, her heart, her everything. She wishes Cedric were here, wants him to assure her everything is going to be okay, but she thinks maybe it won't be. Because Cress thinks this has something to do with the second task, remembers Cedric's description about getting something back that the merpeople took and she almost freezes there, almost turns around and runs for it.

Fred has to grip her hand to keep her going.

He sends her a concerned look, eyes burning with worry and a kindness so soft that it makes Cress want to lean into him — to wrap her arms around him tightly until the world disappears and it's just them, weightless, floating. She wants him to run his hand over her hair and reassure her that everything is going to be alright, that her fear is warranted, that she has every right to be afraid, but Cress truly doesn't know what she's about to see when she enters McGonagall's office.

Perhaps it isn't about the second task at all. Maybe McGonagall wants to praise them for the astounding marks (laughable since Hermione is the only one with Outstandings out of the three of them) or maybe she wants to have a chat over tea. Perhaps it's nothing that's going to make Cress feel like she's falling through an abyss. Perhaps her fear is misplaced; perhaps Trelawney got into her head too much — perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. . .

When they reach the office, Hermione and Ron go in ahead and Cress loiters for a moment, looks at Fred. He looks at her, smiles, small and inquiring, and Cress falls into his arms a moment later, clinging and holding and trying to catch her breath.

Fred’s a steady presence, radiating a warmth that melts the glacier taking up the confines of her stomach. It melts away slowly, but surely, and she sighs into his shoulder, feels increasingly better than before. He wraps his arms around her and he's got his mouth pressed against her head, placing a firm kiss on the top of it, telling her what she needs to hear without opening his mouth.

You'll be fine, it says, and she believes it, for once.

Cress pulls back, but she can only wave goodbye and hold her head up high as she walks into McGonagall's office. The headmasters of the three schools are in there, along with Ludo Bagman, Percy Weasley, and McGonagall, of course. In the chairs scattered in front of them sits Hermione, Ron, and a small girl with hair that's almost as white as snow. Dumbledore gestures for her to take the remaining seat and Cress does so quickly.

Professor Dumbledore speaks quickly and tells them about the second task. He asks if they wouldn't mind playing the bait, if they would be okay with being chained underwater so the champions can come and retrieve them. Of course, they would be unconscious and unaware and it would be over before they knew it. . .

Cress doesn't hear anything after that, doesn't know if he gives them any more information because there's blood rushing through her, a fear like none other spiking into her as she takes in his words. He wants them to go underwater and he wants them to be asleep and he wants the most important people in their life to risk their lives to try and save them from merpeople and Cress is not okay.

The Black Lake pops up in her mind and she thinks of the freezing waters, the depth going on and on, leading her into the unknown as she struggled, flailing and trying to reach the surface but not being able to because her eleven-year-old body never learned how to swim, never learned how to move through the water without sinking like rock. And it's dark, so, so dark — much darker than the night sky that she could barely see as she sunk lower, deeper until the stars weren't out, until it was just her, water in her lungs and a panic in her heart.

Cress thinks of that, of that pain and sheer desperation, and she finds that she doesn't want to go back in there. If it hadn't been for the giant squid, who literally snatched her in one of his tentacles and plopped her back into the canoe, Cress probably would have perished. She doesn't want to feel that kind of fear again, hasn't been near the Black Lake since.

Professor McGonagall sends her a look that Cress interprets as the woman sympathizing, silently telling Cress she can back away if she so pleases, and Cress appreciates it. Really, truly appreciates it, but the little blond girl, Hermione, and Ron are gazing at the adults with determination in their eyes and it shames Cress a little. She wants to be able to throw herself into danger without anxieties and worries blocking her judgement and she wants to be able to do it without flinching and she wants to be someone that is selfless and compassionate, someone who people can look at and see her without regrets. She wants to be determined and hardheaded, someone who runs towards the fire instead of away, someone who saves the kitten instead of calling for help.

Cress wants to be brave.

So, she sets her jaw and she nods and McGonagall comes over to her whilst Madam Maxime, Dumbledore and Bagman get the rest of the students. She puts her wand up to Cress's chest, gives her once last searching gaze but Cress remains stoic, lets the ice coating her body numb her and let her forget about what's about to happen. Her heart pounds in her ears like an out of tune drum, too loud and too swift and too shrill and it wracks her whole body but Cress ignores it.

McGonagall's soft voice coaxes her to sleep and Cress's eyes grow heavy, falling closed as the world around her turns black, a dark onyx that reminds Cress, for a moment, of murky waters and a struggle to surface and she realizes that she's about to go back, about to return to the depths of the unknown and her veins are coated in ice and her heart is lead in her chest, lungs filled with the sloshing waters of the melting glacier.

Then, her mind goes blank, and she's unconscious.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Imagine a little boy.

He's young, with dark brown hair shaggy on his head, sticking up in all directions, for he refuses to get a haircut no matter how much his mum pesters him. When he smiles, gaps show in his teeth, sunshine in his eyes — blinding but so wonderful to witness. His face is spattered with freckles, each a rich, caramel color that contrasts with the paleness of his complexion.

He runs through fields of daisies, grass sifting through his bare feet and sun beating down on his face, making it glimmer with sweat and happiness. He runs, and his feet carry him, a smile on his face as he tries to catch his sister, tries to snag her wrist, grip her shoulder, anything to halt her, to keep her in place for one moment. His body’s swimming with adrenaline, the wind making him weightless, like he’s soaring instead of running, his feet gliding through the soft tendrils of green, his arms grazing the silky petals of the daisies, the firm stems.

This boy’s young and he's carefree and he catches his sister and she squeals and she says it's unfair but there's a smile on her face as she throws her head back to laugh — and they're both so young and they've never experienced anything other than the euphoria of being here, present in the world and so, so alive.

But then the euphoria’s gone, replaced with a sinking cold feeling that floats at the core of his stomach, makes him fall to the earth with a shattering quickness, the impact harsh, groundbreaking as he feels his mouth part in a scream that's stuck in his throat. He wants to jump in and get her, knows he needs to, but his body is struck with fear, immobile, limbs numb as he stands there, watching the rapids take her under, again and again, her screams turning into frightened sobs as she floats farther and farther down the river — the river overflowing with yesterday’s downpour.

They went too far. He knows this. He knows that Mum told them not to venture to the expanse of the river — to never stray from the path — but his curiosity swelled until it shoved away all the practicality in his mind and they were walking on the bank of the large river, rocks slipping into the crevices of their shoes as they mucked about.

It was going okay, there were no mishaps yet, and he thought maybe he could do this, watch out for the both of them and make sure they both made it home okay, but then his sister's foot slipped as she tried to jump from one rock to another and everything was shattered.

Now, he's running down the bank, eyes misty with unshed tears because he doesn't deserve the right to cry; it's his fault, he should have been more attentive, more aware and cautious. He should have done something when she fell in, should have reached for her, jumped into the rapids himself, but he seized up, his body tense and he hates himself for that.

He hates hearing her strangled sobs, her gasps for air as she fights against the creek, fights against the water. The sun beats down on his back and he runs, and he yells, shouts, for his mum for anyone to hear them. He shouts until his throat is raw with exertion, until he can hear his mum's concerned cries calling back for him, until she comes, wand in hand and gets his sister out of the creek, where she was growing weaker, her arms giving out and her body going limp as the fight in her wore out.

Her eyes are blue, spiderwebbed with red terror, so wide and so scared that he brings her in for an embrace, crying into her shoulder, her hair. He grasps onto her and he thinks that he's never felt anything like this, wonders if perhaps this is what fear is. He finds that he doesn't like it too much, wants the venomous poison to leave his system so he doesn't have to feel like his lungs are clogged up with tar — so he doesn't have to feel like his heart has stopped beating in his chest.

He holds her, and he apologizes, and he lets his mum chew him out for being irresponsible because he deserves it. He should have been more careful, he shouldn't have let her out of his sight. When she suggested crossing, he should have said no, should have escorted her back to the house where Mum would have been waiting with lemonade and treacle tarts. He had been an idiot.

But he's grateful for her safety. He tells her this and he apologizes, over and over again until she tells him to shut up in that petulant voice of hers and shoves a treacle tart in his face. His heart beats a little easier at the angry sneer on her face, ineffective with her chubby six-year-old cheeks and wide eyes, and he hopes that he never feels like that again. Doesn't want to experience the heart wrenching emotion that keeps him up at night with clenched fists and wet eyes, a scream choked up in his throat as he wakes in the middle of the night in pitch blackness.

Gradually it gets better as he matures, the nightmares of his sister going under until there's nothing left but an empty space she occupied fade away until there's nothing there, but Cedric will never forget that year — the year his sister, Crescent, was almost lost to him.

⋆˚࿔

Cedric stares at the fire, eyes worn tired and hair a mess on his head, and feels hopeless. There's a kink in his neck and a knot in his back from sleeping on it wrong. His head is pounding with a migraine, his eyes stinging from the pain of it. He sighs out, watches the flames dance with one another in a fiery tango before he closes his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch.

Hamlin grips his hand, tight enough to be soothing. "Alright, Ced?"

Cedric doesn't even have to open his eyes to know that Hamlin’s gazing at him with concerned eyes, brown irises probably swimming with worry right about now. It makes his heart dance contentedly in his chest, warm and cozy at the thought of his boyfriend. Cedric doesn't deserve Hamlin.

"Yeah," he says quietly, hopes it doesn't sound like the feeble lie he knows Hamlin will catch onto.

Which, he does. Hamlin pokes his cheek and assaults it until Cedric is forced to open his eyes with a small grin. He takes Hamlin's hand, kissing the pair of them before he sets both of theirs in his lap. Hamlin grins softly and Cedric doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way he's aware of his heart thumping madly in his chest like a rabbit who has too much energy.

Before, Cedric had felt it, but he chalked it up to his feelings for someone else, allowing it to be masked over by someone else's face, to let his father’s own views blind him from what he could have had from the beginning. And now, he sees — really truly sees — Hamlin and Hamlin sees him (has always seen him) and they've finally figured it out.

And it's still a little hesitant, Hamlin still unsure even after months of them trying to figure everything out, and Cedric still wallowing in the self-guilt that follows him around everywhere as he thinks about the forlorn expression on Hamlin's face, the heartbroken look in his eyes as Cedric pulled away from the kiss. But, it's them and they'll find a solution because what they have isn't something he ever wants to give up on.

"What're you thinking about?" Hamlin asks curiously, playing with Cedric's fingers and staring at him with earnest eyes.

Cedric bites his lips to contain a smile. "Just the second task," he replies, voice soft, almost a whisper as he looks at Hamlin.

"I thought you were confident about it?"

"I am," Cedric says, rubbing at the knot in his neck and yawning. "But, it's like, I just don't want to mess this up, you know? The first task wasn't horrible, I guess, but I could have done better. I just want to do better this time. Prove I'm more than a pretty face, I suppose."

Hamlin makes this pinched expression when Cedric finishes explaining. It's the same expression — brows furrowed, his plump lips pulled up into a grimace — he gets when he passes the Gryffindors (who hate that he’s in the tournament) in the corridors, hand-in-hand with Cedric, and hears them muttering on about Cedric all the while. Cedric would find it endearing if he didn't have to pull Hamlin away from a fight each time.

"You'll do great, you know?" Hamlin says, conviction as hard as stone in his voice. "Because you're great." Cedric opens his mouth to argue about biased boyfriends, but Hamlin shakes his head and exclaims. "I'm serious, Ced. And it's not just because I'm your boyfriend or best mate or whatever. It's because you truly are astounding and brilliant and you know all these spells and you're like, the best swimmer I know which makes you the best in everything because swimming is hard, and I don't know why children have to learn how to do it at such a young age.

"But that's off topic and what I'm trying to say is that you're going to be terrific, probably even perfect tomorrow and you're going to get your lost item before anyone else and you'll be in first place! Just you wait." Hamlin pauses and gives Cedric a long stare like he's deciding on something before he leans in, placing a soft kiss onto Cedric's lips. "You're the most courageous man I know, Ced. You'll be okay."

Cedric wants to argue, but his lungs are not working, and his face is on fire. He can only stare at Hamlin with infatuated bewilderment. Not for the first time, Cedric wonders how he could have let someone so wonderful fall out of his grasps for years. He wonders how he could have been such an idiot, blind and oblivious to everything he could have had had he just opened his eyes and seen what was right in front of him. Had he seen that Hamlin was the only one who could ever calm him down (besides Cress, of course), the only one to have him beside himself with laughter. The only one who Cedric really wanted to stay by throughout the year.

Cedric wonders and he stares at Hamlin for a long moment, taking in his beautiful, sun-warmed dark skin, the twinkling eyes. His heart swoops in his chest, his stomach turning like a wheel. Cedric leans in, hands gripping Hamlin's, and places a gentle kiss on Hamlin's lip as though he were returning what Hamlin had given him just moments prior.

It's long in that way that Cedric enjoys, where they’re lips dance lazily against one another, both of them just enjoying the sensation, the feel of each other. He tries to convey some of his untold confessions in there, tries to tell Hamlin of his gratitude and regrets in one searing kiss. Hamlin's lips are warm and a little chapped on Cedric's, but that's fine because Hamlin is moving his hands to Cedric's hair and tugging and Cedric holds him securely on the couch, arms embracing Hamlin's waist.

Each kiss is a new rush, a new feeling that surges through Cedric and he loves it. Loves the pace of his heart quickening, loves the heat that rushes to his face and the pooling in his gut that makes him feel like he's on top of the world yet so helpless under the meticulous hands of Hamlin.

Cedric will never grow tired of it.

Someone clearing their throat causes Hamlin and Cedric to break apart. Cedric has an apology on his lips until he sees it’s only Axel standing in front of them, brow raised. He gestures around the common room where — yeah, other students are sitting in various spots, studying or lounging about with their friends. Ernie Macmillan winks at him and Cedric resists the urge to groan.

"Honestly, boys," Axel says in a disapproving tone, "if I would have known you were going to be this handsy with one another, I would have just stayed out until curfew."

"Should have," Hamlin mutters, lips pouty and swollen. Cedric's heart turns over in his chest. He feels lightheaded — wants to kiss him again.

But Axel doesn't pay Hamlin any mind because that's who Axel is and Cedric forces himself in a more appropriate position for all of them. And, when Axel leaves to the dormitories — the girls' because he claims he's going to wait for Crescent to come back because he has something to tell her — Cedric and Hamlin are shoulder-to-shoulder instead of encased in one another's arms. Cedric can feel the heat emanating off him.

"We should probably head up to bed," Hamlin suggests after a while. Students have deserted the common room, choosing to get an early rest for the task tomorrow.

Cedric knows he should be heading up there, too. Probably should have been in bed already. He was hoping, however, that Cress would come in, even though Mallory — when she came back from the library escorted by George Weasley — said that Cress's appearance had been requested by Professor McGonagall. And Cedric knows that it's probably something big, something to do with the second task, but he couldn't help but hope that she would return soon.

"Yeah," he says softly, rubbing at his tired eyes.

Hamlin stands and pulls Cedric up softly. "She's okay, you know? Probably roaming the halls with Weasley about now."

Cedric smiles like he's reassured, but there's a weight on his chest when he finally gets in bed, duvet up to his chin because even though there's warmth that slips through from the kitchens, the dormitories are still freezing in the winter. He can hear everyone around him snoring, sleeping soundly with no stray thoughts to disturb their rest. He wishes it was the same for him.

But Cress is still out there, absent from her bed and it sits heavily on Cedric because Cress wanted to help as much as she could, and now, she's gone. Disappeared at the call of McGonagall. And he tries not to think that it has something to do with the second task, but Cedric knows, deep down, that whatever the mermaids took from him, Cress is involved in it somehow.

He falls into a fitful slumber.

⋆˚࿔

The next morning, Cedric gets up earlier than usual, has breakfast with Hamlin, and walks down to the Black Lake, his fingers fitting loosely with Hamlin's nimble ones. Hamlin’s chattering on about something that Cedric wants to listen to but can't for his brain is running wild with thoughts, and students shuffle by them, some of them giving Cedric words of encouragement as they pass them and others sneering at him as though he's the bane of their existence and therefore, the world.

Cedric ignores them.

It's cloudy out, grey and white swirling in the sky, covering up the morning sun that's supposed to be shining. A chill runs down Cedric's spine, a bitter wind catching his hair, cooling his skin. Hamlin grips his hand tighter and steps closer to him like he knows. Cedric tries to give him a smile.

They spot Fred and George Weasley, both with Axel and Mallory, before they get to the Black Lake.

"Hey," Cedric says to Fred, a confused furrow in his brow when he doesn’t spot his sister even with them, "have you seen Cress?"

Fred shakes his head like he was just asked this question. "As I've told Mallory and Jenson over here, I haven't seen her since last night. McGonagall made me scram when I tried to stay back and wait for her."

Cedric nods and his lungs constrict in his chest for a moment, discomfort blooming up in him like a flower. He’s distinctly aware of departing from his friends and heading to the other side of the lake where the judge's stand is located. He could already see Krum and Fleur standing over there, chatting amongst themselves. They nod at him when he reaches them. Cedric nods back and tries not to pace the panel.

The Black Lake looms dauntingly in front of him, dark and never-ending. Fish skim the surface, the wind ripples it, making tiny waves with its force, and Cedric feels his heart stutter. The fear is not unknown to him, but it does shake him to his core, making his hands shake from something other than the coldness. He clenches them into fists to stop them. He makes sure he has everything.

Wand? Check.

Knife from his father? Check.

Desire to do this?

Gone. Disappeared into the Black Lake with all his confidence.

Immense fear at the thought that he's going to do disastrously at the task and somehow end up not saving his sister from the clutches of the mermaids, forcing her to live her life out as a mindless vegetable in their mermaid garden?

Check.

Cedric almost groans aloud when Harry shows up. It's not that he was expecting Harry not to show up — he was because Harry shows up everywhere, even places he isn't wanted — it's just that Cedric was kind of hoping that he wouldn't. Not like a wouldn't so he would get disqualified, of course! More like a wouldn't so Cedric would have more time to freak out.

