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SD: CH161 - Rising Tensions Part 1
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 15:36:18 +0000 UTCCho had always found the Hufflepuff common room to be the warmest in the castle — not in temperature, but in atmosphere. The golden light from enchanted lanterns reflected off the stone walls in a gentle glow, and the round doors that led to the dormitories felt like the burrows of some peaceful animal rather than the quarters of competitive teenagers.
Which was why Cedric Diggory pacing like a storm cloud felt so utterly wrong.
She’d come in with the idea of comforting him, maybe even teasing him a little about the usual good-natured grumbling she expected after the Ministry’s announcement. Instead, what she found was something cold brewing beneath that golden warmth — Cedric’s smile was nowhere to be found.
“They really think we’re not enough,” he muttered, half to himself.
Cho leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You mean the age change?”
He stopped, turned sharply. “They dropped it to sixteen, Cho. Sixteen.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I heard. Not exactly fair, but it’s probably political, right? I mean it’s a joint decision by the Ministries —”
“It’s an excuse,” Cedric snapped, louder than she’d expected. “An excuse to get Harry bloody Potter to participate in the tournament. It’s like they don’t even think of us as worth anything. I’m a sixth year Prefect. Davies? He’s the Head Boy, even though he’s a smug git. There’s Johnson, and Bole, and so many of the sixth and seventh years that can represent Hogwarts. But no! They want Harry bloody Potter because he cast a protego or two to help that Frenchman, De Lacor something—”
“Delacour,” Cho helpfully supplied.
“Yes, him. So Potter’s the Ministry’s golden boy, and the rest of us are just… placeholders?”
That struck her. Cedric never talked like that — not about Harry, not about anyone. He’d always been the kind to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even people like Zacharias Smith, who didn’t deserve it. Even Davies, who had always been a pain in the arse to Diggory over the years, never got an audible reaction out of him.
But over the past few days, her boyfriend had been increasingly irritable about the Triwizard tournament. At first, she had thought his father must have sent him a letter, but he hadn’t. Amos Diggory was apparently away on Ministry business.
“You think Ha… Potter asked for this?” she asked gently, trying to gauge where this was coming from.
Cedric scoffed. “That’s not the point. It’s not about him asking — it’s about the system bending around him, again. They’ve made it clear. We’re not enough. They had to lower the bar just to get him in. Makes us look like we’re not even contenders.”
She hesitated. There was a tightness in her chest — not fear exactly, but something bordering on it. Cedric wasn’t wrong. Not really. The school shifting. Cedric had been adored as the ‘King Puff’ ever since fifth year, but since the start of term, Hufflepuff House had shifted. Susan Bones, one of the loudest voices in the House, had shifted to Harry’s side. As had Hannah Abbott. She had of course heard about Amelia Bones taking over as the Potter family regent shortly before the summer ended, and already there were whispers about something going on between Potter and Susan varying from a secret romance to rumors of a betrothal round the corner.
It didn’t help that Potter, apart from coming into his family fortune, had the most unfair growth spurt that had him looking like he was twenty instead of sixteen, while filling up nicely in the right spots. Before the summer holidays, he looked malnourished, especially with those baggy clothes, despite all the goodness that quidditch had done to his body. Now though?
Cho remembered glancing at Potter at the Welcome feast. Gone was the baby fat, the malnourishment and those glasses. Instead was a young man as tall as Cedric, with his messy black hair, and a face that was a mix of rugged handsomeness and cunning smoothness, standing with the belief that the world was his to command. She had seen his sharp, alluring, emerald eyes flickering across the hall, as if stalking the entire Hall for prey.
She didn’t know about the other bits, but Harry was definitely a contender now, at least in the looks department.
“Ced… You’re… you’re overthinking it.”
“Am I?” Cedric’s voice rose. “Have you seen how everyone’s talking? Even in our House. People are wondering if we’re just going to roll over and let Potter take the spotlight again. Like he deserves it by default.”
Cho opened her mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.
“Last year, I beat him at the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match. He was stupid enough to go and get shit-faced with the dementors, and fall off his broom, while I caught the snitch. But you know what they say? That I only won because he was surrounded by dementors. As if my own skill doesn’t even matter! Why? He’s got the fame, sure. But I’ve got the record. What I don’t have is a narrative. He’s got a sob story, a scar, and now apparently the Ministry’s backing.”
“Cedric,” she said carefully, stepping closer. “You’re starting to sound like—”
“Like someone who’s tired of playing fair in a game that’s rigged?” he cut in, gaze burning. “Good. Because that’s what this is.”
