The Diggory Papers

The Diggory Papers.

Cedric Diggory

As edited & arranged by Miranda C. Weasley.

Unsurprisingly, I don't remember the weeks between the first two days and just before Halloween too well. What happened then and afterwards sort of drove everything else out of my mind. The next time that's completely clear in my mind is a Tuesday afternoon Defence lesson. We'd been working on those reactive spells the Slytherins discovered in our first lesson, which were seriously nasty. Even Moody only let us try ones that shot Stunners back at whoever hexed you, but you could do Greek Fire or Putrescens without much more trouble, except to whoever got hit. Harald got a blast of Greek Fire from a Weasley who had decided Stunners were for lesser beings, but his skin grew back in a few days.

Ernie MacMillan, our Percy Weasley in training, caught me after that lesson to say the foreigners were arriving at the end of the week. He said he 'decided that you ought to be informed in view of your avowed intention to compete'. Pompous twat. I hadn't avowed anything until he said that in front of half the year. Rupert said (again) that he'd like to have a go as well and it was a pity he'd not be of age by Friday. Daft sod. If I'd been born two days later I'd have been out of it as well.

As it was, my birthday was practically forgotten in the Triwizard preparations. The Professors were so nervous about being shown up by Durmstrang or Beauxbatons that nobody did much work - McGonagall seemed to have a morbid fear of the Durmstrang Transfiguration teacher and was terrified that someone would humiliate her in front of him. Either he could give lessons in nastiness to Snape or she was madly in love with him. He never appeared, so I don't know which.

Flitwick took the opportunity to give us an entirely practical lesson in household charms - he told us to clean the South Wing(1),which I'd never heard of. When we got up there I was amazed to find a whole area of the castle none of us had ever been in, with about a dozen rooms including one that we couldn't get into and another full of old - really old - textbooks and stuff, mostly on Divination. Tap, who seemed surprised we didn't know all about the place, nattered away about how the rooms changed places unpredictably or vanished completely, thanks to a bollixed-up Summoning in 17something. When someone asked what the idiots had been trying to Summon, she turned a strange shade of pink and shut up.

After a few hours diligent Scourgifying (and expert 'overseeing' by yours truly in the capacity of resident Charms whiz) the place looked clean enough, though almost completely empty except for that one old Divination classroom and whatever was behind the locked door. If we lost some foreigners in the Wing at least they'd have no complaints about the dirt. Meanwhile, Sprout wanted everything pruned yesterday and Trelawney went into a dead faint at what she 'saw' about the Triwizard competitors (brought on by the sherry hidden under her desk). Fan-Ten, on the other hand, was so distracted by Filch polishing armour next door that he sent us away with instructions to translate four pages of Ingolfr and not come back until Tuesday.

By Friday everything had been cleaned that could be [some wonderful person even bathed Mrs. Norris] and everyone had moved on to discussing the foreign schools, their reputations and whether or not anyone knew their pupils. There were loads of rumours going around - Durmstrang was staffed by ex-Death Eaters and Cossack vigilantes, Beauxbatons' Head Girl was a vampire, both schools were chock-full of half-breeds, miscegenators [Warrington, who knew neither what it meant nor how to spell it] and Dark wizards, Durmstrang travelled on giant sheep and other such rubbish(2).

In the middle of all this bull, a few saner people were talking quite normally about people they actually did know - Cho was overjoyed that Cunégonde had made it into the Beauxbatons party and somebody's cousin from Minsk was coming with Durmstrang. Cunégonde was bad enough, but did this mysterious Byelorussian have to be called Pullayakoff(3)? At least he didn't have a sister called Ivana. The Weasleys actually asked Terry Higgs that; fortunately (for him) he didn't actually hex them.

Two things about the arrival ceremony stick in my mind. First, the size of everything. Beauxbatons had a flying carriage the size of a house - a big house, too. Their Headmistress made it look almost normal; she was nearly Hagrid's size and it was much more striking on someone so civilised. I was half expecting Durmstrang to show up in St Basil's(4), onion domes and all.

