ETHEREAL ╱ cedric diggory
*ੈ 🪄 ‧₊˚fifth year ── prisoner of azkaban
──── ❛ ©𝓡𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. ❜
⸝⸝ ʚ ! ⌗ °• 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻, trying to catch smoke .ᐟ
˙ . ꒷ 🌟 . 𖦹˙— . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

     𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑨 𝑪𝑨𝑪𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑵𝒀 of chatter and clinking cutlery as I sat with my friends at the Slytherin table. My fork idly pushed around a rather unappealing pile of mashed potatoes on my plate. Across the hall, the Gryffindors were being their usual loud selves, and I caught Potter's messy-haired silhouette laughing at something Granger said. The sight was enough to make my teeth itch.

     Unfortunately, the noise in the hall wasn't my biggest annoyance of the evening.

     "Can you believe this?" Malfoy's voice carried from down the table, rising above the general din like nails on a chalkboard. "A sprained wrist, and that oaf Hagrid just stood there, acting like it was no big deal! I could have lost my arm!" He held his arm out dramatically, his bandaged wrist on display as if it were some kind of badge of honor.

     I groaned loudly, slumping forward to rest my forehead against my palm. "If I have to listen to Malfoy whine about his wrist one more time, I'm going to lose my mind," I muttered to Cassian, who sat to my right.

     Cassian smirked, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he leaned closer. "Why don't you tell him off, Dawn? You're good at that."

     "Oh, I would, but I'm afraid he'd just start crying," I replied, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. "And then we'd never hear the end of it."

     "At least it's entertaining," Wren chimed in from across the table, resting her chin in her palm as she observed Malfoy's antics with a bemused expression. "I mean, look at him. He's practically performing for the whole hall."

     "Grant," I said, turning to the boy on my left, "do me a favor and pass the pumpkin juice. If I'm going to survive this dinner, I'm going to need a drink."

     Grant, ever the quiet and composed one, handed me the jug without a word, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. As I poured myself a glass, I couldn't help but glance towards the Hufflepuff table. Cedric Diggory sat among his friends, laughing at something one of them said. His laughter was warm and genuine, a stark contrast to Malfoy's theatrical complaints.

     I tore my eyes away quickly, annoyed at myself for even looking in his direction. Cedric and I had never gotten along, and that wasn't about to change now.

     "Did you hear?" a voice suddenly hissed from nearby. I turned my head to see Pansy Parkinson leaning across the table, her eyes wide with excitement. "Apparently, Sirius Black was spotted near Hogsmeade last night."

     That got my attention. I straightened up, my sarcastic retort to Malfoy's whining forgotten. "Sirius Black? Near Hogsmeade?"

     Pansy nodded eagerly. "That's what I heard. The Fat Lady's portrait was slashed, and they think it was him."

     "Of course it was him," Cassian said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Who else would be deranged enough to sneak into Hogwarts and attack a painting?"

     "Why would he come here?" Wren asked, her brows furrowing. "Surely he knows the castle is full of Aurors now."

     "He's after Potter," Grant said quietly, his voice calm but firm. "Everyone knows that."

     I frowned, my mind racing. The idea of Sirius Black — a notorious mass murderer — being anywhere near the school sent a shiver down my spine, though I'd never admit it aloud.

     "Well, if he does show up," I said, forcing a smirk, "let's hope he takes out Malfoy first."

     Cassian chuckled, while Wren and Grant exchanged amused glances. But beneath the humor, I couldn't shake the unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

     Dinner passed in a blur, the conversation about the fugitive fading into the background as we drifted into smaller, less intense topics. By the time we returned to the Slytherin common room, the familiar chill of the dungeon had seeped into my bones.

     The green-tinted glow from the lake above cast an otherworldly hue over the dark stone walls, and the fire crackling in the hearth only made the shadows dance more vividly.