Cho shifted uneasily. She decided this wasn’t a good time to tell Cedric that she had been dreaming of Potter recently.
“I don’t want to fight Harry,” Cedric said after a pause. His tone softened, but the edge didn’t vanish. “But I won’t let them bury us. Not like this.”
Cho found herself nodding before she could stop. “So what do you want to do?”
Cedric looked at her, really looked, and something passed between them — not quite trust, not quite desperation, but close. “We’re going to talk. Properly. House-wide. I want every Hufflepuff, fourth year and above, in the Common Room tonight. They need to know this isn’t just about Harry. It’s about how we respond when we’re told we’re second-rate.”
“You want to rally them.”
“I want to remind them who we are.”
Cho bit her lip. Part of her still felt this was all too fast, too reactive. But the other part — the part that had watched the Gryffindors eat up the rumor like honey, that had seen Roger Davies nearly explode in frustration at breakfast — knew Cedric wasn’t alone in his thinking.
“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll talk to Summerby and Reed. They’ll get the word out fast.”
“Thank you,” Cedric said, some of the fire in his eyes replaced by something gentler. “Really.”
She offered a faint smile. “Just don’t go full Gryffindor on me and start shouting speeches from tables.”
That pulled the ghost of a grin from him. “No promises.”
As she turned to go, Cho felt the warm air of the common room press against her skin — but it no longer felt comforting. It felt close. Heavy. Like something inside the house had shifted, and there was no going back.
For the first time since the Tournament was announced, she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to cheer for.
As she stepped toward the corridor, Cedric called out again — quieter this time.
“Cho?”
She turned back, one hand still on the rounded door frame. He wasn’t pacing anymore. Just standing there, eyes shadowed by the flickering lamplight.
“Do you think I’m wrong?”
She froze.
Cedric had always been composed — reliable in a way few others were. That question, stripped bare of confidence, shook her more than all his anger from earlier.
“No,” she said softly. “Not wrong. Just… different.”
He tilted his head. “Different how?”
“You’re not usually the one who starts fires,” she said with a faint smile. “You put them out.”
He looked down, one hand rubbing his jaw. “Maybe it’s time someone lit one.”
There it was again — that sense of a tide shifting beneath her feet. And she wasn’t sure if she was swimming with it… or being swept under.
She walked back toward him, each step echoing against the common room stone.
“I’ll help,” she said again, firmer now. “But you need to be smart about this. The last thing we need is Dumbledore catching wind of some sort of anti-Potter movement. You aren’t Draco Rosier.”
Cedric nodded. “No banners. No slogans. Just clarity.”
Cho chuckled dryly. “You’ve been rehearsing that one, haven’t you?”
“Only for the last ten minutes,” he admitted.
A pause stretched between them. Then Cedric said, “You think he knows?”
She blinked. “Knows what?”
“That the rule was changed for him?”
She hesitated. “Maybe? You can never be sure about Potter. Half the things we hear about him, I’m not sure if they’re just rumors or something else.”
Cedric let out a long breath. “That used to be enough of an excuse.”
Cho didn't respond to that. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure it was anymore.
....
....
Later that evening, after classes had ended and dinner had been picked clean, Cho found herself walking the length of the Hufflepuff corridor once more. The hallway was buzzing. Word had spread fast — Summerby, true to form, had passed it to three friends, who’d each passed it to three more. The result was the slow build of movement and murmured expectation in the air, like the pressure before a thunderstorm.
She reached the common room again and slipped in just as the room was filling. Had this been Ravenclaw, the others would have demanded a non-member leave during a meeting, but this was Hufflepuff. And being Cedric’s girlfriend had sort of given her an honorary position.
Cedric stood in the middle like he’d been carved from something older than nineteen — taller, broader, a little sharper around the eyes than the boy she’d met years ago on the Quidditch pitch. He didn’t say anything at first. Just let the silence build.
When it was quiet enough that the only sound was the gentle gurgle of the barrels behind them, he spoke.
"Alright. I won’t waste your time. I know there’s a lot being said. In the corridors. In other Houses. Even in this very room. And I think it’s time we stopped whispering and started talking — honestly. The Ministry lowered the age limit for the Triwizard Tournament. Originally nineteen. Now, sixteen.”
He let that hang in the air.
“They’re saying it’s about inclusivity, but let’s not pretend we don’t know why. They want Harry Potter in the Tournament.”
A few students murmured. Some nodded. A few frowned.
“They’re bending the rules,” Cedric continued, his voice steady. “And it’s not the first time. Every time something happens — the attention, the headlines, the drama — it all circles back to him.”
