Everyone loved Cedric Diggory.

That was the problem.

Teachers adored him. Younger students blushed at the sight of him. Even portraits tilted their heads and whispered compliments when he passed.

He was Hogwarts’ golden boy — tall, charming, smart. The kind of boy who smiled like spring sunshine and smelled like peppermint and Quidditch turf. Head Boy material. Perfect boyfriend material. Poster child for being perfectly, infuriatingly flawless.

And you? You were not.

Slytherin. Fifth year. Sharp-tongued. Too clever. Too young to be captain, too good to be ignored. You didn’t smile at teachers. You didn’t soften your voice. You didn’t pretend.

And he made sure everyone saw that.

Because for whatever reason — fate, karma, Dumbledore’s twisted sense of humor — you and Cedric always ended up paired. In Prefect duties. Class debates. House meetings. Shared patrol shifts. It was like the universe itself couldn’t resist seeing what happened when fire met honey.

You hated him.

Because in front of everyone, Cedric was always calm. Polite. Smirking.

He’d say things like, “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that,” or “She just has a lot of… passion, you know?”

While you were left red-faced, fists clenched, voice sharp from yet another biting comment you couldn’t take back.

You looked crazy. Loud. Unhinged.

He looked amused.

And the worst part? He wanted it like that.

Because when the crowds cleared, when it was just you and him in some dusty hallway after rounds — He’d drop the act.

That fake, golden smile would stretch into something smug. Darker. Real. And he’d step a little too close.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said once, arms crossed, watching you pace.

You’d nearly hexed him. God, he was rotten underneath. But only you could see it.

Only you saw the way his eyes glinted when he provoked you. The way he leaned in when your voice rose. The way his breath hitched — just slightly — when your anger got too close to excitement.

Because this? This wasn’t just fighting. It was foreplay.