But, alas, Harry’s here, and Bagman is instructing them to take their marks. Cedric doesn't even have time to think about the impending doom waiting for him, for Bagman is telling them they only have an hour to retrieve their item, and then sending them off on the count of three.

Cedric hits the water just as the whistle lets out its shrill tune. The first thing he notices as he swims deeper is that it's freezing. It aches away at his bones, makes his toes curl and his whole body tingle with the sensation of it. Cedric uses the Bubble-Head Charm, so he can breathe, ignoring the glacial water encasing him. When he inhales a breath of condensed air, he sighs in relief as he ventures into the dark depths.

After this, Cedric doesn't remember much. He remembers getting attacked by an underwater creature at one point, having to stop and force the thing off his arm. He remembers swimming through large vines of green, remembers the cold stinging at his skin until he felt numb all over. He remembers the wading of the water, the way it tries to force him back and stop him from going any further. He remembers finding his sister, remembers the terror he felt as he saw her there, unresponsive and floating in the icy water like a corpse, lips blue from the chill of the lake.

There’s a point in time where Cedric assures Harry that Fleur and Krum are coming, but he doesn't truly know why he does that since he isn't too sure if they're coming at all. He doesn't remember much after that except for the panic seizing him and making him jittery. He cuts the ropes off Cress and he almost cries, even though he knows this is a tournament and that Cress was probably in no real danger to begin with.

But the swell of relief that erupts in him after him and Cress breach the surface is overwhelming. It coils around him and makes him forget about the freezing temperature of his body. The Bubble-Head Charm disintegrates, and he can hear shouts and screams from behind him, loud and encouraging, or so Cedric hopes. Maybe they think Cress is dead. Cedric is kind of feeling that way, too, since her eyes are still shut, her lips even darker now, cheeks a greyish pale.

His heart sinks like an anchor, but he starts swimming over to the judges' panel where Madam Pomfrey is waiting, looking as though she's about to have a heart attack. Cress is limp beside him, and it takes all Cedric's strength to keep going. The screams echo behind him.

When Cress comes to, Cedric still has several meters to go before he reaches the panel. She splutters out water and coughs madly, shaking Cedric with the recoil. Her eyes open sluggishly and then widen when she realizes just exactly where she is. Cedric, despite himself, hugs her tightly, his heart pounding in relief. He can feel the tears of relief coming, but he forces them back, makes them disappear. Cress pushes at his face tiredly.

"Ced, stop," she whines, pushing at him with two hands, mushing his cheeks.

Cedric beams. "You're okay! Thank Helga!"

"Of course, I am," she states matter-of-factly, but holds onto Cedric a little tighter as he wades them further up. "Why w-wouldn't I be?" Cress is shivering, cheeks losing more color by the second, lips darkening.

Cedric pushes forward and doesn't answer her. He figures she gets it anyway, figures she's thought about the incident that's haunted his memories for his entire life. Her arms are around his shoulder, her legs feebly kicking to keep up with his strides and Cedric should have known that something was going to go wrong when he took a breath and let her waist go in favor of holding her wrist.

It's not something he thinks he could have foreseen. It's something that crept up against them like a tide crashing to shore, making Cedric's stomach flip, the venomous poison of fear gripping him again, filling his lungs with tar — just like when he was seven.

When the hands take her and drag her down, butting him out of the way with an elbow, Cedric feels too many emotions at once to properly respond.

First, he's frozen, too dazed and surprised to make a move, even as Cress struggles against the vice grip of the assailant, screaming for help, eyes wide as she gets deeper and deeper — gets farther and farther away, body obscured by the shadows of dark depths. He can hear the shouts become panicked as she goes under and then he goes into a frenzy himself, head pounding as he reaches for his wand and submerges into the icy waters once more. He can feel hatred thrumming in his blood, too. It's hot and heavy, thickening his bloodstream and clearing his mind until the only thing he's certain of is that he must get Cress back.

Cedric uses the Rocket Charm to try and shoot himself forward, the water propelling him as if he’d attached dynamite to the back of his shoes and shot it off. His legs kick out and he swims until his lungs are bursting to get a breath and then he uses the Bubble-Head Charm again and he keeps going, Rocket Charm giving him speed.

But not enough. . .

He keeps going because he can see Cress still fighting to get free and he needs to fight, too. He can't give up. He has to save her or else it will be like when they were younger, and he was frozen on the bank, too stupefied to do anything.

But the thing that took her is too fast for him, even with the charm he used, too adapted to the icy waters of this forsaken lake. It gets farther away from Cedric until they're nothing but warped silhouettes in his vision, blurry from his charm and the tears stinging his eyes. It gets farther away until Cedric is left wading through the waters blindly, without any aid at all to help him see the attacker, until Cedric is left defeated, feeling too young for this — like this is something beyond his years.

When he resurfaces again, he swims over to the deck, utterly overpowered and completely worn out. There are tears streaming down his face as Madam Pomfrey comes over to wrap a large blanket over him as the teachers and officials converse in the corner. Cedric barely even registers the questions they ask him, barely even sees that everyone is back because Cress is gone. Disappeared into the obsidian, swallowed by the abyss.

And she isn't going to resurface.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Later, they tell her that it was a fatal mistake. They say they had no foresight to the turmoil lying beneath the waters, that the merman who attacked her was but a juvenile child, to say the least, not yet used to the strict ways of his people. They say he was too curious, that, in his eyes, she was a spectacle he had yet to witness — a spectacle he decided he wanted to make his own.

They say that it was thanks to the Giant Squid that she was recovered from the icy pits of the obsidian lake. They say that he wrapped his giant tentacle around the merman and unlatched him from her — brought her back to the surface with a certain kind of gentleness that only the squid could carry in its giant tentacles.

Her lips were painted deep blue, almost purple, like a bruised plum on a winter's day. She wasn't breathing, either, they'd said.

She doesn't really remember these facts, doesn't remember coming to, either, but they recite it to her like a speech and she listens to the calm, collected voice of Dumbledore wash over her. It's a little muddled from all the blankets she has wrapped around her body in an attempt to get warm, but she makes out most of the words. Finds that she doesn't want to hear anymore of them.

Her ears ring, Dumbledore's voice echoing fuzzily in such a way that she doesn't think it has anything to do with the blankets anymore, thinks it probably the aftereffects. She feels like she's adrift, floating in the icy waves, sinking further and further until Dumbledore's voice fades out like a wave ebbing back into the sea. . .

When she wakes again, it's to eyes bluer than the sea after a storm. They're rimmed red, bloodshot as they stare at her. She squints, finds that her vision is a little wonky and huddles deeper into her blankets because in her blankets she's warm, she's secure and there's no hands clutching her, no arms wrapped around her in a vice grip that had her begging for the release of death.

The eyes disappear and there's angry muttering pounding around in her head. She can't hear much, doesn't really understand what's happening but her mother sounds mad, she thinks. She sounds angry and worried and relieved all at once and she can hear the tears in her voice, and it springs saltiness to her own. Her sobs come out muffled, deformed, too wrong like her voice isn't working. She tries to claw at her throat because it hurts, she wants to hear herself, but it's in vain.

Hands surround her face, searing to her chilled skin and she seeks out the warmth, curls into like a cat beside a fire. Her mum sounds even more broken at that, like she can't quite believe this is happening and it hurts Cress, makes her heart seize, the tears come faster, mute to her ears but still brutal all the same. Her eyes fall shut and she falls into darkness again.

The next time she wakes, she sees grey, dark and stormy and she thinks, no. She can see it in his irises, the guilt and shame and the turmoil, and it physically pains her, makes her reach her fragile arm out to smack at him because he's a prick, an idiotic dolt, it's not his fault, it was never his fault, stop, please.

She tries to speak, but her mouth seems to be frozen shut, her lips taped together. She furrows her brows in confusion, tries again. "C-Ce—" It falls short on her lips again and she cries because what's happening? Why isn't she okay? Why does she feel so cold, so brittle and worthless when there's so much warmth covering her? Why are her legs numb, her arms sore, her body exhausted? Why can't she speak? Or hear?

Why is he swirling in her vision? Grey mixes with pine brown and her head falls back roughly, her tears burning her cheeks, and she sees no more.

⋆˚࿔

Her dreams are plagued by anchors, curled around her with their heavy chains, lowering her deeper into the abyss. There's a hand on her mouth, silencing her screams, her pleas for help, and she feels helpless, water filling her lungs in a quick recession that has her panicking. She reaches and reaches and fights until her arms feel like lead and her brain is pounding from the pressure and then she lets go because the fight is over. She lost. She needs to give in.

And she does.

And then her eyes force themselves open, and Cress fights her way out of the tendrils of arms snaked around her, forcing her to fight against their wicked ways. Her heart jumps out of her chest and her throat is raw, her head filled with cotton as she tangles with the cocoon around her, raspy cries escaping her aching throat as she tries to force freedom upon herself.

Hands touch her face a moment later, and Cress gasps, winces so hard she almost gives herself whiplash. The hands are soft, though, and they feel familiar and she searches blindly for the comfort of her mother, hears her soothing words whispered into her ear a moment later.

"It's okay," she says, getting behind her, unraveling the blankets (just blankets, Cress notes with relief), arms around Cress's waist as she rocks her back and forth. "You're okay," her whispers are healing balms to Cress's shattered heart. She latches onto it, feeling smaller, a child woken up by the monster in the closet. "It's all alright now. I'm here. You're safe. You're going to be okay. . ."

Her mother repeats it like a mantra, voice shaky even though she tries to act strong for Cress. Cress senses it, cries for making her worry, wishing that she could have been stronger, more resilient and then maybe — just maybe — she would have gotten away, would have escaped and found freedom in the bitter air.

But she wasn't strong enough.

And now everything feels numb.

⋆˚࿔

Dumbledore gives her his grievances. He speaks to her softly, a couple days later, telling her this and that and if she needs time off, she's allowed it. She deserves it after all she's been through.

Cress hardly listens, her head pounding with a horrendous cold. Her hazy eyes focus on his fluffy beard that's absolutely sparkling in her line of sight. She supposes it could be the sunlight coming in through the window, but she's not too sure. She wants to ask how he manages to make it so fluffy, thinks he probably brushes it more than his own mane of hair.

Her mother whirls on Dumbledore when he's through. Blythe's still angry over the fact that Cress — who was promised that she wouldn't be in any danger whatsoever — was threatened by a loose cannon of a merman. The woman exclaims angrily that she could most definitely sue this school for its fortune, but Cress thinks her mum might be going a little bit overboard.

After all, it wouldn't be Hogwarts without the life-threatening occurrences that happen every other day.

Cedric sits quietly beside her bedside, all tired eyes and drooping shoulders. He's got Cress's hand in his, gripping it with such strength, Cress is certain she would have screamed had her hands not been a little numb from the cold. His eyes hold a shameless guilt in them, stormy and grey, like a hurricane striking the ocean. His shoulders look as though they're holding the weight of the world on them, like he's the Titan Atlas and soon, the burden he's carrying is going to be too much for him.

Cress squeezes his hand despite the frigidness of them, tries to give him a small smile, but it falls flat on her chapped lips. There hasn't been much of a reason for her to smile lately, she thinks. Her head still aches, her throat so raw she can't even mutter one measly word. She just sits here, in the hospital wing, alone with her thoughts because Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore decided it would be best to let her get over her "emotional trauma" as they deemed it with only immediate family present.

Cress thinks it's bullshit.

And, sure, maybe that's her being a little indignant about the whole thing, but she's been through a lot, dammit, let her see Axel and Mallory and Hamlin and Lee and George and Ginny and Fred! She deserves that much.

But she doesn't say anything, mainly because she can't, so she stews in her self-misery at night, howling in the early mornings when the sun hasn't risen, when the moon's at its peak, her mouth open in silent screams, her mind rattled and heart breaking over and over again in her chest as she sees the darkening waters — as she falls deeper into the abyss that no one can free her from.

"Apologies," Dumbledore says abruptly, tilting his head at Cress in sorrow, "but I'm afraid I must depart as of right now. But, I will leave you, hopefully in good spirits. As of tomorrow, your friends may visit you."

He leaves with a swish of his dark eggplant-colored robe. Her mother scoffs at his back like she isn't afraid of what he would do should he turn around and retaliate to her obvious bluff, and Cedric just stares at the dark fabrics of Cress's blankets, quiet. She squeezes his hand again, figures he needs the comfort more than she ever could.

I'm okay, she mouths when he glances her way.

A smile, miniscule but somewhat reassured, blossoms on his face. He squeezes her hand back but doesn't respond. Cress figures that means, I know.

"Well, if you ask me," Blythe says, coming over to them, sitting at a chair to the right of Cress's bed, "I'll tell you that I want you to come home with me, Crescent." Her mother pins her with her crystalline eyes. "You've already almost seen death once this year. Twice is too much — and one of those was from an allergy."

Cress feels her stomach drop. Her heart's lead, and she wishes she could say something, wants to shout at her mum not to take her away from Hogwarts. Even though it's a little shabby and there's a lot of problems that Dumbledore needs to work out before someone inevitably bites the dust, Cress has found a home within it, something that she holds dear to her and she can't let her mother take it away from her.

"No," Cedric says, voice low, as if reading her thoughts. Cress sags against her pillows in relief. "You can't take Cress away from Hogwarts, Mum. That's the maddest idea you've ever conjured up."

Her mum sighs, as though this were expected. She gives Cress a once over, smiling slightly at her. "I know," she tells them both. "I know you wouldn't leave, even if I tried to forcefully drag you away from the place, but still. I worry about you two. And Cedric's in this forsaken tournament for Merlin knows what reasons. . . I just want you two to be safe."

"And we are," Cedric replies, assuredly. "We're so bloody safe here, Mum."

Cress is inclined to agree, just so she can continue staying here. She's got O.W.L.s coming up, plus a career talk with Professor Sprout coming up — she has to stay and finish this school year, if only to have that satisfaction.

(But, she thinks, if her education weren't on the line, Cress would most definitely hop on the next train out of here.)

"I suppose I can't much blame the first brush of threats on Hogwarts alone," Blythe says, giving Cress a pointed glare. She sinks lower into her fort of blankets, squinting. Her head is still pounding, chest congested with all kinds of nasty diseases. "After all, you're in Madam Pomfrey's once a year due to cinnamon related accidents."

An accurate statement, Cress decides. She makes it an annual thing, trying out cinnamon every year at school just to see if she's gotten over her allergies to it yet. (She never has.) She musters up a grimace for her mum. Blythe just pinches the bridge of her nose and hugs Cress's shoulders, kissing her hair.

"You two are growing up so fast," she says, voice catching with emotions too thick for Cress to wade through in her foggy haze. Cedric, however, reaches over and takes her hand, gripping it comfortingly in his giant glove of a hand. "I guess I'm just trying to dote on you. Pretty soon, I won't be able, too. Cedric's going to leave the nest with Hamlin, probably, after he graduates and then it's you, Cress. You're both growing up." She's openly crying now, sniffling into Cress's dirty, greasy hair sadly.

Cedric blushes at the comment, but says, "Nothing's wrong with doting, Mum. And nothing's wrong with worrying about your children."

"Of course, there isn't, but sometimes I wish I only had to worry about who you guys fancied. But instead, I have to worry about bloody dragons and sodding merpeople who apparently think my daughter is their soulmate."

Cress sends her mum cheeky finger guns, an attempt to lighten the mood. Blythe takes it in stride, laughing softly, kissing Cress on the forehead once more before breaking the embrace. Cedric grins gently at the two of them, his bloodshot eyes hooded and worn. Cress wishes he would get some sleep. She wishes they both would instead of worrying over her so much.

But they're stressed. She understands that. Nonetheless, there's only so much a girl can take before it starts to get worrisome and the bags underneath both of their eyes are really dampening Cress's already sour mood.

"Well, Cress almost kissed Fred Weasley — twice — if you want to know about our love lives," Cedric says, slyly like the little Slytherin he is now.

Traitor, Cress thinks, cheeks blazing as her mother turns to her, gaping. Cedric's grinning at her cheekily, but Cress is certain that he's relieved to have the attention diverted to another subject. Her body wracks with shivers and she pulls the covers over her more, trying to obscure herself from her mother's vision in doing so.

"Cress!" her mum exclaims. Cress imagines that her hand's on her heart, or somewhere near that general vicinity. "How come you failed to inform me of this?!"

Cress makes some flimsy hand gestures. Cedric says, "It's because Axel rammed into them like a wild bull and ruined their very steamy moment." And Merlin's beard, he's been so corrupted by not only the Slytherins — Hamlin, too! Cress is going to have to hold an intervention. "And once when they were about to mack in the corridors after taking forever, picking up Mallory at the station."

Except for that's going to have to happen when she feels like she might be okay. She's going to have to ignore Cedric's very real threats to his life — since that's what his slandering words were, a promise that Cress would bodily harm her brother — because, right now, she's pretty sure this is what death is.

The pounding in her head as though someone's striking her with a giant steel hammer; the sensitivity of her skin to the point where moving a millimeter hurts her whole body; her chest being so clogged up that it feels like she'll never be able to take a deep breath again — this is what death is, she's certain of it.

"Aw, honey!" Blythe puts a comforting hand on Cress's shoulder. She tries not to flinch away but her mouth grimaces. Blythe doesn't notice. "It's okay! I'm sure the time will come when you can finally plant one on him. And then you won't even have to worry about the twenty-year plan!"

Cedric snorts, trying not to laugh into his hand. "You were planning on wooing Fred for twenty years?"

Cress glares weakly, sneezing loudly. It's followed by a cough that sounds like something a banshee would produce. Blythe pats her soothingly and Cress's head squeezes. She shudders and burrows into her bed, whining faintly.

"Oh, heavens," her mum comments, hand resting on Cress's forehead. She presses her lips there next, frowning when she pulls away. "Cress, honey, you've got a temperature."