“You sound jealous,” Susan Bones cut in, folding her arms.
Cedric blinked, but didn’t flinch. “Maybe I am. Just a little.”
The honesty disarmed some. A fifth-year boy near the sofa chuckled nervously.
Cedric continued. “I’ve worked for this. We all have. Studying. Training. Excelling. For most of us, the chance to represent Hogwarts with honor, is a dream. And now, the message from the people above — the people who are supposed to believe in us — is that our dreams don’t matter unless they fit the narrative.”
He met Susan’s eyes.
“I’m not angry because he’s Harry Potter. I’m angry because I’m being told, because we all are being told — quietly, carelessly — that we’re not enough. That Hogwarts needs someone more special. That our years of preparation, of excellence, our dedication — none of them stack up against one boy with a scar. And you know what? That stings.”
Cho stood by the wall, watching the effect. Heads nodded. Shoulders squared. Even the usually shy ones looked more alert.
“I think we all feel it, whether we admit it or not. Last year, I scored Runners-Up at the Under-19 duelling circuit. I’ve got top marks in every Defence course, every TRansfiguration class. I’ve been putting in the hours every single day, quietly, day after day. And I’m not the only one that does. Alicia Spinett from Gryffindor got a chance to intern with the Falmouth Falcons, but nobody talks about that. Roger Davies, our Head Boy, wrote a paper on the Potion of Effulgence, and got an invitation to the Alchemist’s Convention at the Arcanum Magisterium. But nobody writes about that. The Prophet isn’t writing about any of us. It never does.”
The entire hall was now whispering.
“All it takes is one glance at Potter, and everything else falls into the background. If it’s not about the mysterious disappearance of a professor that had attacked him, it’s about him being a parselmouth. Stories. Endless stories. Trips to the mythical Chamber of Secrets, battling some monstrous basilisk that nobody, not even the petrified victims can remember, and if nothing else is available, then it’s about the mass murderer that comes to Hogwarts to attack and kill him. It’s like Potter is the only one worth the media attention, and we’re all just… scenery. Supporting cast. Waiting for the Chosen One to step into the spotlight again.”
Zacharias Smith snorted. “As if! You might as well believe in those Adventures of Harry Potter story books.”
“Then I guess the Bulgarian and French Ministries believe in them too,” snapped Susan, attracting everyone’s attention. “The Wizengamot session? The Minister’s press statements? Am I the only one that did any reading?”
Finding blank faces gawking at her, Susan adopted a condescending leer. One she had seen her aunt employ way too many times at lesser people to stop them in their tracks. One that she had herself gotten face-first several times over the summer.
She exhaled. “You’re not wrong, Cedric. “
That surprised a few people. Even Cedric tilted his head slightly.
“You’re right to be frustrated. You’re right that this doesn’t feel fair. And I know you’ve worked hard. You deserve respect for that.”
She paused, letting that settle — soft, measured, but deliberate.
“But you’re also letting your pride blind you.”
“What do you mean, Susie?” asked Ernie Macmillan.
Susan stepped up and stood next to Cedric, arms crossed but spine straight. Her expression wasn’t of anger, but disappointment.
Just last term, her standing next to him would have demonstrated support. Now, it was a symbol of their House shattering, their faith slowly dividing and falling into chaos.
And there was only one person on Earth that Cedric could blame for it.
The tension in the room returned, a low murmur spreading behind her.
“You talk about the Ministry twisting rules for Harry. But you leave out why they’re bending over backwards. And not just the Ministry — the world. You say they want Harry in the Tournament? You’re right. Because without him, there wouldn’t be a Tournament at all.”
Zacharias scoffed somewhere near the back, but Susan didn’t waver.
“Sebastian Delacour — France’s Minister of External Affairs — gave an interview to the international press less than a week ago. He said, and I quote, 'Harry Potter saved my life and my daughter’s life. He is owed a debt that France will never forget.’ That’s not some school rumor. That’s from the man whose signature was required for the Tournament to even happen.”
She stepped closer to the center of the room now, her voice rising.
“Harry fought off Lucius Malfoy during a diplomatic assassination attempt. He healed the French Minister after he was cursed. And he personally saved him and his daughter from a death trap no fourth year should have even known how to handle.”
Some heads turned. Faces were shifting. Even a few of the seventh-years looked unsettled.
“And while France softened when they’d have nearly pulled out of the Tournament because of that attack, Bulgaria saw an opportunity. They wanted the basilisk sales deal so badly, they started pandering. The Bulgarian Minister gave three pro-Britain interviews, all highlighting Harry’s role. Why? Not for patriotism. Not for Hogwarts. Because they didn’t want to lose face in front of the ICW. And the best way to make Britain look good — was to make Harry look good.”
