The Spare (A Theme and Variations)

Theme: I knew something extraordinary was about to happen.

Variation I: The Quidditch World Cup

Dad's got a secret, but he won't tell me what it is. Whatever it is, it's pissing me off. He keeps hinting that there's much ado at the Ministry and that I'm so lucky I'm in my seventh year at Hogwarts. Half the time I think he's teasing me but the other half, I know something extraordinary is about to happen. I think that's part of what's pissing me off so much. I suppose there's nothing I can do about it now, though, since it's barely August.

When we met up with the Weasleys to travel to the Quidditch World Cup, Dad wouldn't stop fawning over Harry Potter. The man thinks it's sporting to embarrass me, I swear. Goes on and on about how I beat Potter at Quidditch right in front of him, completely ignoring the fact that multiple dementors showed up at that game and Potter stood up to them a hell of a lot better than most other people would have under the same circumstances. Potter's just a decent kid who got a tough break; I keep telling Dad that. Considering that he was about a year old when the whole You-Know-Who thing happened, I hardly think he had a choice in the matter. From the look on his face when he saw the Portkey I got the impression that there are days when he can barely tell his magical arse from his elbow. He's a good flier, though. Really good. Better than I was at that age. Until Dad opened his mouth about the game last year, I was hoping to maybe get some time with Potter to talk Quidditch. Now I'd be lucky if Potter would so much as look at me, which is too bad. Potter's the type that can really make extraordinary things happen on the Quidditch pitch. Between the glares from the Weasley that wasn't a twin or a girl and the look on Potter's face, like he would run fast and hard if he had anywhere to go, it was probably just as well that Dad got a tent on the opposite side of the campground from them all.

Right about now, I'm figuring the luckiest thing is that in about three weeks I'll be free of seeing my dad every day for another nine months. I know I'll miss him and I'll owl even when I don't want to because that's just what you do when it's your parents, but I'm reaching my limits as to how much I can hear about how I beat Harry Potter at Quidditch and that this is going to be the most exciting year of my life. My nerves are pretty shot, and seeing my friends and preparing for my N.E.W.T.s, I think, is exactly what I need.

Variation II: The Sorting

As close as I am to my parents and my friends, there's one secret I've never told anyone.

Thanks to Dad, I knew what would come from the sorting in my first year. Mum's house was Ravenclaw and Dad's, Slytherin. Dad, of course, was pushing for Slytherin but Mum said that as long as I was happy, that was the important part. And, of course, that I did well in all my classes. She laughs about that and says you can take the woman out of Ravenclaw, but you can't take the Ravenclaw out of the woman. Dad agreed with her on the part about being happy, saying that house didn't matter as long as I stayed true to who I was, something I didn't understand until years later.

"Any house will be lucky to have you, son. Just go where feels right. Though I wouldn't mind if it were Slytherin."

Lined up with my fellow first-years outside the Great Hall, I was nervous, but excited. This would be a year of extraordinary happenings. I would finally be able to start learning Transfiguration, which was Mum's favorite subject. There would be the chance to play Quidditch, getting to live with my friends, staying up late, and eating whatever I wanted for dinner. First, though, I had to be sorted.

"Diggory, Cedric!"

The hat covered my eyes when I put it on.

"Diggory, eh?" it whispered. "I suppose you've come here with some ideas as to where you want to be."

"Er, I guess. Dad's a Slytherin and he'd like for me to be there."

"Slytherin would suit you. You have the ambition, oh yes. But there's more. Brains, too. Best of both worlds, and those brains would serve you well in Slytherin."

I couldn't stop myself from thinking, "But I don't want to be in Slytherin just because my dad was. I'm not him. I'm me."

"An individualist, I see, yet always thinking of others. You have something fierce in you, too. You make the decision more difficult with each passing second. But I do believe you will make some extraordinary things happen, and there is a place for you here, where you can make good use of everything you have.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hufflepuff? I was so surprised I nearly fell off the stool, but I removed the hat to see a round of applause coming from the table to the left of the hall's center. I ran to join my new housemates.

