PRANKSTER [1] ↝ C. DIGGORY

forty-eight

"What a load of rubbish," Clary muttered to herself as she walked up flight after flight of stairs, eyes scanning the front page of the Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter's newest article.

As the day of the Third Task had finally arrived, Clary herself had been ecstatic that she'd no longer have to read article after article detailing the things Rita had learned about her relationship with Cedric, plastered out for the entire Wizarding World to see, or whatever strange love triangle she'd written Hermione to have with Harry and Viktor. She still wasn't sure where Rita was getting her information, as she hardly saw the woman on the school grounds anymore aside from during the first two tasks, and was relieved that, once the tournament was over, Clary would go back to being just another face in the crowd.

She looked up from the paper as she'd reached the landing of the seventh floor, stopping to give the portrait of the Fat Lady the password so she could enter the tower. As she stepped into the common room, she passed by Harry, dressed in his red and black jersey and mumbling softly to himself on his way down to the Quidditch Pitch.

"Good luck tonight, Harry!" Clary exclaimed as she passed him, a grateful smile crossing the boy's nervous features. "You'll do great."

"Thanks, Clary," he said before exiting the way she'd come in, and she hurried up the stairs to the sixth year girls' dormitory, eager to get changed so she could meet Cedric and his parents back in the entrance to walk down to the Quidditch Pitch together. 

Clary quickly pulled off her school robes, changing into a pair of jeans and grabbing Cedric's Quidditch jumper from her trunk. She still had yet to give it back from after the Yule Ball, and doubted she would anytime soon. As soon as she'd finished changing, she hurried back the way she came, past throngs and throngs of excited students making their way down to watch the Third Task, and making their bets as to who the winner was going to be.

"It's going to be Krum, hands down," a Slytherin third year was saying to her friends. "He's got this in the bag."

"Diggory's going to win, one hundred percent." a Ravenclaw first year said as she rounded the corner on the landing of the third floor. "He's the best competitor by far."

Clary reached the bottom of the stairs, seeing Cedric waiting with Amos and Anne, his nervous expression changing into a warm smile as his eyes landed on her wearing his golden yellow jumper. She greeted him with a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to his parents, catching her breath from hurrying down seven flights of stairs. 

"Shall we?" she asked, and Amos nodded in response.

"We shall," he said proudly, leading the group out of the castle and down the hill towards the Quidditch Pitch. "Just think," he beamed as they walked. "My son, the next Triwizard Champion!"

"Well, I haven't won yet, Dad." Cedric reminded him.

"Yet," Amos pointed out. "You're going to go in there, and make me proud, Ced. You've made us all so proud."

"Thanks, Dad," he said with a small smile, groups of students calling Cedric's name as they passed, and wishing him good luck for that evening.

Clary's breath hitched in her throat as they reached the locker rooms at the Quidditch Pitch, where Cedric and his father were set to enter to make his grand appearance. Cedric turned back to Clary and Anne, pulling his mother into a tight hug before they had to part ways.

"Good luck," Anne said, giving her son a kiss on the cheek. "You'll do wonderful."

"Thanks, Mum," Cedric said with a smile, turning to Clary and wrapping his arms tightly around her frame.