Oh God Not Again!

Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter.

The day before the match, Harry was flying around the Quidditch Pitch idly when he saw Cedric Diggory on the ground, holding a broom and watching him.

"Spying on me?" Harry asked as he landed.

Cedric shook his head. "Hardly. And I've already seen you play, remember?"

"You go to matches you're not playing?" Harry asked, surprised.

Cedric stared at hm. "Of course, it's helpful to see how the other team flies. Are you saying you don't?"

Harry shook his head ruefully. "Well, I would, but I always get so frustrated whenever I spot the Snitch and the Seekers are oblivious. It's really not good for my blood pressure."

"You could always watch the other players," Cedric suggested.

"I could, but unless one team has scored fifteen more goals than the other, the other players don't matter all that much in the outcome of the match, so I never really see the point," Harry confided.

"Seeker bias," Cedric laughed. "I completely understand."

"Good," Harry said, relieved. "Everyone else thinks I'm crazy."

"From what I've heard, you are. We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Cedric Diggory," he said, sticking his hand out.

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, shaking his hand. "First Tonks, now you…Does everyone here think I'm crazy?"

"Pretty much," Cedric said cheerfully. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, though. Hogwarts and the Wizarding World in general have been stuck to the status quo for far too long and it's about time someone came and shook things up, even if I'm sure your motives are far less noble."

"So why are you out here then?" Harry asked. "Trying to get one more practice in before the match tomorrow?"

"Sort of. This is my first year on the team and you're HARRY POTTER and insanely good at flying and don't mind jumping off your broom to catch the Snitch and I'm just not sure that my sanity's damaged enough to let me pull the kind of stunts that you probably will to win. Nymphadora eventually got so tired of watching me pace that she kicked me out of the Common Room."

"Wow," Harry said, his eyes wide as saucers.

"What?" Cedric asked.

"How did you get her to let you call him Nymphadora? I've been trying for weeks and I haven't had any luck." More like years, but no need to tell him that.

Cedric laughed. "She lost a bet last year. And before you get any ideas, she's vowed to never again let the use of her first name be a part of a bet."

"Because she lost once?" Harry complained. "That's not fair."

"Twice, actually. Charlie Weasley apparently won a bet with her four years ago and wanted the same thing."

"Damn. There goes that plan…"

The next day, Ron, Hermione, and Neville wished him luck outside of the locker rooms, clearly wondering whether he'd survive the match.

"Oh, relax guys. Not only is Snape not out to kill me and on hand to make sure nothing goes wrong, but given what happened last time, Professor Dumbledore will probably be here as well. I'll be fine," he assured them.

"You thought last time went fine, too, and you ended up jumping off of your broom," Neville pointed out.

"So? We won," Ron and Harry said at the same time.