     Cassian was the first to flop onto one of the long, leather couches, pulling a silver cigarette case from his pocket as if it were second nature. Wren followed, curling up in a chair near the fire, her legs tucked beneath her and her arms wrapped around a large book. I dropped my bag near the hearth, taking the armchair opposite Cassian.

     "You know," Wren began, looking up from her book, "if he is still in the Forbidden Forest, how has no one found him yet? Surely someone would've spotted something — tracks, traces of magic, anything."

     Cassian snorted, tapping his cigarette against the edge of the case before sliding it between his lips. "You think the Ministry would bother looking properly? They're too busy fumbling over themselves trying to calm the press. They'll leave it to Dumbledore and the professors, and Dumbledore probably finds it all very entertaining."

     "Entertaining?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You think harboring a fugitive is a game to him?"

     Cassian lit the cigarette with a flick of his wand, the soft glow of the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features. "I think Dumbledore's got his reasons for everything. If this bloke's still lurking around Hogwarts, don't you think he'd know about it? He's not exactly one to miss things."

     Wren frowned, the worry from earlier creeping back into her expression. "What if it's not that simple? What if Dumbledore isn't doing anything because he can't? What if —"

     "Enough with the what ifs," I said, cutting her off gently. "We'll know soon enough. They always catch people like him. The Ministry's a mess, but they're persistent when they want to be."

     Cassian smirked, exhaling a stream of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. "Spoken like someone who trusts authority a little too much."

     I glared at him. "I don't trust them. I just know they're stubborn. They won't let a story like this go unsolved."

     Wren shook her head, pulling her book closer. "I still think there's more to it than we know. Someone like him doesn't just disappear without help. He must have allies."

     Cassian rolled his eyes, leaning back and propping his feet up on the low table in front of him. "Maybe he's hiding under your bed, Wren. Have you checked there?"

     Wren threw a cushion at him, narrowly missing his head. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

     The banter continued, comfortable and familiar, filling the space with laughter and the occasional sarcastic remark. The air grew thicker with smoke as Cassian lit another cigarette, much to Wren's exasperation. I leaned back in my chair, letting their voices wash over me, my mind wandering back to the fleeting thought I'd had in the hall earlier — something felt off, though I couldn't quite place it.

     It was in the middle of Cassian recounting some over-the-top story about a Hufflepuff sneaking into the Restricted Section that the door creaked open. The noise was soft, almost hesitant, and I glanced over my shoulder, expecting one of our housemates. Instead, Cedric Diggory stepped into the room.

     His presence was immediately jarring — not because he didn't belong, but because he carried himself differently from anyone else in the room. There was a quiet confidence in the way he moved, an ease that seemed out of place among the calculated arrogance most Slytherins projected.

     "Lost, Diggory?" Cassian drawled, taking another drag from his cigarette. His tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it.

     Cedric ignored him, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. His brow furrowed slightly as he reached into his robes and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook.

     "Is this yours?" he asked, holding it out.

     For a moment, I couldn't speak. The sight of the familiar, worn cover sent a wave of panic through me. My journal. My thoughts, my secrets, all of it contained in that little book. How did he...?

     "I found it in the hall," Cedric said, filling the silence. "I didn't realize it was yours until I opened it and saw your name."

     The room grew unnervingly quiet. Wren lowered her book, her eyes darting between me and Cedric, while Cassian's smirk grew impossibly wider, clearly enjoying the tension.

     I rose from my chair, my face burning, and stepped forward to take it. "Thanks," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Our fingers brushed briefly as I grabbed it, and I pulled back quickly, tucking the journal into my bag.

     Cedric hesitated, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he nodded. "Be careful with it next time," he said lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

     Cassian let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. "Well, well. Didn't know you and Diggory were on such friendly terms."

     "We're not," I snapped, sinking back into my chair and avoiding Wren's curious stare.

     Cassian exhaled a cloud of smoke, his smirk firmly in place. "Sure didn't look that way to me."