I think I'd have been happier if they had. It sounds ridiculous, but the ship they actually used scared me. It looked wrong, somehow. All the individual bits were normal enough, but the whole looked dead, like it had been sitting at the bottom of a lake for much too long. Much, much later, I found that Muggle sailors frighten their children with stories of the Freischiff Durmstrang(5). I can't say I'm a bit surprised; the ship itself is bad enough and every time I meet one of Durmstrang's students I seem to get injured, hexed or murdered, so their stories about the crew are probably understatements. Anyhow, you have to wonder why a school would wear blood red. Did they not want the stains to show?

Viktor Krum stepping out of that nightmare was even more of a shock. International Quidditch stars have no business showing up when everyone's already wound tighter than MacMillan's arse, especially not with a suspicious-looking Headmaster and a gaggle of big blokes in fur coats. Most of the school were too confused by the conflicting signals of 'hide it's scary' and 'oh Merlin it's Viktor Krum. Here. D'you think he'll sign my hat?' to do much more than turn round and get moving into the castle - a few of them trying to get ahead of Dumbledore and catch another glimpse of Krum. The hat-signer was Tap, by the way. She collected Seeker autographs; she even got mine later on. It's probably worth more than any of her others, now. Just like all those old singers, once you're dead, you're sorted for life(6).

As everyone spilled into the Great Hall, there was a bit of a fight for good seats - that is, seats with a view of the Beauxbatons lot, who were at the Ravenclaw table. You won't believe me, but for the first few minutes all eyes were on a very tall Arabic-looking guy with some sort of badge on his robes, who looked like a picture-book Young Hero. You know, tall, dark, with a 'piercing gaze', smart robes, cool hair and all the trimmings. I remember thinking that Ozzy looked a sad disappointment in comparison, never mind our own pet hero, who had 'dark' out of the above but that was about it. Trust the French to have a leader who looks the part. Of course, everyone and his Crup knows who we spent the rest of the year staring at. Thomas Jésuord, Marquis de Somewhereorother - that was our Boy Hero's name, as if you couldn't guess - wouldn't have rated a second glance if she hadn't been wrapped in a travelling-cloak, headscarf and muffler.

I wish our eyes had met across a crowded Great Hall as she took off the muffler to reveal that incredible cloud of silver hair, but they didn't. She turned round, then tossed her head, not at all theatrically but just to get her hair hanging straight, and looked up with an expression that said very clearly 'I don't know why I'm in this dump, but get your acts together and I might deign to stay'. Coming from a Malfoy or a Pucey, that expression would have been an obnoxious sneer. On her, it looked good. Most things did - especially me.

After the initial shock wore off, I wasn't too surprised when she walked straight past the Hufflepuff table and up to Potter, who was eating near the foot of the Gryffindor table. Rupert, never the most graceful bloke, spilt soup over himself when he tried to gawk behind him and eat at the same time. It seemed only natural that a girl like that would want to hang around with the rich and famous, but at the same time bloody unfair that any girl would take a good look at Hogwarts' finest and settle on a runt fourth-year with crazy hair and bottle-end glasses. Good for the rest of us that the rich and famous are also often the short and goofy. Potter, Malfoy, Sue Peverell - all short and ugly, but loaded.

Fortunately [for me], I'd only just turned back to share my indignation with the other lads when she returned to the Ravenclaw table carrying an absolutely huge bowl of something, which I thought the unchivalrous [and unopportunistic] squirt could at least have carried for her. Assuming, of course, that he could lift it himself.

The feast itself was OK, as Hogwarts feasts went - that is, I hardly noticed it at the time and would kill for it now. I did enjoy the French food; having spent two years living in Avignon as a kid I was used to it. Pity Dumbledore had such an English attitude to wine with dinner though, because it would have been hilarious seeing pissed Hogwarts students try to impress a Veela.

