Voldemort's Daughter: Chained by Fate

Chapter 9: Herbology

Your POV

"So, how are you feeling about the Duelling Tournament being cancelled?" He asked me.
"Devestated," I chuckled. "I was hoping to keep my perfect record."
"Mm, I don't know that this one would have been your year," He grinned. "I've been practising." I gave him a doubtful look.
"You think you could beat me?"
"Maybe," He replied, giving me a sidelong look. "I guess we'll never find out."
"But I guess I should be asking you how you feel about Quidditch?"
"I was hoping for the chance to prove I could beat Harry properly."
"You mean without Dementors?"
"Exactly. You think I could beat him?"
"I um," I gave him a sorry look. "I don't think you want to hear the answer to that question."
"Seriously?" He laughed in disbelief. "You really think he's better than me?"
"Did you get on the team in your first year?"

 He rolled his eyes.

"He had a Nimbus 2000! Get me on one of those and I'd beat him easy." Just as we stepped out onto the school grounds, Peeves appeared through a wall.
"Voldy-spawn and Golden boy sitting in a tree," He sang. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Snak-o sees, then he screams, just wait until my father hears about this!"
"Ten points for creativity, Peeves," I sighed.
"You should become a singer," Cedric chuckled. He stuck his tongue out at us and floated away.
"I really hate when he calls me that."

"Hey," Cedric shrugged. "At least he loves you enough to give you a nickname."
"I don't know that I'd call that love," I chuckled. He opened the door for me and the two of us walked into the greenhouse.

The greenhouse was probably one of my favourite buildings on the grounds with its high, glass ceilings, arched windows, and flower beds full of things I had only ever seen in my textbooks. Or at least it would have been if it wasn't for Professor Sprout

"Ah, just who we were waiting for," Professor Sprout announced. Nervously, I checked my watch – barely two minutes late. "Decided to make Cedric late, did you Delphi?"

Professor Sprout and I have what you might call a love-hate relationship; I loved her subject but she hated me. Most teachers had managed to overcome their dislike of me, but Sprout was particularly stubborn. It did not seem to help my case that she seemed to have some sort of teacher crush on Cedric.

"Not at all," Cedric smiled, always trying to save the day. "I made her late, actually. Got too caught up chatting, you know how it is."
"You don't have to lie for her, Cedric," Professor Sprout smiled, patting him on the back. "Delphi might be younger than you but she is old enough to take responsibility for her actions."
"But I really did-"

I put my hand on Cedric's arm to stop him.

"S-sorry, Professor Sprout," I muttered.
"Well done my dear." She patted me condescendingly on the back. "Accountability is admirable. Even still, lateness is not something we tolerate here, as I'm sure you know. 10 points from Gryffindor."

I tried not to roll my eyes as I stood at her desk. One of the things people in my house had not quite forgiven me for was how many points I kept loosing – not that it was my fault. I liked to think I made up for it by winning the Duelling Tournaments, but that wasn't happening this year so I needed to be on my best behaviour if I wanted to stay on the right side of the rest of Gryffindor House.

After Professor Sprout had set us off collecting the pus of Bubotubers, Cedric asked the dreaded question.

"So did you read my notes?"

My stomach danced.

"I uh, I did yeah. You- you really know your stuff," I replied. He chuckled.
"You're such a liar," He grinned.
"I'm not lying," I gushed. He stopped in the middle of the hall and forced me to face him.
"If you'd read them, you'd know my notes weren't related to the book."
"Okay, maybe you don't know your stuff," I chuckled, heat creeping up my cheeks. "I was trying to be nice."

I knew word for word what he had written. When everyone else in my dorm had fallen asleep, I had poured over the pages, in disbelief at what I was reading. Never had Rebecca ever been so romantic. The one I remembered most was next to 'I'm glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.'

'I think I'm feeling the fever of first love. Are you?'

I had tried not to dwell on what it meant, I didn't want to fool myself, but I was not in control of my dreams. They had been full of Cedric. He took one look at my reddened cheeks and chuckled.

"I'm not going to pressure you into talking about anything you don't want to," He began. "But, um, you should think about what I've read. Will you?"

Silently, I nodded.