I owled my parents that night to let them know I'd been sorted into Hufflepuff. Two days later, a box of parchment embossed with badgers came by owl, plus a pair of yellow-and-black striped socks. Dad always said he was proud of me, that if I was happy, then he was happy, and I really am. I have friends, great teachers, and I think I've got a good shot at getting at least an internship at the Department for the Development of Transfiguration next year.

Sometimes, though, I look over at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and wonder.

Variation III: September 1, 1994

"YOU'RE JOKING."

One of the Weasley twins voiced what I was thinking when Dumbledore announced the Triwizard Tournament. This must have been the "extraordinary happening" Dad was hinting at all summer, as though I ever would have guessed. I certainly knew what a Triwizard Tournament was, but it had been so long since the last one that they had become something along the lines of a school legend, practically unreal. I didn't think any of us figured on seeing one in our lifetimes, much less this year, when a very real opportunity to bring fame to our school was right in front of us.

I couldn't wait.

Dumbledore assured Weasley that this was no joke. Even better, I had been seventeen since February, so there was no questioning my eligibility. Admittedly, I wasn't a hundred percent fond of the words "death toll," but those deaths had to be negligence on the part of the participants.

I hoped.

"You're going to put your name in for it, aren't you?" asked Declan Scott. He was in my year but apparently didn't have any intention of participating, which was probably just as well. Declan had a talent for people and was a house prefect, but I often had to help him with his homework. "You'd be perfect for it. You get the best marks of any of us, and Hufflepuff has to have a representative. To hell with not winning the House Cup in years. The House Cup doesn't prove anything. We'll show the rest of them what we've got, right?"

"Definitely."

It seemed like the right response at the time, but as the month went on I had my doubts. I spent a couple of days looking over my classmates, seeing who might be my competition. Angelina Johnson came to mind first. She was a terrific Quidditch player and a good student. I'd partnered with her on some projects and found that she also had a good sense of humor, only I didn't think that would figure much into the Goblet of Fire's decision. At least, I hoped it wouldn't. Then there was Roger Davies. I didn't know him too well outside of his being the Ravenclaw captain, but that alone gave me reason to worry about him. Though I didn't tell anyone for fear of looking too egotistical, I didn't think Johnson, Davies, or I faced any competition from Slytherin. Here and there I heard rumors of Warrington planning to put his name in, but he was so slow-moving that by the time he made it across the hall to submit his name, it'd probably be Christmas.

I would see.

Variation IV: Greenhouse Three

"And Diggory, see me after class, please," said Professor Sprout not unpleasantly as we put gloves and smocks on.

I hated when teachers did that, left you to wonder for the entire class period if you were flunking or if you'd found that note you wrote about their particularly stupid hat. There wasn't much I could do, though, so I went about repotting the Fly-Catching Hellebore.

"Careful with that, Scott," warned Professor Sprout. "That'll bite if you don't watch out, and if you crush the roots again you're getting detention for a week."

Declan bit his lip in concentration, and I had to force myself to pay attention to my own plant. The trick to this, I'd found, was a lot of patience and slow movement. It seemed like a lot of effort to exercise towards one plant, but that's what Professor Sprout said was the beauty of herbology: the need for tenacity and a lot of steady effort. There was no quick and easy way out. Not everyone was cut out for it.

Class felt like it went on for hours that afternoon. Everyone else went back to the dorm to shower, but I collected my things and stayed behind.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Professor Sprout's nose was shiny, and there was a streak of dirt on her cheek. "Yes. Why don't you have a seat?" she said, indicating a chair next to her desk. "You'll be putting your name in for the tournament, won't you, Diggory?"

"Er...I've been thinking about it on and off."

"Thinking about it? Diggory, do you realize that something extraordinary is about to happen at Hogwarts? You've got as good a chance as anyone else. Better, even. Your competition--"

"Davies and Johnson."