There's a pause in which Cress digests the information she already knows. She can feel her swollen eyes shutting, the need for sleep weighing over her consciousness. Her mother calls for Madam Pomfrey, voice urgent, and the woman comes in a flurry, all worried questions and concerns. She retrieves Cress some Pepper-Up and demands she take it. Cress tries not to make a face when it goes down, but it's so spicy and it heats up her face — pours steam from her ears like she's an overheated kettle.

Cedric snickers, although his eyes, when he glances at her, are worried. Cress wants to roll her eyes. She doesn't. Cedric sends her a look, anyway.

"Perhaps, it would be best to let her rest for the time being," Madam Pomfrey suggests, kinder than she normally is when Cress is alone. "I'm sure Mr. Diggory wouldn't mind showing you around the castle again. It's been ages since you've been here, I'm certain, Blythe."

Blythe nods her head slowly, glancing at Cress one more time as if to make sure Cress has no qualms against these plans. Cress snuggles into her blankets just to prove it. Cedric follows suit, too, and is on his feet in a second, his hand slapping Cress's bundle of blankets lightly, a breath of laughter escaping his nose as he stuffs his hands back in pocket. She knows he's laughing at the little nest she's made for herself, but she doesn't care. She's comfortable. Sue her — just like her mother threatened Dumbledore with.

"Yes, yes," her mum says, smiling pleasantly at Cedric. "I would love for you to show me the grounds. It would be nice to see the places Amos and I occupied on more than one occasion."

"Mum!" Cedric whines, but leads her out, their arms intertwined.

The sun's peaking on the horizon, so it's probably noon, Cress concludes. She listens to the faint chatter of people passing the hospital wing, going to lessons, head aching in a way it's never done before. Her throat burns like coals on a hot fire, her whole body a shivering mess as she curls deeper into the blankets, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. The tips of her fingers feel numb, frozen over, and she clenches her hands together, furls them around one another to ease the ache. Her eyes get heavier and heavier until Madam Pomfrey's low humming is mute to her ears.

She hopes there are no nightmares.

⋆˚࿔

Of course, she has nightmares; hoping there wasn't going to be any had been wishful thinking on her part. But Cress isn't surprised. It's not everyday someone goes through an experience quite like hers without the backlash of traumatic stress. There's still the choking sensation, the feeling of helplessness, of seeing blind, feeling the darkness coil around her, shrouding and ominous, as she's dragged down to the coldest parts of the icy lake.

But aside from all the other times she's woken, back damp with fearful sweats, eyes dripping searing tears as she stared up at the darkened ceiling, there's sunshine in her line of sight and it's in the form of Fred Weasley.

It's morning — at least, Cress thinks it is, if the beaming light streaming through the windows is anything to go by — and there's a certain chill in the air. Her eyes blink themselves open, fluttering rapidly. There's still that ache in her throat, the pounding in her head that reminds her she's not fully operational.

But Fred's there and he's smiling, brightly, worriedly, eyes crinkled in concern that warms Cress to her toes. The covers wrapped around her are suddenly unnecessary, but she doesn't remove them since they're safe, a reminder that there's no more icy waters in her future, she's safe, breathing — alive.

He runs a hand through his hair, almost as though he's nervous, and Cress watches with hazy eyes — eyes probably caked in eye boogers and other grime that must look horrendous to his eyes — as he pulls out a muffin from Merlin knows where. She doesn't even ask, can't even hear past the white noise in her ears, like she's listening to a broken television she used to short out at the Jensons', the static maddening yet also comforting. Her heart radiates heat against her ribcage, her cheeks probably a vibrant fuchsia, both from her death virus and the fact that Fred Weasley's the best thing to ever happen to her.

"Snagged you a muffin," he says cheerily, setting it on her bedside table with a gentleness one would use with a newborn animal. Cress's eyes almost well up with big fat tears. "Don't worry," —Fred sends her a cheeky smile— "it's not going to kill you. Gadby made it without cinnamon but he says it's still good and that you would like it because he always makes it for you, so I hope you like it. It's okay if you don't, of course—" he cuts off with a sheepish laugh, looks at Cress once more and then glances away.

Honestly, Cress is pretty certain that she is dead right now. There is no other way around it — she's dead and Fred Weasley bringing her a muffin? Acting shy as though he didn't call her love over break and send her to the moon because of it? All that has to be a figment of her imagination. Maybe Hades decided to let her off the hook and is letting her dream about the one thing she's fondest of most in the world. She chalks it up to that and then reaches for his hand, grinning softly at him to convey her gratitude.

"Thank you," she mouths, squeezing.

Fred seems to deflate at this, sagging in his chair as though sheer willpower was holding him up. He smiles brightly at Cress. "Don't worry about it! Snagged one myself, too!" Another muffin makes its way to Cress's line of sight and she grins broadly. "Had about three on the way here, I was so starved. Georgie took the rest of my dessert last night and I've been suffering since, honestly. . . But anyway," he adds, taking a giant bite of the new muffin and peering at Cress curiously, "how are you?"

There's a moment where Cress ponders over this question; she thinks over every possible outcome she could give and then comes up shorthanded, feeling as though each one of them sounds more and more like a lie. Fred waits patiently, gnawing on his muffin happily, and she watches him, for a moment, something blooming in her chest, spreading throughout her whole body.

She shrugs. Fred latches onto this, tilting his head to the side, perplexed. Through a mouthful of muffin, he asks, "Is your voice gone?"

Cress nods, a little confused as to how he doesn't know this. She figures Cedric would have told anyone he could how she was doing.

But, then again, Cedric's been going through his own distress.

"Well, that puts a right damper on things," Fred comments, frowning at her. There's a bit of crumb on the corner of his mouth. "Now, you're going to have to listen to me blather on. Probably not going to be much fun."

Cress finds that she doesn't mind.

If it's Fred, she doesn't.

Because Fred's a welcome distraction. He's the light in the dark, the sun beaming down on her lightless, void-kissed nights, bathing them in rich beauty and light. He's kind and selfless, bringing Cress a muffin. He makes her heart pound in a way that makes her worried for her health — in a way that should render her paralyzed, frozen on the floor in cardiac arrest. Truly.

He stares at her, not like he's sorry, not with pity or sympathy, but with pride, a proudness that Cress didn't know she could revel in until now. But his gaze makes her hotter, makes the fever she's trying to fight seem trivial, and makes the Black Lake looming in the distance seem invisible. It's only them, is what his gaze is telling her.

Don't worry, it's telling her, illuminated by a smile of a thousand watts, don't have to talk to make noise. I see you, either way.

(But she could be totally off. Cress has never been one to read looks correctly — if any of her past rifts with Slytherins and other Hufflepuffs are anything to go by.)

His hand's still in hers, and, as he goes into a story about how Lee fell down the stairs the other day, tells her how much he loved the robes she's started wearing — a comment that makes her fingers twitch in his. She'd not had time to mention it, but his eyes, crinkled at the corners as his thumb rubs the same patterns in her skin as it did the day they walked back from the station.

She wants to respond, but her voice is an echo only in her head. She cannot force it out or else she'll end up screeching a frequency so high that Fred's ears might bleed.

Cress does latch onto him like a lifeline, her own hands clammy and sensitive but his fingers a solid and assuring warmth against them His fingers squeeze hers.

"Heard Malfoy was right pissed, though. Because your father is a 'respected' member of the Ministry, you should live up to those expectations. Heard he said that. Is it true?"

Cress nods, because Malfoy did say that. And then Axel had an entire wardrobe of thrifted robes expedited via owl mail — sent right over to Malfoy before levitating to their true owners. The Weasleys and Cress and her friends. Matching robes to piss the ferret off even more.

Lee even got one.

But she doesn't want to make a big deal about it, so she tries to bring her wand out to maybe conjure the words up on a piece of paper. But it's so far away and her other hand, the one not entangled with Fred's own, is wrapped in blankets so thick that they should be hot but only make her feel like she's been placed in a very warm over, left to toast.

"You literally cannot speak, Crescent," Fred says, leaning over and reaching with his arm to gently place her claw of a hand down on the cot. "Don't try to expend even more energy doing silent magic. You don't learn that until my year, anyway."

Cress refrains from whining like an actual babe who lost their bottle. Fred's right, anyway — she would expend more energy if she attempted spells she only knew names of and not how to say the incantation. When she resolutely doesn't give him her eyes, picking at the muffin he brought her and shoving a piece of it in her mouth, he snorts.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Fred leans back in his chair, smirking at her when she frowns.

She just. . . doesn't want to be boring. With Cedric and her mum, she doesn't have to speak — they have to stay with her because she's family. But with Fred, what if it gets awkward? Or she starts getting loopy because of how sick she still is and does something unspeakable? Cress could confess her undying love right here, in this very cot.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat. Trying to speak, maybe. To tell him that she saw him working on the new stuff for his joke shop in the courtyard one day before this all happened. That she remembered when he grazed her hand in the corridors before her fourth period, his hand warm, slightly cracked from the cold of winter and just as igniting. There's so much to say to him, but no room for her voice to squeak out.

Her frown becomes more prominent. She moves a hand, trying to explain herself, maybe, but Fred only slaps a deck of cards onto the cot beside her pile of blankets.

"Not that you don't look cute all tangled up in those covers," Fred says, teasing her despite his grin being soft at the edges with concern. He starts shuffling the steaming cards with twinkling eyes, removing his hand from hers for the time being. "You do. Very much so. Like a little gnome coming out of its burrow."

Cress is inclined to disagree with that since she's de-gnomed some gardens in her lifetime and none have been the cute mess Fred's trying to claim she is. Relief filters in next, though, at a game they can actually play together without words.

"But do you want to play some Exploding Snap? I can only imagine asking Madam Pomfrey to repaint the walls so you can watch it dry — well, it only seems to work when you're hallucinating from a fever. Trust me, I know." He chuckles at his own joke, but his hand pats her when he throws a card her way. "Hope you're feeling better. Enough to play cards, at least."

"Gonna—" her voice cracks like a badly-tuned violin and she clamps a hand over her mouth like she's warding off demons.

She'd wanted to say that she was going to defeat him and shame him and his future self because of it. But her voice is quiet in her throat, torn from her chest like something being severed. For a moment, all she can do is stare at Fred in silent mortification, just waiting for him to ditch her in all her fevered shame.

But he only throws her another card.

"Gonna lose?" Fred asks, raising a brow when he threw down the last card for him and used two fingers to push Cress towards her on the bed. She had to maneuver out of her massive pile of blankets just to get a hand free, but it's worth it for the grin Fred gives her. "I hate to say it, Crescent, but Exploding Snap is my game — though I don't play it like usual. Came from an old time, like, Mexico — somewhere over the sea, I think. It's called rummy now, but this is Explosive Conquian. Probably not invented by me but thoroughly enjoyed by yours truly."

She's never heard of the game, but the seven cards in her hand were feeling a lot heavier with the cheeky smirk on Fred's face. So he's throwing her into a game she doesn't know? On her deathbed? In front of Madam Pomfrey? With Helga as their witness?

He wants her to succumb to ailments. Has to be. Cress is going to be so bad at this game, the cards were most likely all going to explode in her face like a bad firework. The sun streams in on the chaotic expression painted on his face, a work of art in any other occasion except the one where Cress is about to get her arse handed to her in a game she knows nothing about.

"Teach. . . me," she says, struggling over the words like she was forcing ice shards from her mouth. Her voice is hoarse like a board being sanded, and she hates that she can't look at Fred because of it — because she feels like less even now, over something she can't even control. "To—play. Please."

Fred's hand enters her vision, pressing her cards down until she turns her eyes to him with hesitation warring within them. When she sees him, there's no judgement — only a willingness to help her learn in the depth of those brown irises. Kind, warm and everything she loves staring at when the icy blue of the Blake Lake starts choking at her again.

"I'll teach you," Fred says, nodding seriously. "But you have to promise not to croak on me if I do."

He chuckles lightly, but grips her hand with the force of a guy who doesn't want to let her go just yet. His fingers flex on the top of her cards, either singed by the top one burning a little or in a manner where he wants to intertwine their hands but can't. Cress gives him a small grin, grateful for him in all the ways she can't speak right now.

She nods at him, the only thing she can do in this moment where her throat's burning like a thousand stars. Her face burns, but she's not sure if that's her fever returning or just the effect Fred has on her. Could be both — she's not well-versed in what goes on with her body on a good day. Asking her to understand that with her being sick?

It is absolutely not going to work.

But Fred only throws down a card, and his words are soft as if he doesn't want to disturb the peace of the hospital wing the way he knows Exploding Snap will. They coat over Cress like syrup on a warm day, dragging out the cold and snuffing it out with his sun-watt smile. He eats his muffin in-between while she picks at hers. She finds it cute, the way he gets crumbs everywhere and then silently magics them away as if it's second nature to him.

And — while he sits there, explaining Exploding Conquian to her for the next ten minutes while their cards sizzle and explode enough they have to restart three times — she forgets all about the chains wrapped around her body. Forgets about the anvil sitting heavy on her chest, choking her without mercy. No more shadows haunt her, nor darkness or water — water that pierces skin like a blade would and creates nightmares so vicious she wondered, for a moment if hell wasn't made of water rather than fire.

There's only Fred, his hand in hers with a laugh that jingles when one of the cards explodes on her, and blueberry muffins that taste like heaven.

(Or, at least, they would, if she could bloody use her taste buds.)

⋆˚࿔

"You fucking shit!"

Cress barely has time to register where the shout came from before Axel throws himself on her pile of blankets, wrapping his arms around her tightly — almost like he wants to strangle her but isn't too sure how well that will settle with her mum, who's watching the exchange with bemused endearment.

Her head swims as he pulls back, enough to where she can see his whole face but still close enough to where his arms are around her neck. There's a flurry of obsidian and blue, electric and daring and relieved, and Cress's heart gives into the familiarity of it all.

It's Axel, she tells herself — tries to stomp down on the part of her that thinks it's something else, the one that conjures up an image so gruesome, she almost winces in retaliation. Just Axel.

"You're a prick, you know?" he asks her. "A right arsehole! The biggest ninny in all the land, Mo! To get yourself fucking kidnapped! Lord almighty, it takes a special kind of person to get snatched by bloody merpeople!"

A tug of the lips. Cress's heart soothes itself at the boisterous, curseful words. She sees Axel, the swirling turned solid, no longer watery around the edges, fuzzy at best. He's glaring at her, black eyebrows furrowed down on his head, and there are tears gleaming in his eyes and Cress reaches a hand out of her cocoon and runs it through his tangled mane. He chokes on a sob and buries his head into her neck, tears staining her shirt.

"S'okay," she croaks out, voice still rough from disuse. It's only been a day since she's been able to talk, and even now, it still irritates her throat whenever she does so. She's had to keep her sentences to a minimum. "I'm okay."

"The fuck you are!" Axel answers vehemently, sniffling into her shoulder. "You were fucking blue, Mo! Blue! In what world is that okay?!"

Cress thinks that perhaps this is true. Her predicament was not the best and she can understand why Axel's as hysterical as he is. She would be, too, had the roles been reversed.

"It's okay, sweetheart," her mother inputs comfortingly, resting a hand on Axel's shoulder and rubbing it. Axel pulls back and gives Blythe a grin, watery. His eyes are rubbed red, irritated, crimson bleeding into white around the irises.

Cress wonders how well he's been sleeping. And then she hates herself for causing this much strain with her petty injuries.

"Crescent's doing spectacularly now. There's no need to fret any longer." Blythe pulls Axel into an embrace of her own, wrapping her arms around his shoulder with all the suave of a nurturing mother. Axel leans into it willingly, humming a little under his breath as he regains his composure. He sniffles into her shoulder.

Off to the left, Cress hears a soft, "Hello, Crescent," and almost has a heart attack.

But it's just Mallory, hair pulled back into a braid, eyes kind and relieved. Tiny Viktor sits on her leg, grumpy and complacent all at once, and Cress tears up at the sight of them both.

It's felt like forever, really, since she's seen her friends, her best mates, and the swell of her heart is almost too much to contain. She takes in tiny Viktor's puffy eyebrows, his small frown that's permanently etched onto his face, and she feels her toes curling, loves the way he's so grumpy all the time.

And then there's Mallory — soft, gentle Mallory, whose smiles are like porcelain, frail but beautiful to look out. Her eyes are lit by the afternoon sun, gleaming like emerald gems glittering on a mountain, and she's got a scarf wrapped around her neck, yellow and black. It's so familiar, so welcoming to Cress's deprived being that she cries.

Later, she'll blame it on the fever, on the blasted sickness she acquired from being dragged down to the pits of icy hell, but really, it's just Cress missing her friends. And it's really pathetic, really, since it's been only a week since she's seen them last, but still, that's enough to make a girl go mad with anticipation and impatience.

Cress sniffles as Mallory brings her into a warm embrace, arms timid yet so sure around her shoulders. It's like being wrapped in a million blankets but not suffocating from the heat they provide because it's just right, no matter how many you add or take away, the heat remains but never gets too high, never strays too low and that's what Mallory is like.

But Cress can't stay in the hold for too long because Mallory's immune system can't take many germs and Cress would hate for the girl to get sick on her account.

So, she pulls back and gives Mallory a genuine smile, glad to see her and Mallory flushes back, ducking her head and handing Cress small Viktor.

Cress beams at him. She wants to say something to him — ask where Uma is perhaps, since he's rarely been away from the tiny dragon since he's gotten it — but her throat is still raw and attempting anything will be tortuous to her.

He huffs at her, anyways, and crawls onto her pillows, right next to her head, curling up and closing his eyes, body relaxing in a reluctant comfortableness like he's finally eased whatever was on his tiny mind and Cress — well, she just knows she doesn't regret that those spells worked too well on her tiny action figure.

"How're you feeling?" Mallory snaps Cress's attention away from tiny Viktor. She stares at Mallory, shrugging.

"Could. . . be better," she mumbles out, voice hoarse like gravel scraping stone.

Mallory nods in sympathy and Cress feels like she, out of everyone, understands the situation the most, having been sick a majority of her childhood to adolescent years. Having someone who gets it but will not treat you as though you're broken's a relief, especially to Cress, who has been coddled ever since the incident.

Axel comes back over, dry streaks on his face, cheeks flushed with redness, and sits down at the end of Cress's cot, huffing. Cress's mum is smirking in the background, sipping on a cup of tea Gadby provided for her.

"Mo, first of all," he says, pointing at her, "what the fuck?"

Cress isn't too sure how to deem his question with a response. She remains silent, peering at him with irritated, red eyes, eyebrow quirked in hopes that he will continue.

He does, but not before sighing out like it's physically paining him to do so. "I just want to know how you get yourself caught up in the most peculiar situations. Like, sometimes they're even worse than Potter's and the mate killed a sodding basilisk in his second year!"

A shrug. Cress doesn't answer this, either, because she isn't too sure how she gets herself into accidents like these. (Granted, most of them are mundane compared to Harry's but still. These complications really need to stop before she loses it and goes mad before her seventh year.)

(But. . . well, at least Professor Trelawney was right. Cress knows the woman will be delighted about that. She thinks.)

"She tries her best," Mallory tries. Cress gives her a grateful smile.

Axel scoffs. "I won't argue there, but I swear, Mo, if you ever almost die again, I will murder you myself. That blasted merman won't even have the chance to take you three feet under before I get my hands on the both of you!" He throws his right hand, balled up in a fist, down onto his left hand, palm splayed open.

"Good. . . friend—love you," is all Cress says. It's all her throat allows, but even if it were in a healthier state, she feels like she would have said something similar to this. Because, although Axel says things like this, she knows it's just a mask for how deeply relieved he is — a façade to cover up how much he was worried about her, how much he cared when he couldn't see her for the week she was in the hospital wing.

So, she listens to his woes about the whole tournament, hears the tales of Viktor Krums and the never-ending grievances that he causes Axel to have and feels warm — but not the blistering kind of warmth that made her mind fuzzy with a fever or the kind that had her body aching in cold swears, her mouth dry as cotton. It's the kind of warmth that simmers in her bones like molten lava, stable under the surface, never breaching but still burning hot — still searing and kind and beautiful.

His silk voice and Mallory's quiet, content voice that speaks in heavenly sins coax Cress back to sleep and, she does so, a smile glued on her face, head pounding as she settles into a position that doesn't jostle tiny Viktor.

No nightmares plague her subconscious. And Cress — who had been fighting against water and invisible arms that choked her and forced her further down to the lake's floor since being brought to the surface by the most gentle monster she's ever run into — finally feels free. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Nothing changes after that. Cress gets released from the hospital wing with a warning from Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey to come back immediately if anything seems out of sorts — if her temperature suddenly drops her or her legs give out. You know, normal stuff to address after one’s been taken by a merman to the depths of the unknown.

Cress promises she will with crossed fingers and hightails it out of there, relieved as a toad that’s realized it’s not going to get boiled alive, and goes to her dormitory where she sleeps for twelve straight hours without waking up.

Her mum leaves a day before she's discharged, claiming that she needed to return to her own job before the head Healer decided to fire her for taking too many days off. Cress let her leave with dampened spirits, hugging her, arms wound around her so tightly she feared her mother would lose all air to her lungs.

She thought, in that moment, how weird it was going to be to adjust to not seeing her mother every day compared to her mum doting on her whenever she got the chance.

On the other hand, she thinks it might be nice to get back into the usual routine of things.

Which, it is, at first. Cress goes to class on Thursday morning with a smile on her face — not the kind that's excited about having to go to lessons, but the kind that shows she's relieved to be back on her own two feet, no matter how bothersome classes are.

Then. . . it starts to get annoying.

First, Snape calls her out in Potions because he's a fucking arsehole who obviously knew she was absent from classes for the past few days due to strenuous circumstances but doesn't care either since he loves to belittle teenagers for fun. He tells her to recall the potion they made the Friday prior and when she can’t recollect the memories because she was in the fucking hospital wing, lay off, he takes twenty points from Hufflepuff and threatens her with detention.

(Cress was considering levitating her cauldron over to him at a speed so fast it was sure to give him brain damage.)

Secondly, she misses lunch. Fucking misses it. And sure, okay, it's not as bad as it seems but Fred fucking Weasley wanted to eat with her — as in, spend time with her consensually. As in he asked her. And she missed it, all because Professor Flitwick demands her to stay back and work on some of the things she's missed because apparently, "You have wonderful marks in here, Miss Diggory and I would hate for them to be altered because of all the lessons you have missed, even though I know the circumstances weren’t your fault. . ."

(Which, okay, thanks for looking out for her, Professor Flitwick, but this is Fred Weasley. Probably the love of her life; she needed to attend lunch because it meant seeing him.)

(She ends up having to tell Axel and Mallory to relay the message to him, sulking at her seat because she’s not above being petty and pouting about it.)

And thirdly, Amos, sometime between being a shit father and doing his work — you know, instead of coming to see his sickly daughter in the hospital wing — decided that it would be kind of him to send Cress a letter with a gift attached to it. The letter says, Get better soon. Amos, and she's certain that he got someone else to write it for him — just as he got someone else (Blythe because when does he ever do anything himself?) to knit her a sweater that came along with it. It's a putrid green color that will certainly clash with Cress's eyes should she ever decide to succumb herself to the horrors of wearing it.

She stares at it in disgust on Friday morning, her nose scrunched up and lips puckered as she glares down at the hideous thing. There's a moment where she wonders what she did to deserve this kind of torture but then she realizes that she must have done something in a past life for the world to punish her so viciously. There has to be something that can explain this odd sort of behavior and this absurdly horrendous sweater.

Tiny Viktor stares at it, too, like it's something he shouldn't have to look at but is anyway because it's too ugly not to. After a while he sends Cress a look, one brow raised as though he's asking, Are you serious? This is a real thing? And I'm looking at it with my eyes? What the f—

Her shoulders lift into a shrug as Axel and Mallory plop down on either side of her. Tiny Viktor gravitates towards Axel — or it might be Uma, since she's curled up somewhere in Axel's robes, Cress thinks — and starts fiddling with everything around the black-haired boy. Mallory takes one look at the sweater and politely looks away to start working on her morning waffles. Cress understands.

"The fuck is that, Mo?" Axel asks through a mouthful of bacon moments later. "Looks like some kind of traffic light."

Cress muffles a groan into a lemon muffin. "Amos gave it to me."

"Is he mad?" Axel snorts.

"Obviously," Cress mutters, scooting the package away from her in hopes that the vibrance of it will disappear the farther away it is. "Either that or the man really hates me. I wouldn't give this piece of garbage to my worst enemy."

"No one in their right mind would." Axel sends the sweater a look of disdain before slathering some jam on a biscuit and shoveling it in his mouth. "Maybe he's suffering from brain damage. Or he's color blind."

"He's just evil," Cress says, pouting into her orange juice. "An evil, evil man who wants to see me suffer."

"Maybe he thought it would look nice on you?" Mallory, the epitome of an optimistic girl who sees the good in everyone, supplies in a sheepish, hopeful tone. Cress commends her for her outlook on life but she is past the point of looking for any sort of light in this horrendous situation. "But he got the colors wrong. I dunno, but your father did send you something, didn't he? And you said that you didn't have the best relationship, no?"

Cress nods.

"Well — and this is just my own opinion — but, maybe, this is him trying to reach out to you and make amends. Perhaps all these years have caught up to him, and he’s feeling remorse for the way he's treated you."

Doubtful. Cress snorts, not at Mallory, but at the prospect of Amos trying to salvage their mutilated relationship. For years, she's hoped that maybe he would reach out a hand, look at her with those same, playful eyes he once gazed at her with, and apologize for just up and ditching her for whatever reason he could think of.

One day it was work, the next Cedric needed him more. After that, they became more bleak, years going on as hope for him to turn around and just look at her becoming too strenuous—enough that Cress grew tired waiting. Her shining eyes thaat once looked upon her father with great admiration turned into dull indignation, a pointless defeat that echoed in her bones years after.

Sometimes, though — like right now, with this atrociously colored sweater swimming in her eyes and making them burn with the luminance of it— she ponders about the reasons, weighing it over in her head like a stone being turned in someone’s hand.

She thinks about the times where he held her on his waist, glasses crooked on his face but smile young like the sun but worn around the edges, still enchanting in its dull vibrancy. The times where he would laugh with her and jokingly call her his "little moon." The times where they would sit together by the fire, her on his lap, a book in front of them, worn blanket over their laps, his voice echoing through her ears, narrating the story, his voices spot on for the monsters and just right for the humans. The times where she was behind him trailing, his hand in hers, keeping her close to him at all times, always in sight, the warmth of his hand soothing to her small, clammy ones.

When she thinks about all those times, Cress wonders so much that her head physically aches from it. She wonders how a tightly knit relationship turned into this — one with bitterness caking every word thrown at each other; one where they can barely stand to be in the same room together; one where she's a little girl, hand outstretched, waiting on her father's fingers to curl around her own.

But it never does because he's left her, back turned to her, head held high in the air, mighty and confident in his strides as he leaves her behind, walking faster and faster until her little legs couldn’t catch up anymore — until the fight drains out of her and she's left defeated, the cold freezing her nimble fingers, turning them blue, numbing her whole body with the icy heat of it.

Cress covers the sweater and leaves for her first lesson, head held low and mind a mess of emotions.

⋆˚࿔

March is supposed to be the month where winter disappears in favor of spring taking over. There's supposed to be melting snow, flowers blossoming from the wet ruins of the grounds and it's supposed to be beautiful and Cress always loves March for it.

But now it's freezing cold, wind blowing through her many layers of clothing and leaving her feeling numb and fucking irate.

Axel suggested it. Cress wants that to be known before anything else.

Axel is the one who thought it would be a good idea to take a walk. And Cress, wanting to get out of the school before she pushed someone down the stairs for staring at her the wrong way, agreed to it because it would be a breath of fresh air and she would cool down before going to get dinner peacefully. So, she went.

There was no breath of fresh air.

It was more like the air from her lungs was stolen. Taken right from underneath her. The wind was unforgiving with its taunts. It struck through Cress like a bolt of lighting, igniting her bones with frigid coldness.

But she fought through it because she thought Axel needed it more than anything; ever since she's come back, he's been more restless than usual, eyes vacant in class and mind not completely with them when he inserted himself into conversations. Cress thought this might be a good time for him to collect himself, to get over whatever was happening with Viktor Krum (he's under the impression that he's subtle, but Cress has seen him stealing glances at the Slytherin table, and she's about to lose her grip on reality and just interrogate him about it).

Apparently, however, she was wrong. Either that, or Axel is really going out of his way to avoid Krum and his cronies. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the dark parka that no doubt belonged to the Quidditch player, he ran for the castle. Just stopped talking, stopped walking, and turned around, hightailing it out of there before Krum could even catch up to him. Cress is certain he's sought out Mallory by now and is currently telling her his woes.

And, she'd be right there with them if not for the fact that Krum decided to stop her before she could follow Axel's example.

Just found her rooted in the spot and whispered those simple words — “Might I speak vith you?” — and suddenly she’s regretting her life decisions and swimming in Krum’s jacket (that’s probably made of boar’s fur, she knows it) while sitting on a giant boulder near the Forbidden Forest.

"I vould hate for a voman to be freezing," he had said when Cress had sat down on the icy stone, defeated but shivering. His coat had been in his hand, outstretched. "Please, take it. I am used to the cold."

There was nothing else one could do after that. She took the jacket with a sigh and she's been sitting in it ever since. It's warm, though, so at least something's coming out of this meet up.

"So," she says after minutes of them both sitting there in relative silence; the only thing that could be heard was the howling of the wind. "Um, why did you stop me from going back to the castle?"

Better to get to the point, she supposes.

Krum squints at her, rubs his hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. Cress sits patiently, not pressing because his cheeks are flushed red and she isn't too sure if that's from the weather or not. She decides not to ask, works on getting her posture to stay relaxed instead of tensing like prey that's been caught in the predator's trap and isn't too sure how to turn the situation around. Branches crack around them before Krum finally decides to speak up.

"Axel is my dearest friend besides Olga," he says, syllables coming out sharper, harder, mouth turned down in a frown. Cress doesn’t raise her eyebrows in surprise, or gasp at the sudden confession — which is no small feat for her horrible poker face. But he only rubs a hand through his hair and looks away like the words that escape are too much to say to her face. "I admire him very much."

"I'm— well, I’m glad," Cress tries, trying not to let the confusion she's feeling escape into her voice.

In the end, it doesn't really matter since Krum continues as though he's never heard her; almost as though she isn't even there. Like she’s a confessional and he’s the one needing release.

"Ve started off acquaintances, you see. I came to Hogwarts as a guest, as someone that had a chance to participate in the tournament. But, before that, I vas in the Quidditch World Cup as Viktor Krum—prodigy. I vas representing Bulgaria on a much more broad stage." His fists clench on his leather pants (Cress is under the impression that his legs must be made of ice themselves or else he is freezing under there) and he kicks at a lone pebble before sighing. "I do not enjoy the spotlight even though I am always in it."

And, okay, Cress understands this. Attention sucks with a capital S, she's been through this. But she's not really too sure how this is important to her. Or what it has to do with Axel, especially considering Viktor might be the one who hurt her best mate. Honestly, she's not even too sure what this whole conversation is supposed to be about.

But she hopes it can explain why Axel’s been so. . . off, recently.

“The point is, I vas not looking to make acquaintances. I vas not looking for long-term friends. I had a mission and I vanted to accomplish it without any distractions. But Axel—" at this, his lips tilt the slightest, his right hand closing around his left fist tightly, burning white, "—he has this vay of veaving his way into someone's life and staying. I vas not expecting to make friends with him."

"How did you two become friends anyway?" Cress asks curiously. Axel never told her the whole prospect of him and Viktor. Perhaps the Bulgarian isn't as tight-lipped as him.

A self-deprecating chuckle resounds from his mouth, almost as cold as the wind. Cress watches, entranced, and a little worried, as Viktor loses all the poise he had upon commencing this meeting. His shoulders slouch and he looks as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulder — which sounds about right considering the academy he attends and the professor who loves his pupil more than life itself. He doesn't look like the hardcore Bulgarian prodigy that everyone waxes poet about; he looks like a teenaged boy, sorry and sad.

"Me and Axel vere actually friends before I met him here," he says, whispers mostly, eyes wandering and breath visible. "Ve vere pen pals. . ." He trails off, voice caked in nostalgia and a regret so palpable that Cress is certain she could scoop it up out of the thin air.

But her attention is focused on what he said. He said pen pals and Cress knows about the pen pals, but she knows about Valko, the wishy-washy piece of dung who played Axel like a fiddle. She knows Valko, who talked back and forth to Axel, who was the reason that Axel was smiling, eyes lit at the breakfast table, throughout the day, with every passing letter. She knows Valko, who didn't care about Axel's name, about the fact he came from wealth, only the fact that he was true to himself and true to others. She knows Valko, who Axel slowly, but surely fell in love with and she knows that he was the one writing Axel, not Viktor. So, why. . .?

Her eyes widen almost comically. It's funny, really, the fact that Cress didn't see it coming. Honestly, the facts were right in front of her eyes, bold and bleeding with each movement, each breath taken, each moment stolen. It was all right there. And she isn't too sure whether to be angry or heartbroken for her friend.

She chalks it up to anger.

“Are you kidding me?" she says, low and dangerous. Running her hand through her knotted hair in frustration, emotions bubble up in her like too many ingredients in a cauldron, ready to explode. “You’re Valko?”

"It vas foolish," he starts.

Cress laughs, hollow. She can't imagine what Axel must be feeling right now, if this rage is anything to go by. "Foolish?! You let my best friend believe that you were someone you weren't! You let him think you were some dolt named Valko, let him get to know someone else, let him get comfortable with a fictional person! That's downright harebrained, Krum! What the bloody hell was going through your head when you decided this?!"

He shrugs, seems to curl in on himself even more. Cress feels absolutely no remorse. "I vas thinking that he vouldn't vant to genuinely speak vith me had I informed him of my true self. I vas wary. His very first letter vas speaking of me, you see. . ."

A pathetic excuse, really. Cress hates herself for understanding where he's coming from. A big name like his — a Quidditch star at only eighteen, seen by his peers as someone amazing for his talents only, nothing more — can make it hard for him to open up to people. Especially if Axel made it seem like he was Viktor's biggest fan (an assumption that Cress feels is right on the dot).

"But why lie?" Her anger is still at the surface, simmering, waiting to boil over. Cress tries to rein it in. "Why keep it going after you two continued to talk? Obviously Axel would have been thrilled to be talking to you as Viktor Krum but he would have been even more ecstatic to have the privilege to know you. Just Viktor."

"I vas naive," Viktor concedes, shaking his head roughly, as though mentally scolding himself. "I thought it vould be easy; I vould never meet him, vat vas the point in revealing myself to someone who vas countries away from me? There vas none."

Another shake of the head, another bitter smiles and he continues. "But I found out ve vere to come to Hogwarts for the tournament. And I foolishly told him and I foolishly allowed myself to become excited at the idea of meeting him. However, he knew me only as a character I concocted in my head and not as Viktor, who I vas to be coming as. I vas. . . screwed, how you say. Very screwed.

"After that, the lies vould not stop coming. I lied about not being able to come; I lied again and told him I vould be attending; then I lied once more to tell him I vas not. And then one night, Axel came down to the ship foolishly because I sent him another letter as Valko, telling him to meet me there — this vas before the last lie, I am thinking — and he had showed up and I vas there to meet them, not Valko. He vas very angry, for he vas waiting for a very long time, I am remembering. It vas very cold, too. But I valked him back to the castle and I could not stop talking to him, could not get him out of my head much, either."

