Hufflepuff boy - Cedric Diggory x male oc x Viktor Krum

21 (Fourth Year)

The Little Hangleton village is dark. Still as stone as we rake past a trio of tombstones, all bearing the same surname-- Riddle-- and the identical date of death: 1943.

In the distance, atop a weedy hill, a manor stands derelict under a greasy moon. At the base of the hill is a Gardener's Cottage. A crooked figure slants past the cottage window.

Frank Bryce sets a kettle on the stove and-- with a shaky hand-- adjust the flame. He leans forward, squinting to get the fire right, and the window beyond him is revealed. Something flickers. Softly. Then again. Frank turns.

Atop the hill, light dances in one of the windows of the manor.

Frank emerges from the cottage, walking stick in hand. He lumps into the yard, approaching a door almost completely covered in ivy. He fits a rusty key to the lock and listens to the knob squealing dryly.

The walking stick pierces the shadows, then Frank himself enters. His nostrils flare against the sour air. He cocks an ear. Frank's shadow spreads darkly on the landing. Above a small table, is an old calendar, freckled with mildew: August. 1943.

Frank reaches the top and stops, his breath drifts like smoke.

At the end of the hallway, a door stands ajar, casting a sliver of light across the dusty floor. Frank edges closer, sees a narrow slice of the room beyond. A feeble fire flickers in the grate. From within, he can hear voices.

"But why here, My Lord? It seems so... inhospitable." A man voice said.

"How fastidous you've become, Wormtail. As I recall, only recently you called the nearest gutterpipe home. Could it be that the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you?" Another man said.

"No, My Lord! I only meant--" Wormtail said, panicked.

"I have my reasons for coming here. Thirteen years of reasons."

"Perhaps if we were to do it without the boy..." Wormtail said.

"No. The boy is everything."

Just then, the tip of Frank's walking stick vibrates against the floorboard. He eyes it curiously, then-- in mute horror-- watches a giant snake emerge from the shadows behind him. As it skims past his shoes and into the room, an eerie hiss greets its arrival.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail. According to her, there is an old Muggle standing just outside this room."

The door flings wide, revealing a short balding man.

"Where are your manners, Wormtail? Step aside so I can give our guest a proper greeting..."

Slowly, Wormtail withdraws. And everything happens at once. Frank's eyes dilate. A flash of green light sears the walls. The walking stick clatters to the floor, the handle is charred black, weeping smoke. A brittle whistling rises from the shadows of the empty Gardener's Cottage, a tea kettle squalling madly, rising like a scream in the night sky.

The stars vanish, one after another, leaving only black as Cayden Potter sits bolt upright, a gasp stuck in his throat. He winces, presses his hand to his right arm. Across the room, Harry and Ron, are still sleeping.

"Having a bit of a lie-in, are we?" A voice asked.

Cayden turns his head and sees Hermione, grinning from the doorway. "Hermione, when did you get here?"

"Just now. You two?" Hermione asked, glancing at Harry who has now woken up.

"Last night." Cayden answered, turning when he heard Ron move on his bed.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, tugging a blanket over his naked chest.

"Oh, honestly. C'mon. Get yourself dressed or we'll miss the whole thing." Hermione said, rolling her eyes.