"Pardon me?"

"I apologize for interrupting, Professor. Roger Davies, from Ravenclaw, and Angelina Johnson, from Gryffindor. That's my strongest competition."

"Thinking it about it on and off. I see. Well, Davies and Johnson are certainly bright, but they haven't got what you've got."

Now it was my turn to say, "Pardon me?"

Leaning forward over her desk, Professor Sprout said, "This competition tests many things, Diggory. Daring. Reasoning. How fast you can think on your feet. Magical skill, of course, but it's not just about what you have, but how you use it. I won't deny that Davies and Johnson have their strengths in these areas, but I think that of the three of you, you are the one whose strengths are most even throughout. That will give you an edge over the other two."

Humbled by her words, I replied, "Thank you, Professor. Your faith in me means a lot."

"Good. Now what are you going to do to maintain this faith that means so much to you?"

Smiling, I stood up and left.

Variation V: Cho Chang

Wednesday was my favorite night of the week, because that was when the Advanced Transfiguration Club met. The club was limited to sixteen members fifth year and above, and you could only get in with an invitation from Professor McGonagall. Half the time was devoted to study of Transfiguration theory and history, and the other half was spent learning spells and technique not covered by the standard Transfiguration curriculum.

Tonight, Professor McGonagall had us partner for the practical session, and I was pleased when she paired me with Cho Chang. Cho and I knew each other here and there from Quidditch, and I learned at her first meeting that she had a talent for animal transfigurations. When she turned a dogwood branch into a poodle into a fluffy white jumper with the design of the poodle's face on the front, I decided I had better get to know her. The fact that she was also pretty didn't hurt.

"Hi, Cedric," she said as she brought her books and bag over to my desk. "How are things?"

"Fine, thanks. Yourself?"

"All right. It's good to be here. It's too bad about Quidditch this year, isn't it? I mean, not that there's anything wrong with the Triwizard Tournament, of course, I'll just miss playing." She looked down at her desk and fiddled with her quill.

"It's all right. I'll miss it, too." Even if something extraordinary happened and the Goblet of Fire chose me as Hogwarts champion, I would still miss Quidditch.

"Were you at the World Cup this summer?"

Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, I said, "Yeah. It was fantastic. Did you get a chance to go?"

"Yes." Cho was excited now. "Viktor Krum is really something else. That Wronski Feint is a lot harder than it looks, and—"

"Chang, Diggory, how are you coming in your practice?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Er, fine, Professor," I said.

"Good. You can be the first pair to demonstrate tonight's task. You have five minutes."

When Professor McGonagall went to check on the next set of partners, I said, "Guess we should work on this."

"Yeah, probably."

"But you know," I said, and as I said it I felt heat creep into my neck, "if you ever need help with your homework, or if you just want to talk Quidditch, we should, er, get together."

"Sure! I mean, yeah, if you get the time. Okay. Whenever." She blushed.

Pink, I decided, was a very good color on Cho Chang.

Variation VI: The Hogwarts Champion

"I can't eat," I said to Declan as he passed me a tureen of bouillabaisse.

"You have to, Cedric. If you don't eat, you'll faint in front of the entire school when they announce your name, and that is not a good way to start your Hogwarts championship."

I shook my head. "It's going to go to Angelina Johnson. Did you see the way the Gryffindors were cheering when she went to put her name in? She knows she's got a chance."

"Yeah, and did you hear the way we were cheering when you put your name in? You're being ridiculous. Come on. At least have a piece of bread or something." Ever our caretaker, he grabbed a roll, buttered it, and placed it on my plate. "And some chicken. You'll need your protein."

Declan put more food on my plate, which I dutifully chewed and swallowed, but I was too nervous to enjoy the foreign dishes. Why couldn't they have announced the champions before we ate? I feared that my dinner was going to end up on the floor if I had to wait much longer for the announcement.