Speaking of impressing Veela, Ravenclaw brains didn't stop a number of arguments breaking out at the foot of their table. I heard that odious little crawler Carmichael boasting about his Quidditch-playing [which was shite] and wonderful marks. Meanwhile Roger Davies sat there looking smooth, obviously trying very hard to keep his mouth shut and avoid saying anything stupid. Winner of the Weasley Prize for Idiocy, hands down, was little Dand McAuslan, who'd obviously seen Davies' strategy but hadn't quite got the willpower, so he kept opening his mouth, making a sort of strangled grunt and shutting it abruptly. I think the French just assumed he was having some sort of fit. When he finally did manage to say something - only 'can you pass the shepherd's pie please?', but something at least - they couldn't understand a word he said. Neither could many of the Ravenclaws, but what do you expect with a Glasgow accent thicker than my mother's custard?

The real business of the evening came after dinner, though. I hear the Triwizard Tournament is a regular thing now, with even more safety measures and no deaths since mine. I don't suppose, then, that I need to repeat Dumbledore's explanation of the rules. The other judges were much more interesting anyway. Of the two Ministry types, one was Crouch, an old stick whose career had (according to the rumour which reached us Ministry brats about five minutes behind him) been stalled for ages because his son was a Death Eater. Maybe that was why he looked such a miserable old bastard. Bagman was his usual cheerful self, milking the applause for all it was worth. He didn't seem to look too long at the Hufflepuff table, though. If this was a bad novel, he'd have been unable to meet my eyes from sheer guilt, but I think it had more to do with fear of blackmail. He'd bought my silence once, with season tickets and charm, but I always planned to twist his arm eventually, if I could muster the nerve to go through with it. The shifty-looking bloke with Krum turned out to be Kakaroff, Head of Durmstrang, and the huge woman was appropriately named Madame Maxime, presumably of Beauxbatons.

I didn't have much time to think about them, because Dumbledore got on with things pretty quickly even by his standards. I always liked the length of his speeches, but that one set a record. Maybe he wanted to get away from Kakaroff and Crouch, or just didn't want to spoil too many of the surprises ahead. The obligatory bit about how you would 'certainly face danger blah blah not to be entered lightly blah blah binding magical contract' was entirely expected, and only confirmed my resolve not to enter. As you might have worked out already, I'm not a great fan of the ties that bind - especially if breaking them is going to kill me. That's usually what 'binding' means, though sometimes you get off with being turned into a Squid(7).

As everyone got up, still gabbling, there was a general movement towards the Ravenclaw table. The boys wanted to chat up the Veela and the girls to gawp at Boy Hero whilst searching for something catty to say about the aforesaid Veela. If you really want to, you can find flaws in anyone. As you're wondering, she had a small wart on the side of her right thumb and her arse was a bit on the skinny side for my taste. I didn't bother; I knew that gawping was definitely not suave, sophisticated or impressive. Besides, I knew my limits perfectly well. Cho was possible, Veela were off the menu.

The idiot Weasleys somewhere behind me had also managed to resist joining the crowd - probably because they knew nobody would pay attention to them. They were talking loudly about using an Ageing Potion to get past Dumbledore's precautions. I might have a pretty low opinion of most people's intelligence, but the old man wasn't that stupid. Even Trelawney probably wasn't stupid enough to be beaten by a sixth-year potion. Rupert, who was just in front of me, turned round and said what a great idea it was. Nobody ever accused him of being smart, so I didn't hold out much hope of him managing to make the Potion in the first place.