Viktor sighs out loudly, eyes far away. Cress is certain that he's just speaking his thoughts, unaware that she's even still sitting there. "He vas an acquaintance at first, a friend who vas genuine and kind to me when no one else vas. He vas just like the letters, blunt and honest, angry and loud, but very much compassionate and lovely all the same. He vas the one whom I met in the middle of the night when I became worried about the tournament, and he is the first one to give me a present that vas about me and not about what I do." He fiddles with the ring on his finger, ruby burning bright red in the timid sunlight. A gem shaded in the hue of blood. Cress stares at it for longer than necessary.

"I vas a fool to continue writing, a fool to not tell him as soon as I saw him upon our arrival. But I vas terrified and I vanted to keep our friendship. I had not planned upon what followed."

Cress raises a brow, nose dripping due to the temperature. She sniffles, says, "What happened?" There's the whole revelation about him and Valko, but Cress suspects that there's more to it than that.

"Axel has not told you?" Viktor asks, eyeing her, eyes drooping and tired. Cress feels a bit of her irritation melt away. Clearly this is tearing him up as much as it is Axel.

She shakes her head.

This seems to dampen his mood more than anything. He sighs out once more, shakes his head again, and looks to the muddy ground. "I see. Then I shall not say much, either. It is, after all, his business to disclose. Not mine."

Cress nods, accepting this answer. Respect seeps into her bones, firm and stable, directed at Krum's tired frame. She loves the fact that he's not going to expose Axel's closeted skeletons without his permission. Whatever happened with those two, she knows that deep down, Viktor is a good guy with a quality personality. She hopes, in the end, that they sort out whatever is happening.

"I want it to be known that I am livid. Absolutely pissed about what you did to Axel," Cress starts after a few moments of silence.

Viktor nods. "I vould expect nothing less."

"But, I'm glad you know what you did wrong and I hope that you want to right the situation." She stares at him, questioning — threatening.

Another nod. He doesn't even look her way.

"I wrote him a letter," he supplies quietly, reaching into his robes and pulling out a neat piece of paper. "I vas caught in the Owlery, messing vith Scout, your owl." He nods at Cress. "Axel found me and he asked me how I was so familiar with an owl I have had no contact vith. He connected the dots before I could even get a vord out. I have not been able to speak vith him since." His hand sticks out and he places the letter softly on Cress's lap, staring down at her with earnest eyes.

"It vould help me a lot if you vere to give him this."

The envelope is a crisp white, polished, with Axel's name written in calligraphy that could match a professional's. The wind blows through Cress's hair, sneaking in through the holes of her many layers, chilling her. She stares at the parchment and she thinks about what Axel would want. Wonders about the rest of the story, about how much is missing from this gigantic puzzle. She thinks about Axel's blank stares and his lack of conversation, about the meals skipped and quizzes failed from lack of concentration. And she thinks about Viktor's sullen face, of the sunken eyes and sallow cheeks, and she makes her decision.

Viktor gives her something akin to a smile when she answers. She nods back at him, returns his heavy coat and stands. The letter is clutched in her hand, so she moves it to the inside of her robes where she knows it'll be protected. Viktor towers beside her.

"Many thanks," he says, voice gruff. "I truly do apologize for the many sorrows I have caused upon him." He stares up at the sky, squinting, and a breeze catches through his hair. For a moment, Cress is floored by how magnificent he actually looks — how grown and mature and absolutely beautiful he is.

(If only Fred Weasley didn't own her heart; she'd probably be more entranced by the sight of him.)

"Just don't screw it up if he gives you a second time," Cress warns, pulls her hair back into a ponytail low on her neck and glares up at him. "No matter how strong he acts, Axel’s fragile."

"Worry not," Viktor scratches the back of his head and then gives Cress the most genuine smile she's certain she's ever seen him wear, "should he give me the privilege of a second chance, I vill do everything in my power to make him happy."

Something light flutters through Cress's chest, and she thinks that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to go on a walk, after all.

⋆˚࿔

"CRESCENT DIGGORY!"

Cress balks, looking up from where she's walking, eyes widening before she's met with a face full of Fred Weasley's chest. They almost tumble, but Fred keeps them upright, holding her in his arms as he stabilizes them. Shadows loom over the castle, settling in as the sun creeps further and further away from the horizon. Cress tries to get her heart under control before it pops out of her chest and onto the murky grounds.

"Hello," she murmurs into his chest as they stabilize themselves. Fred's arm momentarily tightens around hers before he pulls away, beaming brighter than any sun ray ever could.

"Hey, Crescent! Fancy seeing you out here," he exclaims, voice deep and husky in it's cheer — and Cress is certain that her cheeks are blazing now, unaffected by the harsh winds whipping through her hair. But really, it's expected, especially when Fred Weasley stands in front of her, hair mussed up beautifully, lips pulled into a smirk, arms and legs as lanky and beautiful in their gait.

Bloody hell, she does not know how much longer she can continue pining after him before she completely loses her wits. Doesn’t know how long she loses it before she just plants a fat one on his lips — his reddening lips, plump from worrying them in the cold.

"Yes," she says slowly, "fancy you running into me, Fred."

"Oh, yeah, sorry ‘bout that." His smile says anything but apologies. If anything, he looks more excited than anything. "I wanted to talk to you before dinner and Axel said you were outside conspiring with the Durmstrangs."

"And you've found me, even though I wasn’t conspiring." Her heart flutters nervously in her chest. She tries not to think about what he could want to talk about, tries not to hope too much. "Walk me to the castle as you explain, Freddie boy. I am quite famished today."

Fred's grin never leaves his face as they continue the journey to the castle. He asks her about her day, about how she's settling into the daily routine of a boring school day versus the excitement (he says it with a sarcastic smile) of being in the hospital wing after the brave rescue the Giant Squid made to get her out of the merman's clutches. Cress tells him that it's been difficult because people are arseholes and she shouldn't have to go through all this turmoil just to pass her lessons and he smiles at her fondly, like he doesn’t mind she just dropped three new curses in a sentence. Her heart has probably gone into cardiac arrest by now, but she’s fine with that by now — has come to realize Fred really might be the death of her.

"So, er — there is a reason I’m out here. Not that it wasn’t to talk to you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as they near the entrance hall. His breath puffs out in short bursts, and Cress is left wondering what has Fred Weasley all flustered like this. “I actually wanted to ask you something. . .”

“A question for me?” Cress places a hand on her chest, trying to ignore the fact that her entire body feels like it’s been slapped by a burning slap of metal. “Well, do tell, Fred. I’m all ears.”

“Er, okay, so — this might seem out of the blue and probably a little too much considering you're just getting back into the routine of things but tomorrow is the Hogsmeade trip. . . and-I-wanted-to-go-with-you."

Once the words are out of his mouth, he clamps it shut so fast that even his smirk looks tight around the edges. But there’s a part of Cress that already thinks she might be dead.

Either that or dreaming. Possibly both. Maybe even dreaming about her death. The afterlife where she lives out her most wondrous fantasies, drinks the finest wines everyday while Fred confesses that he wanted to go to Hogsmeade with her. Where he looks at her, his eyes firm on hers but his cheeks flushing like it took a lot more out of him than he thought it would.

When it passes, when she comes down from the high of having heard his words, Cress stares at Fred — at his earnest eyes and his confident smile that’s edged in nerves he’d never admit — and thinks reality isn’t as bad as her dreams had been.

If anything, it’s better, with Fred actually asking her to go the the village with her. No longer is it a figment of her imagination, but something that she can say warms her down to her toes as she thinks of how to respond.

"Er — uh, well," she stumbles across her words, of course, because dreams or reality, Cress is Cress, and she’s illiterate around the people she fancies. (She couldn’t talk to Peyton for a whole year after she realized she had a crush. A year.) "I would, and you — yes. Sure. I would love to. Yes, let’s go together, Fred."

"Fantastic." Fred gives her his signature smirk, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to his side the way he did so many weeks ago. Her mind flips itself upside down, thoughts a jumble and heart a mess but she manages to keep her composure to a nervous grin.

Fred’s present beside her, going off into detail about everything they'll get into — I’m taking you to Zonko’s, simply because I need to know what you’d pick out in there! — and she listens, heart soaring like a bird in her chest. He never takes his arm off her shoulder and she doesn't mind the proximity they share, never has. Finds it comforting more than anything.

He blocks out the icy cold better than any coat could.

⋆˚࿔

They surrender themselves to the heat of the castle and part in the Great Hall to go to their own tables, Fred’s hand lingering on hers for a simple moment that was enough to send her into overdrive. Cress eats in a blur of motions, mixing her mashed potatoes with her macaroni and scarfing down Brussels sprouts (the nastiest greens in her opinions), a grin plastered on her face all the while.

Cedric asks her if she's gone mad, Hamlin makes fun of her, and Axel and Mallory, of course, celebrate with ice cream from the kitchens because this is apparently a huge milestone in her life — Mo, this is a once in a lifetime chance, it calls for all kinds of ice cream! Don't fight it! She eats some buttered scones and thinks about the late night visits with Fred and feels warm all over.

A part of her can't actually grasp onto the fact that she's (most likely) going on a date with Fred Weasley whilst the other part of her revels in it, bathes in the afterglow of it. This part of her is thriving, living a life she knows that should have been hers a long time ago and Cress can't help but revel with her a little bit, too.

"Godric, you're as bad as him," Ginny says when she walks into the kitchens later on.

Cress can't even bring herself to be mad because she's too flustered for anything else. Ginny takes a seat across from her, beside Mallory, and spoons some banana mint chocolate ice cream from a bowl leisurely. Her face scrunches up in disgust when she stares at the wonderstruck expression on Cress's face.

"Honestly, Cress, I'm appalled. You couples and your sick faces." Ginny sticks her tongue out.

Axel, around a spoonful of chocolate, says, "Hey, don't be an arsehole, Ginevra."

"Don't call me Ginevra, Axel," she retorts.

"Bite me, I do what I want. Our dearest Mo is experiencing the brushes of a first love and it is a time to be rejoicing! Do not spread your hostility around this sacred kitchen or I swear I will rip every shed of hair out of your head."

Ginny snorts. "That's a bit much, Jenson."

"It is a promise, Ginny Weasley. I will destroy you."

"Yeah, yeah." Ginny gives him a nonchalant wave. "Do what you want. I'm just glad Fred finally grew a pair and asked you. Bloke's been working up the courage to do it for weeks now."

The cup of tea in Cress's hand feels too warm. The kitchen feels too warm. Not too warm as in sweltering but too warm as her heart’s about to burst from her chest. Fred Weasley is the most adorable person she's ever had the pleasure of knowing and if she didn’t know it then, then she sure as hell does now.

"I'm very happy for you two," Mallory says, scribbling on parchment with a pen in a doodle of words and drawings. "I, too, have been impatiently waiting for the day where someone would make a move."

"Here, here!" Axel cheers and the three of them clink their glasses of butterbeer floats together merrily.

Cress barely pays attention. Her mind’s in the future, imagining what they would do. Perhaps they'll stroll through the shops, buy some sweets at Honeydukes — get a drink at Three Broomsticks. Maybe they'll go by the Shrieking Shack or visit Zonko's (like he’d said) and sometime during the day, he'll grab hold of her hand and he won't let go and she'll be filled to the brim with happiness, a pep in her step and a grin on her face and it'll be the best day she's had in awhile.

It doesn't matter that she's got a ton of homework and exams to study for. It doesn't matter that Amos sent her yet another letter after dinner, asking her for a response, for an update on how she's been. It doesn't matter that Axel had shoved the letter into his chest when she gave it to her, eyes cold and dark, a stormy sapphire, the color of the ocean before a hurricane. It doesn't matter that he still won't tell her the full story. It's all at the back of her mind now.

Fred Weasley has taken up the entirety of it and she sits there, and the clouds looming over her, thundering and murderous disappear, leaving her with bright skies, the sun beaming down on her kindly.

The air is shifting and Cress feels that maybe everything is about to change.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Cress isn't one to assume. . . but she's certain that Fred might have stood her up.

Now, there's not much proof of this theory except for the fact that it's been almost two hours since she's set foot into the Three Broomsticks and he has yet to show.

Which wouldn't make a difference except for he said they were supposed to go to Hogsmeade together and Cress is certain that to do that — they actually have to be together.

It started out a fairly good day; Cress woke in high spirits, freaking out about what she was going to wear to Hogsmeade because she couldn't look like a ragamuffin when she was going on what she is assuming might be a date, especially not when she could potentially have a story to tell her children in the future — when she's old and grey, sitting around the fire, reminiscing about her past (perhaps present) loves and their first date that would presumably lead to more because it was too brilliant and he was enthralled by her witty comebacks and beautiful presence — and she can't do that if she looks like a troll.

So, she had a mini breakdown, had to get Mallory to calm her down whilst Santana laughed at her like an evil mastermind (because she totally was one), and then finished putting her simple outfit of Muggle jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt in case it was chilly, and a light jacket (the one George and Lee gave her for Christmas). She thought it was okay as far as things went (even though Santana snickered at her until Imogen finally shoved her out of the room with a sigh) and was ready to leave and got to Hogsmeade, her heart soaring in her chest, beating so hard it felt as though someone was personally pounding a drum inside of her.

It all went to shit from there.

Firstly, Fred hadn't informed her of what they would be doing — where they would be meeting, information like that — so Cress stood inside the entrance hall for about twenty minutes, encouraging Axel and Mallory to leave, it's fine, I'm fine, in hopes that he would miraculously make an appearance.

He didn't.

Cress had stood out there for who knows how long, idly looking around, trying to ignore the part of her that knew — just knew — that he wouldn't show up, that it was all a hoax, something he was probably having a right laugh about because even though he wasn't the kind of person to harm another's feeling, messing with little 'ole Diggory just hits him in the right place.

She had to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. Cress argued with herself, told herself that there had to be a logical explanation as to why he would just stand her up like this because he was Fred Weasley, perhaps the most genuine person she's ever met in her life. He pranks and jokes and prods at people but he also helps first years get to where they're going, stands up for those too shy to do it themselves and values other people's opinions, never making anyone feel ignored. There had to be something that was holding him.

So, she walked into the village, shedded her hoodie because it was too warm outside — finally, March wanted to act like March — sat in the Three Broomsticks, and ordered a butterbeer, waiting for Fred to magically appear like she summoned him.

She's on her eighth(?) one, and he's yet to come.

Every time she comes back, Madam Rosmerta eyes are swimming with either pity or annoyance that this random Hufflepuff girl is sitting in her pub, taking up a table made for four when she could so very easily sit at one made for two and cry into her very expensive drinks that she's certain that Madam Rosmerta has traded out in favor of water. That — or she's watered them down because Cress has been tasting a difference, no matter how subtle the woman's trying to be. Cress understands, though. She would be angry, too, if some angsty teenager chose her pub as one for woes instead of joys.

People who pass her by must think she's depressed, too. Probably mental, if the way she's nursing her empty mug of butterbeer's anything to go by. Cress wishes she cared; they should be giving her their sympathies. She's mourning. Mourning the loss of a date that could have been splendid.

Now all she'll have to talk about with her children — or cats, since she'll probably be alone and with a cat at that point in her life — are the failures she's endured up until then. They'll hate her and throw her into the fire and Cress will let them because it's what she deserves.

As Madam Rosmerta takes away her empty glass, she doesn't try to replace it with another one, just stares at Cress with an exasperated look of pity. "You've been here awhile. Sure you wouldn't mind some food?"

Cress shakes her head, stares at the cracked wood in the table, presses her fingers against it, splintering herself. "No, thanks," she mumbles, tracing it. Her stomach grumbles in protest, has been grumbling since she stepped foot into the pub, but Cress has gone from being too excited to eat to just depressed.

Madam Rosmerta leaves once again with a shake of her head. Cress listens to background noises behind her, zoning in on the couple in the back booth, the group of friends (Hufflepuffs, all sending her glances like they're not too sure whether they've decided to be sympathetic or smugly relieved; Cress may or may not have bragged about the common room the night prior, dancing around and yelling in everyone's faces about her day with Fred) sitting at the table beside her, all chattering and eating and simply enjoying life.

Cress honestly would rather start studying for her O.W.L.s because now she's just being pathetic.

Just as she's about to leave and surrender herself to the piles of books that must be waiting for her back at the dormitories, Hamlin and Cedric walk in, hands interlocked like a newly wed couple, and they spot her, sitting tragically alone, cheeks flushed from too much butterbeer, hands drumming an offset beat on the table, hair probably knotted again from messing with it too much. They come over and sit down anyway.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Cedric demands irritably. Hamlin calls over a waiter and orders a butterbeer for the two of them. "Where's Weasley?"

Cress shrugs silently, tapping another beat on the table. For a moment, she wishes she would have brought tiny Viktor with her instead of handing him off to Axel. He certainly would have cheered her up.

"Did he stand you up?" Cedric asks in a low voice when Cress stays quiet. His eyes are dangerously tinted. "I swear, I will find him right now, Cress, you just give me the command. I will ki—"

"Whoa there, big shot." Hamlin settles his hand on the back of Cedric's neck, rubbing. Cress wishes them and their stupid domesticity would sod off. "Don't go blowing a gasket, I'm sure there's a logical explanation." He turns to stare at Cress imploringly. "Right, Cress?"

If there was, Cress thinks, she wouldn't be sitting alone in this pub right now. She would be out enjoying her day and Fred Weasley would be right beside her, probably telling corny jokes and smiling like the sun and making it hard for Cress to just exist in general.

But alas, there's no logical explanation and Cress is sitting high and dry, heart yearning, head coming up with a thousand questions, a million theories as to why this was happening.

So far, nothing comes to mind.

Cress is still searching, though, blind as a bat in a dessert.

"Cress, seriously," Cedric brings her from her thoughts, "what happened?"

"Dunno," she says, reaches over and takes his butterbeer, gulping it down. "Suppose he's gone off and died."

Cedric sends her a deadpan look. "Crescent."

"Well, he's gotta be because why else would he stand up to all this?" A weak gesture at herself is followed by a self-depriacating laugh and she leans on her hand and ignores Cedric's attempts at being comforting.

"We ran into George and Lee on the way in here," Hamlin pipes up. "Fred wasn't with them. Maybe he got caught up somewhere. Perhaps got in trouble with a teacher on his way here. You know how he is."

"Yeah." Cress's lips twitch minimally, an attempt to show them she's okay. It's a shoddy attempt, but they buy it and Cress leaves them to their date, the bell chiming as she walks out of the pub.

In the back of her mind, there's this nagging voice, telling her, shouting at her in its nasty, nasally voice that makes Cress's head pound more than it already is that perhaps Fred finally opened his eyes and realized that he deserved someone better than her.

And Cress — well, she can't really argue with that logic.

⋆˚࿔

The dog's huge. Its paws are probably the size of Cress's head (not really, but seriously, they're big) and it's up to her waist just standing on its four paws. And Cress would be running for the castle right about now, but there's something about this brown-eyed, malnourished wolf-dog hybrid thing that has her sitting on a stump, arms full of food (that she wasted all of her monthly allowance plus Amos's surplus of money he sent her) from Madam Rosmerta's, feeding him in small spurts so he doesn't get sick.

"There you go," she says comfortingly, reaching out a tentative hand to try and pet it. A few minutes ago, she tried the same thing, but he (she checked) stared at her with hesitation, haunches raised like he was going to book it. Now, he lets her place a hand on the crown of his head and Cress pats him lovingly, trying not to coo. That might not settle too well with him.

Chicken bones crunch as he gnaws on his meal and Cress wonders how her day turned out like this. From expecting a date with her crush to feeding a (maybe rabid) dog on the outskirts of town.

Really, she had stumbled upon him by accident. After leaving the Three Broomsticks, she wandered around the village until the village blurred into the beautiful wilderness that Hogsmeade had to offer.

That's where she ran into the dog.

He was running, a black blur that surpassed Cress almost faster than she could blink, and before he could hightail it to wherever he was going, he stumbled upon a branch that was lying on the ground and apparently that was so ungraceful that he looked around the vicinity, eyes searching as though he knew something was there but wasn't sure what. Then, his eyes landed on Cress and Cress swears they narrowed. Like, in that snotty way saying, "I may have tripped but I'm still better than you."

Then, he had stopped, fully turned around, stared at Cress with his big brown eyes, speculating, like he was trying to figure something out. He did, thankfully, and Cress is relieved because she's certain that he was going to kill any witnesses that saw him in his moment of disarray.

Once he deemed her worthy enough for living, he sat down, proper and expectant — as proper and expectant as a dog so shaggy and malnourished can. Cress was worried he might actually keel over and die. Watery eyes had stared her down and for about two minutes, Cress was in a staring contest with a four-legged canine. She had thought that seemed right; her life was in shambles, why not lose a staring contest to a blasted dog?

After that, she sat down on a log, gazed at the dog, felt the pity well up in her like a geyser about to burst from its hole in the ground before she finally caved in, told him to stay in the calmest tone she could manage with her hand placed outwards (she's certain he didn't like that too much because he huffed — growled — at her before laying in a pile of leaves and turning his head away from her) and walked to the Three Broomsticks and ordered enough food to feed the whole pub, surprising Madam Rosmerta, who narrowed her eyes at Cress when she smiled sheepishly at the pub owner.

When she walked back, her pockets significantly lighter, food steaming in her hands, arms, everywhere, the dog had been laying, looking bored out of his mind, but anxious all the same. Like he wasn't safe, wouldn't be safe unless he was cooped into himself, curled into a ball so small that she wondered where his limbs went. Cress, upon seeing him, got the impression that perhaps he was as rabid as she was. If anything, she would say he was just scared. . . and perhaps a bit lonely.

The thought ached her to the bones and she felt better when he perked up at her arrival, tail twitching as though he were excited but didn't want to show it. He stood awkwardly on shaky legs, walking over to her and sniffing curiously on the bags in her hand. Then, he barked.

Cress was a fucking goner.

Now, she's nibbling on her own chicken, stomach grumbling happily, and watching the dog eat his meal as though it's the last one he's going to get. She wonders if he has an owner, debates on whether or not her mum would allow her to bring him home with her over summer.

Blythe wouldn't mind too much, Cress thinks, because when she was three-years-old, she could faintly recall a dog similar to the scraggly one in front of her. It was black, sleek, and liked to nose Cress's armpits until she giggled and patted his snout, but it was gone as fast as it came and Blythe was oddly depressed about the whole thing. Cress wishes she could remember what happened to the thing. But, she was but a toddler and Blythe's explanation only meant so much to her baby ears.

Perhaps Blythe would like a dog; Amos is rarely home, from what Cress can assume, and Gadby works most of the time. A companion would be nice, Cress thinks.

But would this dog let her smuggle him to her house? Cress assesses him. He's chewing happily on a bone, paws holding it together whilst his teeth chomp down on it, his rollers cracking it with a sickening crack. He seems content now, restful in a relaxing way. There's no more tension in his shoulders, no haunches raised like he's about to run, and she could get away with petting him — maybe, a hard maybe — if she wanted to. A kidnap (dog-nap?), not so much.

Against her better judgment, she ends up sitting beside him in the pile of dead leaves, getting as close as he'll allow her without startling him. She sits, finishes her own chicken, and throws the bone to him. He accepts it with a content growl, sniffing at her before digging in. Cress sighs, tugs her hoodie over her head and feels nice.

Perhaps it's the calming atmosphere, the sounds of birds chirping to each other, a song that only they can understand, and wind blowing softly against the trees, but Cress speaks and she doesn't stop.

"I've liked Fred Weasley since first year," she starts. There's a halt to the chewing and she thinks that the dog is staring at her now but that can't be possible because whilst he might be a tame (she uses this term lightly) animal, he can't really tell what she's saying. It's probably just the noise coming out of her mouth, she concludes and continues.

"First year. I was ten-years-old and the new kid at Hogwarts. I was small and scared and I only had Axel, my best friend. And Cedric — my brother. I suppose, if you wanted to, you could count Hamlin, but I don't because he was Cedric's shadow and best friends of your brother don't really count, in my opinion." Cress glances at the dog and he's staring at her, ears perked as though he's actually intrigued. He noses at her when she pauses, tucks in closer to her, pawing at her, bones forgotten in favor of listening to her rambles. Her heart warms and she thinks that whoever lost their dog must be missing them pretty bad right now.

"Anyway, I was just pushed into a puddle by Lee fucking Jordan — pardon my language — and it was bloody terrifying because I was so small and they were so big and I was about to cry when Fred Weasley reached a hand out and pulled me up. And I was so bloody small — a bloody child — and it was an act of kindness and he smiled and said, 'Now, now, Lee, she's a lady, let's have some manners.' He pulled me up and asked if I was okay and I remember being so smitten, even back then. My hair fucking sparked up. I didn't have good control over my magic," she tells the dog like he actually cares, and pets his head when he lays it in her lap. He rumbles and she thinks that's his way of wanting her to continue.

Gnawing on her lip, she recalls the past five years, goes back in time and relives them as she tells him the story. "It was his Quidditch playing that had me hooked, I will admit. He was just so. . . so flawless out there, fluid like a fish through water, sharp like a snake getting his prey. . ."

She throws her hands over her face, redder than the Gryffindor scarf on a sunny day. Cress is not above being embarrassing, but she cannot believe she's telling a dog her entire past, drama included. She only continues when the dog starts growling — yes, growling, the entirety of her leg shaking with it — and clenches his paws in the ground, threatening her silently with bodily harm no doubt.

"Okay, okay— so, I was mesmerized and I remember thinking, 'I'll never be good enough, he's always out of reach, too far away for me to even grasp onto.' And I accepted my fate like it was, let the cold hard reality anchor me to earth and I was okay! I was fine and I was living my life, pining for him from afar! And he just had to ruin it! Sodding ruined all my plans, doggy!"

A warning growl. So a no to that nickname then.

"Then what do I call you, you smart little mutt?" Another growl. Cress snickers even though he could probably bite through her arm and snap it clean off if he wanted to. "What about, hm? What about Clum? Short for Clumsy since you tripped over a branch? Very ungracefully, might I add." He doesn't look too pleased with this, a growl escaping his throat. Cress holds her hands up in surrender, sunlight streaking through the trees faintly, warming her as she grins. "What? I'm telling you my deepest secrets. Clum's a great nickname for compensation."

He doesn't look too happy about her fighting for what she knows could be one of the worst nicknames possible, but he only sets his head back on her thigh, grunting softly like he's telling her to continue with her story.

(And yes, this is all speculation, but sue her, she's had a bad day.)

"Anyway, back to where Fred ruined my brilliant plans. He decided that this year — and out of all the years he could have picked, he picks this one?! — is the year that he's going to give I, Crescent Hope Diggory, the time of day! What kind of disrespect is that, Clum? I have O.W.L.s that I have to worry about, and a brother in this bloody tournament! I can't be collapsing in the corridors every time Fred Weasley smirks at me. I didn't sign up for this! I signed up for death by O.W.L.s, not death by Fred. . ." She wrings her hands in her hair, then breathes out when Clum glances up at her, unimpressed. "You're right—I suppose it isn't all too bad. Just made me realize how much more I fancied him. Which is a lot. I swear, he could ask me to jump into the ocean with chains wrapped around me and I would."

Clum sends her a look that is both judging and pitying at the same time. Cress ignores it because he doesn't understand the woes of fancying someone — or maybe he does. He might have a little wolf or dog mate that he loves with all of his heart. She doesn't have any clue.

"I thought things were going well. We're friends, we danced at the Yule Ball — almost kissed after it — and then he asks me to go to Hogsmeade with him and I say 'yes.' Foolishly, because it looks as though he said it just to give me some sort of false hope and then inevitable cackle in the background as I aimlessly tried to wonder where the bloody hell he was. He's probably in the bushes, really." Cress's eyes scan her surroundings worriedly like he might actually be hiding in one of the many bushes, listening, laughing like a maniac.

Clum doesn't roll his eyes because well, he's a dog, but he might as well have with the unimpressed glare he sends Cress, brow bones turning up in the most human-like gesture she's seen on the dog.

"You're very rude, Clum. Do you know that? Where the hell did you come from, anyway? The Forbidden Forest?" His glare intensifies, if anything, and Cress rolls her eyes. "You're definitely way too smart for your own good. And very sassy. Where are your owners?"

Clum sags against her, a haggard whine escaping his throat and she thinks that perhaps he understood her too well. Perhaps he didn't run away from home. . . maybe he has no home. She rubs behind his ears and keeps her tears at bay.

Her story remains unfinished but she thinks that's okay. The silence is companionable and comfortable with her stroking his fur and him nosing at her every now and then. There's no need to ruin it, no need to bring it back up when it's gone, a wisp in the wind, debris floating down the stream.

Later, she'll reflect back on it herself, probably over a bowl (or three) of ice cream, and wonder where it all went wrong. But, for now, she thinks she likes where she's at, thinks they both need the company more than they're letting on.

Cress strokes Clum's back. He noses at her armpit, sniffling.

She smiles.

⋆˚࿔

The sun's setting when they both depart from each other. Cress isn't too sure why she's so saddened by this, but she promises him that if they have any more trips, she'll definitely look for him, bring him a whole lot more food the next time. He whines but waggles his tail, noses at her armpit once more, and then they both get up, him hounding off into the hills, her starting back to the castle, back hunched and hood over her head.

It's a bit chillier now, too. She's not certain what time it is, but is positive that she should have already been back at the school by now. Dinner is probably over — or about to be, anyway.

Oh well, she thinks, kicking a pebble on the path. It wasn't like she was going to eat. Her stomach is in knots as it is. More food would just make it worse.

She's almost back at the castle when it happens. Cress isn't too sure if it's deja vu or if Fred Weasley just loves to rub salt into her wounds, but when he comes bounding down the hill towards her, she thinks the world is out to get her.

She's tempted to turn in the other direction and book it onto the giant pirate ship anchored on the shore of the Black Lake — Viktor totally owes her for that letter — but he catches up to her too quickly. The only thing she can do is look at her shoes, her once nicely polished boots that got dusted up during her time with Clum the Scraggly Dog. His breathing is ragged as he tries to catch his breath, and Cress takes a step back to give them more space. She tries to ignore the pounding of her heart and the way her lungs seem to be burning with lack of oxygen.

"Crescent," he says, breathes really, when he catches his breath. Cress can tell his gaze is on her, piercing like a prod, burning like molten. She can't look up. Won't. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

He sounds urgent, now, hurried and haggard as though he's been running for quite some time now.

Cress still won't turn her head up. Doesn't really think she can. Probably will do something stupid like cry in front of him if she stares at him for longer than a second. Her throat's already closing up and she can feel the pricks in her eyes, the burning in her nose as it flares. She clenches her fist, takes her hood off to let her hair fall around her face and does not look up.

Fred stands there. The air's awkward, tense, and she wonders if he came to just rub it in her face. Wishes her brain wouldn't concoct these images up because she knows Fred isn't mean, he would never do something so sinister to his worst enemy. It's just the hurt talking, the deep ache in her heart crying out, bitter and petty and so, so hurt.

"Crescent," he starts lowly, panicked, taking a hesitant step towards her like it might stop the damn from leaking in her. "I know you're angry, hurt even—"

And Cress wants to ask what gave that away, wants to yell at him until she's blue in the face and gasping in huge breaths of air. She wants to hit him even, wants to punch him in the gut and watch him keel over because she didn't deserve it. She deserved for him to show up, to show up and go through with it instead of making her look like a right idiot, waiting on someone who would never show up.

(Or she at least deserved for someone to tell her that he wasn't going to show up! She deserved that closure more than anything.)

She doesn't do any of those things. Instead, her fire burns out too soon, doused out by the defeat in her heart and she just curls in on herself, tries to make herself minuscule in his presence. When she speaks, it's soft and beaten.

"You know, Fred, if you didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with me, you didn't have to force yourself to ask me."

With her last bit of dignity, she lifts her head up, stares at him head on and she knows that there are tears gleaming in her eyes but she's past the point of caring. Nothing matters because her heart is aching like it's been beaten by a mallet, chopped in half by an axe, ripped to shreds by a grater, her remains bleeding into her lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard to see anything but the crystalline tears swimming in her eyes.

"I know you know I fancy you," she whispers when he stands there, silent. She thinks of the past few weeks — hell, months — where he called her love like a promise and confession all in one. When he told her he didn't want to kiss her there, wanted to kiss her right. All in her head, but shrouded by the isolation, the cold drip of poison that says he only did it because he liked that she fancied him.

"I know that you know, Fred. And you still did that to me. I mean, it's fine, I get it— I wouldn't want to go on a date with me either. Not that it was going to be a date!" Cress shakes her head, looks to the side and takes in a shaky breath. "I just thought. . . I don't even know what I was thinking, to be honest. I thought maybe we were finally on the same page, that it wasn't just me who—" she shakes her head against the knives in her throat, "I just thought we—it. . . I don't know, maybe that there was a chance that you might have wanted this the way I had but I—"

It happens too fast to blink. One moment, she's awkwardly standing a few paces away from him, and the next. . . he's right in front of her, filling the space with fierce eyes, his cheek bones sharp and his jaw clenched. He looks angry, a flush to his skin, and she's never seen this ire — never at her, but for her. It both terrifies her and excites her, stopping her throat from closing altogether.

"Anyone would be privileged to go on a date with you, Crescent," he says, his voice velvet, raspy, sending heat straight through her body like she's done a spell on herself. He cages her in, steps closer without preamble. His hand lands on her cheek, trembling against her burning skin. "How can you not see it? I would be a right fool — I was a right fool — to not see you. You're brilliant, funny as hell, breathtaking and one of my best mates. And I'm — Godric, I'm so sorry for missing today. You have no idea how sorry I am. I know you must hate me because I kind of hate me and there's no excuse for what I did, Crescent, but I'm so sorry."

Cress's head is spinning. "Why?" is all she can mutter, her voice a breath of a whisper, his hand dizzying her where it touches her skin.

Fred shakes his head. "Blasted Snape. I forgot I had a detention today. It was from so long ago I had thought he had forgotten about it, but apparently that rat remembers every sodding thing regarding the Gryffindors. He caught me in the entrance hall, waiting, when George and Lee had left. . ." His brown eyes are lidded and intense, reminding her of blazing wood, unpredictable, flammable. "And that's no excuse, but Crescent, you must be daft if you could possibly think I would stand you up intentionally."

"I just— for so long. . . and you never were. . ." Her words are jumbled, thrown out in a panic. Her heart's pattering in her chest, racing as though it's about to pop out of her chest and soar to the moon. She feels too hot for her hoodie. His embrace is not helping her in the least. "It was always out of reach. You were always out of reach because you're so you, always gathering crowds and making people laugh and just being charismatic and amazing in general. And I'm me and no one, in all my years, has seen me as anyone other than 'Cedric Diggory's little sister.' I don't attract people, I ward them off, which is fine on a good day, but it doesn't really help dating prospects, now does it? Because then there's you, and then there's me, and the scale is like—"

He cuts her off again.

This time by leaning down and stealing her in a breathless kiss, his hands wrapped around her waist as though he's anchoring himself to her.

It's forceful in the way that Fred Weasley is forceful, with his lips asking for playful, honest permission, dancing against her own with a passion she's only seen in his ideas for the joke shop. It's gentle in a way that curls her toes, her lips trembling but her body warmer than the March weather.

The kiss deepens, his hand running through her hair, pulling her even closer if possible. Cress makes a noise in the back of her throat, dizzy and breathless in his arms, her own hands coming up to grab at the front of his jacket. When he uses the other to pull her face even closer, she melts even more, grabbing onto his arm, leaning onto her tip-toes to get more purchase. Her heart's racing a mile a minute in her chest, and she holds onto it, onto the groan that escapes his pink, swollen lips as the tips of their feet touch.

He smells of something sweet, like vanilla in a pastry and spicy like dynamite sparking in the night. Cress is engulfed in it, in him, his hands burning as he wanders — like he's not too sure where he wants to touch, like he knows it has to be somewhere but he can't pick.

Her stomach swoops, hands running over his waist, pulling and reaching, humming when he angles his head just right. When he slots their lips together in the most fitting way, like he could stay here, wrapped in her and he wouldn't mind it one bit.

Cress exhales shakily against his lips, and she feels his smile, his pleased grin that curls something warm in her gut.

"You know, Freddie," she says, panting through the kiss, pulling back slightly to look into his brown eyes, fingers gripping his forearm like she might float away without him, "if you wanted to shut me up, you could have just said so."

He laughs against her lips, smirking as he places one last, lingering kiss on the crest of her swollen lips, pecking her like it's the only thing he wants to do.

"I'm an inventor, Crescent, I take initiative where I see fit." His eyes flutter open, a teasing dimple indented in his face with his smile. His thumb, warm where it rests on her cheek, circles softly, barely grazing her flushing skin. ". . . I also have wanted to kiss you since the Yule Ball, and I couldn't let you continue speaking about yourself like that."

Her knees rattle at the earnest expression on his face, at the way he's got a leg pressed against hers, stabilizing her against the butterflies having a literal war in her chest. Cress leans into his hand, taking all the warmth of him and basking in it with a soft, teasing grin.

"Since the Yule Ball, yeah?" she says, wanting to turn her head, to press a kiss right to the pulse in his palm. But she's not there yet, is too shy to do more than stare up at him with stars in her eyes. "Should I be scared that mine was way before then? Or is it too soon to ask?"

"No," he whispers, and his voice runs like syrup over her bones, sticky and sweet and just as warm in the setting sun, "no, I think it just means I have to make up for lost time, don't you?"

He pecks her lips before she can respond, like gravity pulled him to her and he didn't want to fight it anymore. Cress melts into the kiss, curling her arms around his waist and bringing him close enough that no space rests between them.

She thinks it's pretty amazing, as far as first kisses go. Cress finds it enchanting, never awkward when it's Fred winding his hands through her hair, ignoring the catcalls from passing students with a smirk on his face. He's got enough suavity to fill a room — enough to send a trickle of heat down to her toes like she's about to levitate into the sky and never return.

When their lips part, she chases him — chases the feeling — craving him to come back and kiss her until she can't breathe anymore. He smiles gently against her mouth, pecking her once more before breaking the kiss without letting go of her. His eyes are earnest when she finally blinks hers open. Her cheeks are on fire, she's certain.

"I fancy the hell out of you, Crescent," he murmurs, breath fanning warm against her cheek, grinning with hooded eyes. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

And how can she be angry with him after he kissed the socks off her? Cress cannot justify it in any means. She's just glad they're not toeing around each other like her and Lee's very horrible dance at the Yule Ball (something she will never ever reenact, even under the threat of bodily harm).

So, she grins, gripping him tighter as she leans up. Fred chuckles, muttering an, "Eager, already?" against her lips like he was thinking the same thing and couldn't help it. His lips are plush like pillows and she chases them like a dream, leaning into it, craving it so deeply that her hands quiver — her arm around his neck, pulling, tugging, bringing him as close as possible, breathing him in until he's surrounding her every sense.

It's not perfect — they've still got a lot to figure out — but it's Fred and her, together, and that's all that really matters.

⋆˚࿔

There's a shout from behind them. Fred and Cress break apart and turn to stare at the intruders shouting like wild banshees.

It's the entire fucking lot of them — George, Lee, Ginny, Mallory, Axel, Cedric, and Hamlin. They're all (except for Mallory, who is staring kindly at them, and Ginny, who is glaring at them like they personally killed her cat) wearing smug expressions on their faces.

"Get a room, you two!" Axel yells, catcalling like the prick he is.

"Yeah!" Hamlin shouts, hands cupping his mouth. Cress swears he uses a silent enchantment to make his voice louder. "I just had dinner and I'd rather not throw up, thanks."

"Disgusting," Ginny says, but she's smiling so Cress calls bullshit.

"Congratulations!" Mallory grins at them, clapping politely, and Cress would find it endearing if this hadn't been the most embarrassing moment in her existence.

"I will kill you if you hurt her, Fred Weasley," Cedric says brightly and Cress thinks that's the most terrifying thing she's seen in her life.

"Now, we can hopefully stop hearing all of Fred's monologues about you, Little Diggory!" George calls out, laughing with Lee.

"Maybe he can tell you all about how he loves your cute little bu—"

Fred snaps, red in the face, "Shove off, you prats."

Cress, too, wishes they would shove off because her cheeks are on fire and she's so, so embarrassed and how could they? This is the highest form of disrespect that she's ever encountered and she can't even believe that they're her friends — can't really believe that this is actually happening right now.

"Oh, but Fred, this is just too good," Hamlin says.

"Yeah," George agrees.

"At first, we were coming to witness Axel pummel you into oblivion," Lee says.

"And we end up walking into this snog session," Ginny says darkly. "You heathens. Have you no shame?"

And Cress is beyond flustered and she wants to literally hide in Fred's chest, bury herself behind his lanky frame and let him take all this heat.

She ends up tripping over a branch and Fred catches her and everyone lets out simultaneous AWWWWWWWHHHHs and she decides that no, this is the most embarrassing moment of her existence.

Cress really can't believe this is her life.

But Fred smiles at her, asks her if she's okay, and she thinks maybe she can get used to it, though. Yeah, she thinks, when he takes her hand unabashedly, smirking down at her before pecking her forehead and leading her to the entrance hall where all of her friends whistle and catcall so loud that McGonagall comes out and threatens them with detention. I could get used to this.

In the end, Fred is the only one who receives a detention for his cheek and Cress snorts and he grins down at her, squeezes her hand, and carries on. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

March fades into April. The leaves trickle back in, shimmering a vibrant emerald, the grass healthy and inviting like you could just roll around in it for hours. Birds chirp every morning and owls hoot every night. Days are longer and nights are cut short, the golden sun outshining the silver moon. Every day’s breezy, cool and calm, a serenity that Cress loves.

Professors, however, are cruel. Spring’s here and it's beautiful, but the O.W.L.s (and therefore the amount of homework that she has) are knocking down Cress's doors, relentless and cruel. They’re the monsters that parents tell their children about and they are under Cress's bed, moaning and groaning, coming at her with their long limbs and blazing aura.

She hates it. She truly does. O.W.L.s are probably the worst obstacle she's experienced. It's been two weeks — two blasted weeks — and she's crammed more knowledge in her brain in that small amount of time than she has in her five years at Hogwarts. She doesn’t know if she's going to be able to get through it, truth be told.

Not only that—Cress has yet to understand what the third task is. She’s paced in her dormitory so many times that imprints of her feet are starting to show on the worn wood. No matter how many nights she stays up, restless, eyes tired but mind awake, thinking about what the judges could throw at the contenders next, Cress cannot get a grip on what's to come. It's a future she can't see, and she doesn’t like that.

She hopes it's nothing too horrendous. Though, given that this is Hogwarts, Cress is certain that it's going to be the most gruesome, most terrifying thing anyone could ever experience in their lifetime.

Cress shakes her head. Closes her eyes. Wills the thoughts to disappear from her ever-racing mind.

(They don't. They never do. They're always there, an echo in her thoughts — whispering, taunting. Cress is miserable.)

"Ah, having a boyfriend is just wonderful," Cress sings in a means to distract herself from the darkening thoughts piercing her brain.

But it isn't like it's not true. Cress is convinced that getting a boyfriend — snagging Fred Weasley at that — is the best thing to happen. It's like — he's her boyfriend, but not. Cress still considers him one of her best friends except it comes with the benefits of snogging now. Bloody snogging.

Cress isn’t loathed to admit she loves it, okay?

Being with Fred’s simply the easiest thing that Cress has ever done. It comes naturally to her. Her hand fits between his awkwardly but it's okay because he kisses hers to let her know he doesn't mind. His shoulder’s comforting when they're down in the kitchens late into the night, his voice soft as he reads textbooks to her. His eyes are soft when he stares at her, supporting her through her fits about the exams, the tournament — everything. His face is adorable when it's painted a soft pink — the color of a rose on a spring day — due to Cress's sudden compliments.

He's the best thing that's happened to her, she thinks. And she fancies him so much.

So, yeah, she's going to brag about him. Like, who wouldn't? If you have someone as spectacular as Fred Weasley for your boyfriend, you speak about them every chance you get. Granted, she could have probably waited until later — when she wasn't drowning in homework, textbooks as heavy as giant cats scattered around her in the library — but Herbology was growing tiresome and the words were swirling together so she decided to give it a rest.

Axel, from his spot across from her, says, "Literally no one fucking asked Mo."

Viktor snorts into his book on omens. Cress squints at him and feels wronged, somehow. You do a favor for a bloke that singlehandedly saves his relationship with one of his closest friends (now boyfriend) and he teases you with your best mate. Chivalry is dead, it seems.

Mallory, from beside her, pats her hand when Cress pouts at the both of them, and tells her, "It's good that you're happy, Crescent. I'm honestly glad everything worked out in the end."

And Cress knows she's just being nice because Cress does go on rants about having a boyfriend at least seven times a day. It must get annoying, she thinks. But Mallory is too nice to tell her off and Cress is grateful for that.

"I'm glad I have someone who wants me to be happy," Cress bemoans dramatically, laying her head down on her essay that's probably not dry yet. She wonders if she should care about the ink that's going to be in her hair when she lifts her head up then decides it's not even worth it.

"I vould be happy for you if you didn't mention him every time I see you, Cree-scent," Viktor mumbles into his book.

Axel nods his head in agreement, writing down something viciously onto his Potions essay. She rolls her eyes at both of them and wonders what would happen if suddenly they were suspended from the gargoyles on the roof of the castle.

"I'm ignoring what you just said, Viktor," she replies, keeping her head down. "But just know you have like two more strikes and then I'm going to get Cedric to beat you up."

Viktor laughs as though this is a joke to him. Cress hates him. She really does. Hates him with all of her being. She regrets not running that day he talked to her. Regrets it all.

(Except she doesn't because he's kind and gentle and responds to her jokes with banter of his own and treats Axel with so much tenderness that it makes her envious. Fred tripped her the other day while she was with Axel and said she needed to get — “Binoculars, right? Isn't that what Harry needs to see?”

And Axel snarled something like, "They're fucking glasses, you scatter-brained ninny," and walked off. Rather justified, in her own humble opinion, since Fred was egging him on with his previous statement and Cress does have glasses.

Viktor, though? Viktor would only trip Cress. Not Axel. And that — that is where the difference lies in their boyfriends.)

When she finally picks her head up to finish her essay, it sticks to her head and Viktor cackles like this is the funniest thing he's ever seen in his entire life. Axel and Mallory snicker behind their hands and Cress just wants to fling herself into the molten sun and perish.

But then Fred’s there, his delicate fingers peeling the parchment off her head. He grins broadly at her and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Fancy a break? We were just about to head to the pitch. You should come."

George, Lee, Cedric, and Hamlin are all with him, but Cress is too busy staring at the flush on his cheeks from the warmth of the spring day outside. He and the others had been outside playing football (a game that Hamlin suggested they play because it's all the rave with the Muggles) and it resulted in him getting his casual clothes rumpled and his hair mussed up. His eyes are bright and lively, though, and Cress is floored by how breathtaking he actually is.

"Stop influencing my friend, Fred," Axel gripes, when Cress is about to open her mouth and speak. "She's got an essay she needs to finish and you're a distraction. Sod off."

"Yeah, but essays can be finished later. Quidditch waits for no one!"

Axel looks to Cedric, like perhaps he is the voice of reason and will put his foot down because his dear, uneducated sister needs to actually get her grades up before she fails both her O.W.L.s and the year, but Cedric is oddly pro-Quidditch in this situation.

He shrugs lightly. "It's nice outside."

It's a valid argument, if Cress is being honest. Viktor must think so, too, because he perks up like a dog that just heard it was going to be taken on a walk, and that's all it takes for Axel to melt like chocolate. It's pretty endearing and Cress is totally going to use it as bait when he's being difficult in the near future.

Tiny Viktor, who was perched inside Cress's sweater (it's actually Freddie's because she is that girlfriend and she did, in fact, steal his sweater from him), also seems excited to go outside. Cress thinks it has more to do with the fact that whilst they're riding their brooms, he'll be creating chaos with his dragon. He probably gives about zero fucks about Quidditch. Cress relates (not really), but she hands him over to Mallory and packs her stuff up anyway.

Fred reaches for her packed satchel before Cress even has a chance to pick it up. He gives her a cheeky grin when she sends him a look of mock aggravation. And Merlin's tits, Cress's heart just about bursts from her chest, her cheeks lighting up like a firework in the night sky. She wonders how one bloke can have such an effect on her. Thinks that he probably has this effect on everyone.

(Well, he should because, come on people, this is Fred Weasley we're talking about.)

"You just watch," Axel's pessimistic voice comes through Cress's ears after a moment, "Mo’s going to fail her O.W.L.s and her year and it'll be because she went out to play Quidditch instead of studying like a decent human being."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Jenson." Fred smirks, grabbing Cress's hand and intertwining their fingers. Her hands are clammy. She does not panic about it. "I'll help Crescent later."

"Yeah, in the kitchens," Axel mumbles as they all leave the library. George and Mallory are walking in front of everyone, whilst Lee, Cedric, and Hamlin take up the middle, Viktor and Axel behind them with Fred and Cress in the rear. The corridors are cool with the breeze coming in from outside. "Where you snog more than anything."

A squawk of indignation comes out of Cress's mouth before she clamps it shut. It's not true, but it also isn't a lie, either. But snogging’s a gift to this world and Cress loves it, so Axel can shove off.

"He's not wrong," Fred mumbles to her as Axel and Viktor get farther away. "We snog a lot. Like, probably a lot more than we should."

It almost sounds like a complaint. Cress glances up at him curiously. "We can stop. . .?"

Fred's eyes widened. "NO!" Cress leans back a little, hiding her smirk into her shoulder. Fred nudges her. "I mean, no, we don't have to stop. I'd prefer we didn't actually. I was just making a statement. . ." He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're cute." Cress reaches up and pecks him on the cheek because she can do that now. She can physically plant her lips on his burning cheek and kiss him. And it's fucking amazing.

Plus, when he gets this small, bashful smile on his face that tells her he's just as new to this relationship business as she is, her chest blooms with the warmth of a thousand suns. Then, he reaches down and pecks her on the lips and she can't resist it because a peck isn't sufficient. So, she brings him back and connects them properly and her back hits the rough concrete wall, his hands warm through the sweater, his lips soft on her own.

Helga, having a boyfriend is fucking wonderful.

⋆˚࿔

The weather’s wonderful outside. The sun’s illuminating the sky with rays of gold, the wind warm but not hot enough that's it's suffocating. Clouds, white and fluffy like a piece of cotton, float through the sky. Tiny Viktor soars through the sky on Uma, blue scales gleaming like tiny gemstones in the bright light.

Everyone is sitting around on a blanket that Cress produced after they finished their match earlier. It ended with Cress's team (Fred, Lee, Cedric and herself) beating Hamlin's team (Hamlin, Axel, Viktor, and George).

(Mallory watched and cheered on both teams because she couldn't pick a side. Cress knows that she was secretly rooting for her team, though. It's okay.)

Now, they're lying on a giant blanket, and Cress is reveling in the fact that she beat Viktor Krum.

"You know," she says, "I bet this could get me on any team I wanted. I could just say, 'Yeah, I'm the girl that beat Viktor Krum, slap a jersey on me!' and they'd take me right away."

"Technically, your brother vas the one who beat me, Cree-scent," Viktor responds, unbothered. He's fiddling with Axel's fingers absentmindedly, sweat dripping down his head. "He vas the one who caught the Snitch."

"Yeah, but mate, Crescent hit you with a Bludger," Fred argues.

Cress's head is laying in his lap, so she looks up to give him a giant, grateful grin. He smirks down at her and continues stroking her hair. The breeze blows soothingly through her blonde locks as he does so.

Axel scoffs. "Mo got lucky, s'all. Vik could run laps around her if it was a real match."

And yeah, Axel’s probably right. Cress really did get lucky with her shot and that's why they won. Had she not hit Viktor with the Bludger, Viktor's hand would have curled around the Snitch and his team would have won and she would have been sitting in the grass, moping like a three-year-old child. She figures he has reason to be defensive — especially since it's his (probably) boyfriend she's arguing against.

"I think you all played wonderfully," Mallory, ever the mediator, inputs before the discussion can go any further. She's sitting in between Lee and George, braiding flowers she's conjured together to make. . . a bracelet? Cress assumes it's a bracelet.

"Mal, you're a gift from the heavens," Hamlin mutters. He's sitting with Cedric, practicing simple spells in silence. Cedric is reading a book.

Cress says, "Always the angel, that one."

Mallory’s still not one for compliments, so she goes all crimson in the face, and hides behind her flowers. George smiles down at her, sporting his own bracelet as though it's the best thing he's ever gotten in his lifetime. It's the most serene portrait Cress has ever seen in her life.

But then she glances up and sees Fred staring off, a thoughtful expression on his face and decides she was wrong. This is the most serene picture she's ever seen in her life. His freckles are dark on his face, speckled like tiny dots of tawny ink, and his hair looks like actual flames with the sunlight dancing on it. It's still growing, almost past his shoulders and Cress reaches up to touch it, almost scared that it'll burn her. It's soft in her grasp.

He glances down at her, and says, "You know, I wanna know something new about you. Tell me a random fact. Doesn’t matter what it is.”

"Oh," Cress says, mildly surprised. She wasn't expecting him to ask that. Wasn't really expecting him to say anything. She searches for something to tell him. "Okay. Erm — well, I was almost sorted into Slytherin."

"Wait — really?!"

Cress snickers at the fish-out-of-water expression on his face. "Yeah. The Sorting Hat had a lot to say about my ambition and how I would ultimately succeed in Slytherin. It was so close to putting me in there."

"What made it change its mind, you think?" Fred asks, staring down at her with a pensive expression. His hand’s warm as the sun as he plays with her hair. She shrugs.

"I dunno. I never tried to persuade the Hat or anything. I was fine with Slytherin even though everyone hates that House."

"I wouldn't say hate. . ."

"Freddie," Cress deadpans, giving him a blank glare, "had I been Sorted into Slytherin, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"That's not true!" Fred denies, but Cress knows. Slytherin’s the cursed House and the House where all the "evil masterminds" are sorted, so there was a zero chance that Fred would have spoken to her had she been sorted into said House.

Cress hums, closing her eyes. "I'm not trying to be biased or anything, but you hate a lot of members from Slytherin. For good reason, might I add," she says when Fred opens his mouth, looking as though he's going to argue. "I just have a feeling that if I was in that House, we wouldn't be having this very conversation right now."

"I-I mean," Fred stammers, sounding nervous. Cress remains unbothered, running into his hand more. She hopes he doesn't assume she's angry. "It's not that I would hate you. Slytherin has just caused a lot of problems for my family over the years."

"And that's okay," Cress responds. "I'm just stating facts, s'all. I'm not angry or anything. It wouldn't have stopped me from fancying you any less." She pries her eyes open to see the sun illuminating the pink coating his cheeks. His hand stills in her hair and she grins at him, feeling light like a Snitch flying through the sky.

Fred kisses her forehead and says, "Well, if you were Sorted into Slytherin, I guess I'd have to make an exception for them. Because if you were in there, there's obviously some goodness in them, right?"

"Ever the charmer, Weasley," Cress says, cheeks blazing. She hides her face in his shirt and tries not to think about the fact that he's laughing, his body shaking with it. He kisses her forehead again and pushes her flying hairs down, protecting them from the onslaught of wind. Her smile is wide, her heart full of so many emotions that she can't keep a hold of them.

"Honestly, you guys are sickening," a voice pipes up from their right.

At first, Cress thinks it's Mallory — she's the only other girl in the group (and really, that is sad, but Cress is past the point of caring because she loves her friends) — but then she glances up and over and sees that it's Ginny. Staring at them with something akin to hatred in her eyes. She's taken a seat on the blanket beside Fred, casual robes on, hair wrapped into a ponytail on the top of her head.

"That was actually the vibe we were going for Ginny, so, like, thanks," Cress says in lieu of a greeting.

Fred snickers. Ginny narrows her eyes at them. "Why are you guys out here?"

"Quidditch," Lee supplies from his spot beside Hamlin. He's lying down, arms shoved behind his head, and is looking up at the clear sky.

"And I wasn't invited?"

"To be fair," Cress argues, "every time I asked you to do something with me, you've said no. So, like, did I deserve to be rejected again?"

"Yes," Ginny says. Cress thinks she's probably right. "Anyway, I'm not mad. I was busy doing homework for McGonagall. I came to tell you that Professor Sprout was actually looking for you."

She points at Cress.

"Me?" Cress questions. She furrows her eyebrows and sits up, hair a mess of tangles on her head, whipping around in the cool breeze. "Why?"

Ginny shrugs. A bug flies past her face. "Something about careers. I don't really remember. She just told me if I saw you to tell you to go to her office immediately."

"Oh." Dread pools in Cress's stomach. She had known that it was inevitable, the career talks with her Head of House, but she hadn't really been thinking about it that much considering she's been doing homework most days and hanging out with her mates on the rest of them.

But it's here now. It crept up on her like a snake in the grass, wrapping around her body without her knowledge and strangling her slowly. Now, it feels like she can't breathe, like her lungs are lead, pulling her down into an abyss without relenting their grip on her.

She tells Ginny, "Okay," and stands. Her legs wobble a little and she isn't too sure if it's from laying down for so long or the fact that she's about to take another leap into a future she has no clue about. Her hand’s shaking by her side.

Fred stands, too. "Do you want me to walk you to her office?"

Cress shakes her head. "No. Thanks, though."

A smile graces her features, plastic and worn.

"Are you sure?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing in worry. Cress nods resolutely. Fred frowns. "If you need me, Crescent. . ."

"I'm okay, Fred," she says quietly, and really, his worry is kind, it's warm and it would soothe her if she wasn't lead right now. "Really. Don't look too concerned, it's only one talk."

And she tries to laugh, reaching for him, but it falls short. He looks hesitant when he pulls her in for an embrace, his arms encircling her shoulders soothingly. She wraps her own around his waist quickly, enough to get a little comfort from it. Her eyes close, and she wishes she could stay there for an eternity. Wishes that she could stay in this moment forever.

"Good luck!" Everyone choruses as she walks away from the Quidditch pitch.

Cress smiles, gives them her thanks, but when they're out of her sight, her grin disappears, and she hunches her shoulders. The sun seems dimmer in the sky, the clouds grey instead of pure white.

When she gets to Professor Sprout's office, the woman is grim.

"Take a seat, Miss Diggory."

Cress does.

⋆˚࿔

There's a tiny niche located on the third floor in Hogwarts. It's on the corridor that no one really goes down. The one with abandoned classrooms, stone walls cracked, windows boarded. It's secluded from peering eyes, a little dank and cold from being away from any of the windows. Cobwebs sometimes occupy the cracks in it and it looks worn, like no one has visited it in centuries. Cress loves it.

It's the place she goes when she needs to escape from everything. The place she goes when her dormitory feels like it's too cramped — like the beds are too close together and the walls are coming in on her, suffocating her until her head spins and she feels like she can't breathe. The place where she goes when Cedric's soothing words aren’t enough to ease her racing thoughts. The place where she goes when it's all too much — school, O.W.L.s, friends, everything.

When it all piles up on top of her shoulders, weighing her down until she's falling to the floor on her knees, eyes stinging with tears she can't let out because then she'll be weak and she's not. She's not weak.

But she is. Cress is weak, and she runs away from her problems. She runs away from responsibility and she hides herself away from the harsh reality of life. She can't help it.

Professor Sprout told her she needed to take some initiative in her life earlier. Said if Cress has time to be fussing over her boyfriend — "Do not look at me like that, Miss Diggory, I have eyes." — then she has time to study for her O.W.L.s. To figure out what kind of career path she wants to consider.

It's bullshit, Cress thinks, fists clenched, eyes shut tightly in hopes to block out the static noise ringing in her ears. It feels like she might vomit. She takes a deep breath in and blocks it all out. She shouldn't have to think about a career now. It's too early. She has two more years. She doesn't even know what she's going to be doing an hour from now, much less two years into the future. Having a career set in stone is too much.

So, she ran. She ran when Professor Sprout told her to lead by Cedric's example. ("He has it all planned out," she'd said, when Cress was silent, head bowed. "He knew what he wanted to do and how to do it. Perhaps you should learn more from your brother, Miss Diggory.") She ran because it's what everyone tells her. Always follow Cedric's shadow, they'd say to her when she was stuck, indecisive. That kid's got a good head on his shoulder, you'd do well to follow by him. It was a common phrase that every adult passed down to her when she found herself at the mercy of them, caught for something trivial.

Cress tried her hardest to block them out, found it easy to nod along to what they said even though she hadn't heard a word of what they said. But, sometimes, the words filter into her brain and stamp at her heart, another reminder that Cedric is, and always will be, better than her. He will always be superior to her. He will always be the sun burning in the sky, needed and loved by everyone. She will always be the moon, forced to show herself to people who have already closed their eyes to her illuminating beauty.

No one will ever see how much she has tried. They only see that she didn't try as much as Cedric did and that's why her marks weren't the best they could be.

No one will ever see how much she struggles with remaining still, her mind always running on overdrive, grasping at new ideas and stories, running away from the topic at hand. They only see that she's a delinquent who needs to act out to gain the attention of her professors and peers.

No one will ever see how much their words put a strain on her body. They only see it as good advice for a troubled student.

No one will ever see Cress for herself. They only see her as Cedric Diggory's little sister.

And that's what hurts the most.

⋆˚࿔

She stays in the niche until night falls. At least, she thinks night falls. It was already dark in the alcove when she hid herself away but now Cress can't even see her hand right in front of her. She’s certain it's past her curfew.

Her bones creak and groan when she unravels herself from her position in the crevice. The moon is shining brightly through a crack in the boarded-up window and she blinks wearily at it, aching all over, tired and hungry and so ready to curl up in her bed and forget about this whole blasted day. Her head pounds and her eyes are swollen, her hair a right mess. She knows she's a sight for sore eyes. Knows that if someone gazed upon her at this very moment, they would think she was a wretched troll instead of a human being.

Her feet sluggishly carry her down the hallway, heavy against the stone of the corridor. It resonates off the walls, makes it easier for the prefects to catch her should they be patrolling. Cress finds that she doesn't care too much — continues walking until she reaches the stairs.

She’s certain that her friends have made a fuss by now, consumed with worry about her whereabouts for the remainder of the day. And she thinks that she should have probably come out of hiding sooner than she did, but in honesty, her chest’s sore from heaving sobs and her mind’s still a mess of things, muddled in hazy thoughts that Cress still hasn't been able to separate. Seeing her friends would only lead to questions that Cress isn’t ready to answer.

The corridors are dimly lit with candles, ghosts flitting through walls and past her as though she's the ghost and they aren't. Cress keeps to herself, curls close to the wall and hugs the cold stone to find her way back to the basements. Her legs are shaky, her steps unsure even though she's snuck out plenty of times and knows the hallways as well as the back of her hand. She clenches her hand into a fist and marches on, thinks of how warm her bed will be when she finds it.

There's someone waiting outside of the Hufflepuff common room, right in front of the barrels. Cress halts her steps, eyes stinging against her will. She had thought her useless tears were gone. Her head bows and she wants to run away from him, tuck tail and hide away, but he's seen her and he's walking towards her, arms already open — an invitation for comfort.

She hesitates. He stops, frown settling on his face. He looks deeply concerned. She wants to cry again.

"Cress?" he asks, grey eyes swirling. "What happened?"

She can't take it anymore. Her indecisiveness disappears, and she curls up in Cedric's arms, cries falling from her lips. Tears drip down her face steadily, her eyes clenched shut. She doesn't know what to feel. His arms fall over her, a castle built to protect, to defend.

"I don't know what to do," she wails. Her head pounds. Her heart feels like static; like when you lay on your arm and it falls asleep and then it wakes up and it hurts. It hurts so bad and she doesn't know what to do. "Ced, she told me I wasn't ready. She said I needed to try harder. But I-I don't—I don't know, and she can't—"

"Shh," he says, whispers against her head. Cress barely hears it. The storm in her head’s raging. The seas are chaotic, waves crashing against her throbbing head roughly. She hears wind howling in her ears.

Her breath is short.

"Hey, Cress, look—" Cedric pulls back. Cress sees him hazily, a swirling face in her black ocean. "Crescent." His voice is urgent.

Cress can't hear it.

Her lungs are clogged with water and it's like she's in the Black Lake, the arms of the merman clenched around her, suffocating. It's fading around the edges and she doesn't know what to do, never knows what to do. Godric, why doesn't she know? Why doesn't she have a plan? She needs a plan, she needs to get her life together. She's drowning, and she needs to save herself, but she can't. She can't!

Why. . .?

Why can't she save herself?

Thunder booms in her heart. Lighting strikes behind closed eyelids. Her lungs quake. Cedric’s a lost sailor in the obsidian sea.

"Crescent!" The voice isn't yelling, but it sounds like it's on the brink of madness. Familiar. Light beams out through the dark night. Cress squints. "Crescent, I need you to listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice, okay? Can you hear me?"

The waves rock against her mind. Static covers her ears. Numbly, she nods.

"Good!" He sounds relieved. Cress can feel her nerves shaking. "Good, okay, Crescent I need you to focus with me, okay?" He takes her hand, trails it somewhere. It's sturdy, firm under her trembling palm. "Can you focus on my breathing? Can you feel my heartbeat?"

Cress nods.

He says, "Good! That's good." His tone is wavering. The waves are churning. Thunder cracks in the distance. Everything hurts. "Tell me, what does it feel like? What does my heartbeat feel like?"

There's a moment of silence. Cress's breathing is erratic. She focuses on the beat underneath her fingers. It's repetitive, a pattern of thumpthump — thumpthump — thumpthumpthump. It’s calm.

Her storm eases just the slightest. Faintly, in the distance, the light grows brighter. Cedric’s emerging from the tendrils of water, unscathed. He's smiling.

"Like. . . a drum. . . Nice," she says, her voice broken. She leans into it, craves the comfort of the pattern. The thump of his heart’s more welcoming than the static ringing in her ears. Her eyes shut. Tears cake her eyelashes, swell her eyelids.

"Yeah?" he whispers. "I'm glad. I'm here, okay? I'm here. Just focus on my heartbeat. You're not alone, Crescent."

No, she thinks, I'm not.

The storm has passed. Sun shines through black clouds, welcoming and warm. The obsidian sea is glittering before her eyes. Cress stands at the shore, battered and bruised, exhausted through and through. Cedric’s next to her, beaming. He burns brighter than the sun.

Her breathing’s still hollow, but it's easier to focus on it when there's no wind howling in her ears. She takes deep, slow breaths, Cedric passing a hand down her back slowly. He’s silent. She is, too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cedric questions once Cress had thoroughly exhausted herself. Her breathing is calmer, less erratic, her mind not so jumbled. She thinks she's okay.

It's a few moments before Cress answers. "I had my c-career talk today, as you know," she starts quietly. Cedric hums, allowing her to continue. "Professor Sprout. Well. . . she told me I should start considering my options seriously. She said I needed to really start thinking about my future if I wanted to have one. And I—"

"You don't have to finish," Cedric tells her worriedly.

Cress shakes her head. She needs to finish. "I don't—I follow you, Cedric. I'm always—" She swallows, feels lightheaded all over. "I'm always your shadow. And I don't care. I don't mind. But I'm not you.

"I'm not you and everyone expects me to be. They think so highly of you and then they expect the same thing from me, but when they actually meet me and get to know me, I'm a letdown. Because I'm not you and I don't make perfect grades and sometimes, I get into trouble and I skip lessons, I'm a letdown.

"I'm nothing they expected — I'm everything they feared. I'm the black sheep, the coal amongst a sea of diamonds and that's okay! I don't mind being the one living in your shadow! I don't mind being a ghost living amongst the dead! I just mind that they're making me feel bad about it!"

Cress clenches a fist into Cedric's jumper. Her jaw hurts from gritting it. She swallows thickly, leaning her forehead on his heart.

"I know," she whispers, "they don't mean it. I know they think they're helping. I know that. So why. . . why does it hurt so bad?"

The pain’s overbearing. It's been stirring in her for some time now. She’s trailed behind her brother for years, but she's always been herself. She's Crescent and he's Cedric. They are two different people. Where he's certain, she’s not. Where he’s mindful, she’s mindless. Where he’s respected, she’s tolerated. Where he’s intelligent, she has a hard time focusing on things. Where he’s sharp, she’s blunt.

"I don't know what my future holds, Cedric," she continues before Cedric can respond. "I have no clue what I want to do. I'm not like you. I don't want to work for the Ministry. I don't want a job like that. I can't decide. The future in front of us is dark and we have no clue what could happen tomorrow and they just—they want me to know and they want me to choose these paths that aren't for me and I can't. I won't do it to myself. I shouldn't have to."

"You don't," Cedric responds, voice shaky. "You don't have to decide, Crescent. Not right yet, anyway. It's okay to not have it planned out." His heartbeat races. Cress furrows her brows. "And you're not. . . If you had any idea how much I followed you instead of the other way around, Cress, you'd be astounded.

"You might be a shadow to everyone else, but to me, you're the light. I’m the one following you."

Her first response would be an outrageous claim that Cedric’s lying, but Cedric rarely lies. She smartly keeps her mouth shut. Cedric continues.

"Remember when you almost drowned when we were kids? You went into the river and before you waded in, you told me, 'Ced, if we don't do the things that scare us, are we truly living? Or are we just here for nothing?' and I never forgot those words, silly as it sounds. It's why I entered the tournament. It's the reason I finally owned up to my feelings for Hamlin. It's the reason I want to try for Head Boy. It's the reason I'm going to be an Auror instead of entering Dad's department at the Ministry.

"And not to mention, every time I've let that inkling of darkness creep into my life, you'd be there immediately, swatting it away. Always comforting me with a smile that could outshine the sun itself, you led me down the right path with grace. You've taught me so many lessons that I wouldn’t have been able to figure out on my own, Crescent. You've given me a bond that I could have with no one else. You're not my shadow, but my equal. My sister, who means more than the world to me."

His grin's watery as he stares at her, brushing a clump of wet, salt-caked hair from her face with a soft snort. Tears are rolling down her cheeks again. She leans in, hugs Cedric tight, her lungs collapsing in her chest, but she doesn't care. Cedric’s there and he's supporting her, a pillar holding up a broken castle.

"I can't tell you it's going to be okay," Cedric states, moments later. His voice is somber. The dim-lit candles create shadows on his face. "It won't be. You're going to face so many obstacles, Crescent. It's going to be extremely difficult. But you're not going to be alone. I'll be there, right by your side. You won't have to face the darkness alone."

The fight leaves Cress's body, leaving her lethargic and worn out. Her bones feel like stone. Her heart is clogged. Everything is hurting, and she can barely see through the migraine in her head, but Cedric is shining in front of her. He's grinning, childish and brave, and Cress believes him. Believes the way his grey eyes glow with mirth, the way his hands barricade her, as if warding off every evil creature on this earth.

She believes in Cedric.

And yes, perhaps, she doesn't know what the future holds. The third task looms around the corner, O.W.L.s zooming towards her as fast as the Hogwarts Express, but Cress doesn't have to experience it alone. She has support from her friends, has support from most of the professors here, and most importantly, support from her brother.

"Yeah," she says, mustering up a weak grin. "Yeah, Cedric. Okay. Together forever, then? Are you sure you can handle me being around all the time?"

Cedric grins. "Of course."

Cress believes him.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───