“Then why not just make him the Hogwarts Champion?” Cedric all but seethed. “Why go through this farce?”
“Because,” said Susan. “The Ministry and Hogwarts actually cares about the dedication you and all of us put through, Cedric. It didn’t make Harry the Champion by default, it just gave him, and everyone from fourth year and above, a chance to become the Champion. If you’re so sure that you deserve being Champion, put your name in and see if the goblet selects you. Yes, the age limit was dropped. Yes, it’s political. But not because Harry’s some Ministry puppet. Because he’s the only reason we’re hosting the Tournament at all. The Ministry didn’t bend the rules for him to get a free ride. They bent them because he already paid the price before any of us even saw the Goblet.”
Cedric opened his mouth, but Susan raised her voice.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t want to compete, Cedric. You’re talented. You’re capable. And you do deserve it. But don’t turn this House into an echo chamber of resentment because you feel overlooked by the spotlight that, frankly, Harry earned in fire and blood.”
There were murmurs now — some in agreement, others uncomfortable.
“And don’t stand there and say we should ‘stand behind Hufflepuff’ if what you mean is ‘stand behind your bruised ego.’”
That landed hard.
“I’m loyal,” Susan said, more softly now. “To this House. To this school. And yes, to Harry. Because loyalty doesn’t mean closing your eyes when it’s inconvenient. It means standing with the people who’ve earned it — even when everyone else wants to tear them down.”
She turned to the room, addressing them all now.
“You want to train for the Tournament? Good. Do it. Be ready. Be proud. But don’t pretend the world hasn’t already chosen its symbol — because whether you like it or not, Harry Potter is the reason Hogwarts is part of this tournament’s history again.”
Susan stepped back. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just firm.
“I’ll support anyone who gets chosen by the Goblet. Including you, Cedric. But I won’t stand by while we rewrite the truth to make ourselves feel better.”
She stepped down, and Cedric staggered, flabbergasted at her sudden and vicious riposte. Cho watched all of her boyfriend’s carefully-built arguments scatter in the ash. For a moment, she wondered if all of this had been a bad idea…
And then Zacharias opened his mouth.
“Yes, Susan. We know exactly where your support lies. Your aunt’s the new Potter Regent. Convenient timing, isn’t it?”
“That’s unfair!” Hannah snapped.
Gasps and murmurs followed.
Susan’s face went cold. “You think I’m supporting Harry because of my aunt?”
“I think you’ve done a full reversal since summer,” Zacharias said. “You used to call him reckless. Now he’s your golden boy?”
Susan stepped forward. “My issues with Harry were personal, not political. But I’ve seen him take blame for things he never started. I’ve seen him stand when people like you would’ve folded.”
Zacharias opened his mouth to retort, but Hannah raised her voice, surprising them all.
“Can’t we just admit that both things might be true?” she said. “That Cedric deserves to compete. That Harry might not have asked for this. That the Ministry’s choices are the real issue, not each other.”
The room shifted. Some heads nodded. Others didn’t.
“Susan is right,” said Cedric at last. “But in a tournament that has already been bent on giving Harry Potter a seat at the table, what’s to guarantee us that the selection won’t be a sham? That it’s all an illusion of fairness, guised under some ancient artefact that’s enchanted to select Potter no matter what?”
“What are we even talking about then?” asked Susan, crossing her arms. “Must there even be a Triwizard tournament?”
Cedric shrugged. “There is.”
Neither said anything. Meanwhile, a camouflaged little lizard listened to every single thing from the wall.
....
....
Similar events were unfolding in Ravenclaw house. Someone among the Hufflepuffs must have shared something with some Ravenclaw, and the next thing they knew, Ravenclaw Common Room was playing host to a similar setting.
The common room table that was supposed to be for homework, but tonight it held only the smoldering remains of civility.
"Just say it," snapped Roger Davies, slamming his palm down hard enough to rattle ink bottles. “Dumbledore’s playing favorites. Again.”
Around him, the common room buzzed, students clustered in tight circles, ears tilted in like dogs scenting blood. Cho leaned forward, watching Roger more closely. Something in his face had gone beyond irritation — it was pride, wounded and bleeding.
“He’s Headmaster,” said Padma Patil, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Favoritism is a strong word.”
“Oh, is it?” Roger scoffed. “First year — Potter gets special dispensation to fly in McGonagall’s class and winds up on the Quidditch team. Second year — the school practically shuts down, and who’s allowed to wander the castle after curfew while everyone else is on lockdown? