The Green Trio

November 24th, 1994

The day of the first task, even the walls buzzed with excitement. Students swarmed the champions, squeezing their well wishes in between everyone else's and then turning to their friends to trade guesses like cards on what the first task would be. Surely the tournament would open with a bang—oh, but it had to be easy enough as the opening act. Surely this, surely that—it all made Cersei want to shut her dorm door and hide behind the daffodil curtains of her four-poster bed. The same questions pricked her brain like a thorned rose did careless fingers; blood beaded at her finger tips as her mind circled with thoughts of the tournament. She couldn't handle the subject with care.

At least not yet. Or ever. She didn't know.

Only Diana seemed to be in a talking mood that morning after Luka had painfully ignored Fleur, averting her gaze when the blonde was raising her hand to wave. Cersei wanted to ask what that was about, though the question died before it could fully form. Drowned in the sea of voices around her, reminding her once again what today was.

Thorns in her side. All of them.

Get yourself killed. It's none of my business.

The words tasted of regret more and more as the days had slipped away from that moment. She'd thought about apologizing, let herself agonize for a few seconds on the harshness of the entire argument, but apologizing meant admitting she was wrong and admitting she was wrong about this one thing gave way to too many other things she was wrong about and she couldn't do that.

Not while he was surrounded by adoring fans. Not while he pranced around with Cho Chang.

Merlin, was hating Cho petty? Yes.

Was it minuscule in comparison to her hatred for herself? Absolutely.

Following breakfast, Cersei floated between classes, skipping her last lecture entirely in exchange for a walk out on the Quidditch pitch. She needed the fresh air, free of everyone else's polluted breath, and the mere sight of the stands in the distance immediately helped relieve the pressure in her chest.

Stepping out onto the field, she closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.

The Quidditch pitch, always disturbed, full of distractions, was simply silent—for all of two seconds.

Not far off, someone was cursing. The lingering notes of a spell cast moments ago dying out. Cersei's honey-coloured eyes snapped open.

She squinted. Cedric?

His wand was trained on the ground and his free hand balled into a fist at his side. He was huffing, his shoulders tense and drawn back. Even from where she stood, she could see that anxious vein throbbing across his forehead.

"You alright?" she called out, taking thoughtless steps toward him.

He straightened, like a child caught by a parent, before taking in who she was. His shoulders tensed again, "Yes... yes. I'm practicing."

Only when she was close enough did she notice the stone—or what was a stone. It was caught mid-transfiguration, sprouting what looked to be a dog leg and ear.

"You're usually better than that," she remarked as the leg kicked pitifully.

He repressed the urge to roll his eyes, pausing before his quiet, "Thanks."

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. There she went again. Saying the wrong thing.

"That's not..." She exhaled. "How long have you been doing practicing for?"

"An hour, give or take." He sighed. "It's hard focusing when everyone else is around..."

She furrowed her brows for a moment. It was not lost on her that of all places he could've chosen to be alone, to take a breath, he found himself there.