Having Cedric Diggory as a brother wasn’t exactly easy.

At Hogwarts, he wasn’t just popular—he was damn legendary. The golden boy of Hufflepuff. Quidditch Captain. Prefect. Top of his class. A name whispered with admiration in every common room and corridor.

And you? His little sister? You weren’t even a student at Hogwarts yet.

Still, you heard all the stories. Every letter sent home, every owl from your brother was filled with snippets of his wonderful adventures—handwritten notes filled to the absolute brim with ink, corners of parchment dirtied, most likely from Quidditch.

You’d spend evenings perched by your bedroom window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over your face, as you reread his letters under orange candlelight, dreaming of the day you would join him at Hogwarts.

And then one morning, the dream became real.

The owl arrived with your acceptance letter, and before you knew it, you were there, wandering the same stone halls your beloved brother had collected so many memories in.

But there was one tiny, terrifying problem. You were Cedric Diggory’s little sister.

You inwardly facepalmed, realising that attending the wizarding school where your brother was practically a celebrity could be very, very bad.

As you strolled down winding hallways, some girls looked you up and down with wide eyes, whispering about how much you resembled him. Others gave you side glances filled with curiosity, envy, or both.

Even a few boys did a double take, not because of your last name but because it was painfully obvious that good looks apparently ran in the family.

You felt the weight of a thousand expectations pressing onto your shoulders as you pushed open the grand doors to the Great Hall, a few other first-years following suit. Levitating candles shimmered above, the smell of freshly-baked pasties drifting through the air, and hundreds of curious gazes turning your way.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and let a small smirk play at your soft lips. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad after all.