Harry Potter One Shots

Seven Years: Years 4-6 (Harry Potter)

Fourth Year

The dirt was warm, sticking to my fingers as I wrestled the last of the screeching Mandrake into its pot and filled it to the brim with soil. Removing the pink earmuffs I'd borrowed from Professor Sprout, I signaled for Cedric to do the same.

"Remind me why we're doing this again," I groaned, wiping sweat from my brow.

"We're doing Professor Sprout a favor," he chuckled, taking the box of re-potted Mandrakes from me. "Besides, it's kind of fun, isn't it?"

"If getting nipped at by a bunch of shrieking plant-babies is your thing, then sure...fun," I replied dryly. Dusting off my hands, I followed him towards the back of the greenhouse, hoping to spy something of interest. The glass-paneled walls had been lined with a number of mounted wooden planks, along which sat a variety of colorful plants and herbs. I studied them as I passed, wondering which ones I could touch without dying. Not a smart game, I chided myself, passing a writhing clump of Devil's Snare. Not a smart game at all.

Turning my attention from a rather oddly shaped, bulbous plant, I made for the small window hidden near the storage cabinet. The latch gave way with some force, creaking loudly as I shoved it open with my shoulder. A light breeze blew into the room, swirling soft and cool against my skin. I sighed happily at the contact.

"Isn't this a lesson for first years anyway?" I asked, watching as he set the Mandrakes out in a line atop the far bench. Even though they made no sound, I couldn't help but flinch every time I looked at them.

Cedric shrugged, straightening the last of the pots. "Yes, well...a few fainted this morning so they didn't quite get around to completing the task."

Wrinkling my nose, I began to clean the soil from under my nails with the tip of my wand. How I hated dirt. Old habits die hard, I supposed—after all, Draco shared a similar distaste for...well, a lack of cleanliness in general.

Diggory watched me, amused. "You didn't have to come," he reminded me, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

"You know I could never refuse you," I shot back, running my hands under the nearby faucet. "Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"I know what you're going to say, little snake," he sighed, "but you can't change my mind." Striding towards the door, he held it open for me, locking it behind us as we crossed the threshold.

"At least let me try," I begged, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "It's too dangerous, Ced. Didn't you hear Dumbledore? People have died in this tournament. Died! I can't just let you enter—"

"Yes. You. Can." His words were sharp and clipped, cutting me off. Rubbing his face, he exhaled as though pained before taking my hand in his. "Walk with me," he murmured, his voice much softer. "Let me try to explain myself to you."

He led me along a rather beaten trail, picking his way carefully down the hill towards the Black Lake. Before us, the water glimmered like a thousand diamonds, the sun hovering just above the horizon like a giant ruby. Nearing the edge of the lake, Cedric stopped and settled himself into the grass. "Sit with me." He patted the ground beside him where he'd laid his cloak to shield me from the damp soil.

Lowering myself onto the ground, I watched him closely. Was the Triwizard Tournament what he truly wanted?

"I can't lose you, Ced," I whispered finally, learning my head against his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you." I could hear his heart beating, its rhythm reassuring me he was still alive. Still here.