Meanwhile, the Durmstrang lot formed up like some sort of parade and set off towards the doors in double-time, flanked by larger blokes with black pelisses over their blood-red uniforms. Not really paying attention, I stopped quite abruptly at the sound of Moody's distinctive growl; he was saying something about moving out of the doorway, which was eminently sensible as the Durmstrangers had stopped just inside. Before anyone moved, though, something heavy smacked into the small of my back. I spun round, just in time to catch my little Slytherin, who ... wasn't so little. Short, yes, but she squished nicely where she hit me. Chivalrous to the end (in public), I set her back on her feet, checked she was OK and apologised for being so thoughtless as to be walked into. Selfish I may be, but nobody ever said I couldn't be charming, when it suited me. By the time I turned again, the holdup had cleared and Ravenclaws were streaming past. I noticed Cho giving me a curious look. Maybe she wondered why I was being nice to obnoxious little Slytherins, maybe she was impressed by my kindness and charm, but I like to think she was just a little bit jealous of this girl falling into my arms. Before I could do anything I'd regret, Rupert tapped me on the shoulder

"Hey, Ced, Tap says she'll give me some of her Ageing Potion. We're both going to enter, and Ben is too. Those Russians or whatever they are won't know what hit them. Rupert Alfred Summers, Triwizard Champion. Well, maybe. You and Sarah both have a much better chance. It's got a nice ring to it though, don't you think?" He sounded far too excited, the fool.

"Suppose so. If you can fool anything Dumbledore set up that easily. I reckon we should all just leave it to the heroes and let them get themselves killed." He didn't have a clue, of course, that I was dead serious. If I'd told him so he wouldn't have believed me, just laughed and said I was in an unusually sarcastic mood that day. As I didn't tell him, he just chuckled and went on blathering. I think he might have said something about 'Hufflepuff standing shoulder to shoulder' at one point, but I wasn't really listening. How you can stand shoulder to shoulder in an individual competition beats me, anyway. Maybe he meant that all of us put together might be able to beat one Beauxbatons or Durmstrang student. That would at least have been true.

I didn't sleep easily that night. I don't think anyone did, really. I knew I wasn't going to enter the Tournament, or thought I did, but I couldn't see a way out. With only a day to enter, there'd always be someone in the Great Hall and rumour would get around in no time flat that I'd never put my name in. After my posturing earlier on, people would have given me some damn funny looks when that came out. Fool that I was, I never came up with the obvious answer, which was to 'enter' a blank piece of parchment. I can't believe I didn't think of that, but worry does strange things to people. I can just see Dumbledore snatching a piece of parchment out of mid-air, announcing 'the Hogwarts Champion is...' then realising there was no name. I wonder what the 'binding magical contract' would have said about that(8). Eventually, lulled by Stebbins' snoring, I dozed off.

The next morning, I was up early, along with everyone else in the castle. Unlike them, I didn't choose to get up. No, I was hauled out of bed at 6am by Rupert, celebrating the fact that he'd spent all night brewing up his Ageing Potion and was now ready to put his name in the Goblet and go down in history. He said that he assumed I'd go and enter at the same time as he did, to which I replied,

"How do you know I didn't enter in the middle of the night, Mr. Potions Genius?" I didn't think he could top that, but Ben pointed out that I hadn't left the dorm, and he could be sure of that because he hadn't slept a wink for worrying about the Ageing Potion and what Dumbledore might have set up to keep out underage entrants. At this point, Tap came down from the girls' dorms, where she'd stayed the night so she could get at the Ageing Potion bubbling away in the empty Head Girl's quarters - the Head Girl that year was Elspeth Morrison, a particularly hopeless Slytherin. Looking looked quite disgustingly cheerful for the time of day, especially as she'd obviously had no sleep, she berated Rupert for letting the fire go out. Ben looked admiring as she described how she'd fixed the curdled potion and was nearly sure it would do. Some guys like being lectured, I suppose. Especially when it's some other poor bastard getting the full tongue-lashing whilst they stand by and admire.

To distract her, probably because he wanted breakfast, Rupert sent Mildred off to fetch the Ageing Potion. She came back a minute later, trying very hard not to drop three tooth-mugs(9) full of water with a few drops of Ageing Potion. Ben seemed surprised she hadn't got one for herself, but she was always a bit shy. The three of them, Ben, Tap and Rupert, downed their mugs with the customary grimaces, but only Tap changed - her hair grew an inch or so. All nervous - though for different reasons - we climbed out of the Cellar and made for the Great Hall.

Even at that time there were a few people hanging about the top table. My stomach, not in the best of states after my disturbed night, gave a lurch when I spotted a gaggle of girls, including Cho, Pansy and a half-dozen others. They weren't eating, just standing against the far wall, talking. As I walked in, Cho rummaged about in her book-bag for something. I waved at the other three to go on, and sauntered over to the ladies, looking as suave as I could manage on three hours' sleep. Cho was writing something now, using a spotty fifth-year's back as a desk.

I was about half-way across the Hall when I heard two loud cracks, like tree branches snapping. I spun round expecting Moody to be up to something, but saw McGonagall instead, looking furious. I soon found out why; Tap and Rupert were lying outside Dumbledore's circle, both sprouting incredible beards. In fact, said beards looked suspiciously like Dumbledore's. I reckon he came up with the idea himself. All thoughts of suave forgotten, I literally fell down laughing, as did Ben who'd obviously decided to wait and see what happened before risking his neck - a man after my own heart. McGonagall, to the great amusement of some Gryffindors standing in the door, tugged sharply on Rupert's beard to get him moving. With a wince of pain, he stumbled after her, accompanied by a subdued Tap and slightly worried-looking Stebbins - presumably he was afraid Pomfrey would find out he'd taken the potion too.

I'd completely forgotten about the girls in the excitement, so it came as a shock when Cho tapped me on the shoulder. She handed me a piece of parchment with 'Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts' written on it. I don't think it's possible to be elated and depressed at the same time, but I must have come close. On the one hand, I had Cho impressed with my bravery, so much that she was giving me a token of her favour to wear on my wand arm [well, put in the Goblet, which was near enough]. On the other, I couldn't possibly avoid entering for a highly dangerous competition I'd have cheerfully sold my grandmother(10) to get out of. After no more than a second's hesitation, I decided to make the best of it. At least I could enjoy the admiration for a day, and the odds of my actually being selected were not high. I thanked Cho for her 'gift', kissed her on the cheek and stepped over Dumbledore's line whilst still slightly shocked at my audacity. Sending up a silent prayer to anyone listening, I folded the parchment in two and dropped it into the Goblet. The blue flames blazed red and hot for a second, scorching my fingers, and my entry paper was gone. Gone, at least for twelve hours, and how I wish I'd never seen it again.

(1)The South or 'Vanishing' Wing is known for the tendency of its rooms to change places and/or vanish entirely, according to no discernible pattern. This unusual power was caused by a Ritual of Summoning by some Ravenclaw students which went awry in 1791. From 1943 to 1976 the entire wing disappeared and no teaching has been done in it since its rediscovery.

(2) Remarkably, this was largely accurate except for the vampire Head Girl [she taught Astronomy] and the giant sheep, which was a ship. By the ossified standards of Wizarding Britain, practically everywhere was full of half-breeds and miscegenators by 1994.

(3) A reasonably accurate phonetic rendering of Poliakov.

(4) The main cathedral of Moscow, largely designed by court wizards of Tsar Ivan IV 'the Terrible'.

(5) The 'Free Ship Durmstrang', usually rendered 'Flying Dutchman' in Muggle legend due to the mutual incomprehension of German wizards and English-speaking sailors. The stories tell of a mythical ship cursed to wander the seas for all eternity as a punishment for the crew's misconduct.

(6) A slight misquote of the Muggle singer Jimi Hendrix, who is often but inaccurately presumed to have been a Squib.

(7) 'A Squib' is more conventional and this is probably a transcription error. However, the editor is assured by competent authorities that an Oath incurring Transfiguration into a cephalopod is not impossible.

(8) After consulting two Curse Breakers, three Hogwarts Professors and a Wizengamot elder, as well as inspecting the lit Goblet itself, the most likely (though far from certain) answer is that the Goblet would have spat the blank paper straight back out again.

(9) These are mugs in which toothbrushes and other toiletries, not false teeth, are kept.

(10) Cedric's grandmothers both died in the First War. The going rate for corpses was not high in those days, as necromancy was almost a lost art.