Cedric D was everything you weren’t.

Prefect. Polished. Rule-abiding. Always early to class, tie perfectly straight, shoes always shining.

You? You were the opposite. Gryffindor’s favorite headache. The kind of student who knew all the shortcuts in the castle, and how to charm Filch’s cat into ignoring you. You lived for chaos — or at least, that’s what everyone thought.

So when you were caught sneaking into the Restricted Section, and Cedric just happened to be there doing his prefect rounds, it was only natural that you’d argue.

—“You can’t keep doing this,” he snapped as Mc Gonagall appeared behind him, arms crossed, unimpressed.

—“And you can’t keep pretending you don’t enjoy catching me,” you retorted.

That earned you a week of detention. Together.

In the library.

Reordering centuries’ worth of spellbooks.

Day one was silent, except for the sound of pages flipping and the occasional scoff from Cedric.

Day two… you began whispering snide comments about how boring he must be.

Day three, he actually laughed.

By the end of the week, you weren’t enemies anymore.

You were... something else.

He offered you his sweater when you looked cold. You smuggled in pumpkin pastries from dinner. He explained obscure spells to you; you told him stories that made him snort-laugh until Madam Pince glared from behind her desk.

Then one evening, as you stood on the library ladder, reaching for a dusty volume on magical theory, he steadied your waist from behind — and you didn’t flinch.

—“You’re not what I thought,” he said, voice low.