In case I wasn't anxious enough, everyone at the table was glancing in my direction. I smiled at the shy first-years and thanked the ones who wished me luck.

"Course, you don't need luck," said Declan. "You're Cedric Diggory, king of the carnivorous hellebore."

"And that will come in ever so handy when the Triwizard champions are assigned the task of repotting the entirety of Greenhouse Three."

"You never know."

I appreciated his efforts to make me laugh and relax, but they weren't having much effect. I kept sneaking glances at the other tables to see if Johnson and Davies looked anything like I felt. I couldn't see Davies, but Johnson was definitely distracted.

Dinner was interminable. People started cheering when the plates finally disappeared, but they stopped when Professor Dumbledore stood up and extinguished most of the lights, leaving a sort of eerie glow to everything in the Great Hall. In the near darkness the Goblet of Fire seemed unnaturally bright. I squinted to see it. Whispers rustled through the hall. The air was so tight with anticipation that even if someone who had never been to Hogwarts in his life suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, he would know something extraordinary was about to happen.

When the flames in the Goblet of Fire turned red and a piece of parchment flew out of it, I felt Declan grip my arm. He was holding me too tightly, but I didn't tell him so. I couldn't talk.

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum," declared Professor Dumbledore.

"Who cares about Durmstrang?" growled Declan. "Get to the important part."

The announcement of Viktor Krum didn't surprise me. It seemed all along like Karkaroff favored him, and in a way I understood. Triwizard champion or not, Krum brought a lot of fame and glory to Durmstrang by virtue of his Quidditch abilities. I also got the feeling that Karkaroff would do anything in his power to prove that Durmstrang was still a superior school, especially since Harry Potter was a student here.

Krum rose from the Slytherin table. It was strange watching him move on land. He didn't stand up straight and he walked oddly, like he was never sure of his balance. He walked past the staff table and through the door at the side of the room.

The cheers for Krum weren't quite done when the goblet's flames turned red and delivered another piece of parchment to Dumbledore.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour."

So that was her name. She was hard to miss. In fact, it seemed like most of the blokes in school found her hard to miss. As she headed down Krum's path she tossed her hair behind her, oblivious to her classmates, several of whom were crying at the table. I couldn't pay much attention to them, though, not when I knew what was coming next.

The Great Hall was so quiet I could hear Declan breathing behind me. My heart was pounding in my ears and I didn't know if I would be able to hear the name of the champion. The flames changed to red once more, and Professor Dumbledore unfolded the parchment.

I was planning my congratulatory words to Angelina Johnson when Professor Dumbledore announced, "The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

Shrieks of happiness drowned out my heartbeat as Declan shoved me off the bench. "Go, Cedric! You did it!"

Standing, I started to make my way to the front of the Great Hall. My younger housemates barely let me past, wanting to hug me or shake my hand. I think one of the first or second-year girls attempted to kiss me, but there was so much motion in one place I couldn't be sure. When I passed the staff table, I saw Professor Sprout standing on her chair, alternately whistling with two fingers in her mouth and applauding madly. We shared a smile, and I headed through the door that Fleur and Krum used.

The sounds of the Great Hall were muffled by the thick door when it closed behind me. Fleur and Krum were standing by the fire, so I went to join them. Remembering what Professor Dumbledore had said about improving international wizarding relations, I put out my hand.

"Cedric Diggory," I said. "It's good to meet both of you."

Fleur looked at me skeptically, but Krum extended his hand. He had a firm but not crushing grip. "Viktor Krum. I am much looking forward to this tournament."

"Fleur Delacour," she said, nodding to me but keeping her hands to herself.

Our silence afterwards was heavy but not uncomfortable. We all looked up in unison when the door swung open and Harry Potter entered.

"What is it?" asked Fleur, looking curiously at Harry. "Do zey want us back in ze hall?"

Harry looked small and bewildered, framed by the stone doorway. Ludo Bagman swept in seconds behind him, taking his arm and pushing him toward us.

"Extraordinary!" said Bagman.

Variation VII: Amazed

I run.

The hedges close behind me and I can only hope that what waits at the next turn isn't something Hagrid might keep as a pet. Then again, after that cloud of darkness a few turns back, a Blast-Ended Skrewt might not be too terrible.

Fleur screams.

I can't stop.

Krum is in front of me.

He raises his wand.

I look over my shoulder for someone or something approaching, but the path is empty behind me.

His wand is aimed at my chest.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" I shout. Krum always seemed like the fair sort. I couldn't imagine him--

"Crucio!"

The pain is so intense that I go blind for a moment, and I'm yelling, "No! Stop! Please!" but I don't think anyone can hear me.

"Stupefy!"

Harry is the last person I expect to see here, but I'm glad as hell he is, and that he knows how to Stun.

I can barely breathe, and I put my hands over my face. I'd rather not have Harry see me like this.

"Are you all right?" he asks, taking my arm. I almost pull my arm away and ask why he's so concerned, but I owe him one. Forget one; I owe him twelve.

"Yeah."

After that, we separate.

I run.

I fight my way through brambles.

Strange magical creatures and plants and hexes try to block my way, but I get past them. I don't stop to wonder how Potter is doing.

The cup is ahead of me. I can see it lit so brightly it almost hurts my eyes, glowing gold, and I do the only thing I can.

I run.

"Cedric! On your left!"

It's an instinctual part of me that turns at the sound of Harry's voice. Out of the corner of one eye, I see something huge and black and try to dive past it.

I don't quite make it.

My wand flies out of my hand. Now, I'm of no use to either Harry or myself. The thing I tried to avoid, a spider as tall as the hedges, has him. I crawl for my wand and point it at the spider.

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

None of my spells have any effect. I start to panic.

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry's Disarming Charm works, but he falls twelve feet and his leg crumples beneath him when he lands. He reassures me that he's all right.

I can tell he's lying.

There is no way he can run on that leg. I could walk to the cup faster than he could run.

That would be a stupid way for me to win.

I can't take the cup.

Clearly, Harry thinks I've lost my mind, but I stand firm. He might not ever believe me when I tell him we're even on the tasks, but we are. As we argue, I see him glancing towards the Triwizard Cup. He may or may not have put his name in the Goblet of Fire in the first place, but regardless of his intentions in October, I can tell that now, in June, he's never wanted anything so much.

I can't take the cup.

"Both of us."

When I figure out what he means, I think he must be mad. Give up the chance at the fame and glory of being the sole rightful winner of the Triwizard Tournament?

"What?"

"It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll take it at the same time. We'll tie for it."

He is mad. But surprisingly, he is also one of the most honest, fair people I have ever met. I have to commend him. He had all kinds of opportunities, including this one, to leave me in the dirt to get eaten by an Arachnomantula, and he never did.

He is brilliant. Consciously or not, he knows that the way to get ahead in this competition, as much as it's supposed to be every wizard for himself, is to forget about yourself for a moment. That's why we tied at the end of the second task, and why both of us are still standing when Krum is lying Stunned and Fleur is God-knows-where.

Relaxing my arms to my sides, I ask, "You--you sure?" Harry looks from me to the Cup and back again and replies, "Yeah. Yeah... we've helped each other out, haven't we? We both got here. Let's just take it together."

He's willing to give up a year of work for a tie? In that instant, I admire him more than I have admired almost anyone else in my lifetime.

We are going to go down in history.

I grin. "You're on. Come here."

When I grab him under the arm, he is surprisingly light. For a moment I wonder if he ever gets enough to eat. He is strong on his uninjured foot, though, and we reach the plinth in no time.

"On three, right?" he says. "One..."

I flex my fingers, ready to take the cup.

"Two..."

And I could never explain it, but as Harry takes a breath to say, "Three," I know something extraordinary is about to happen.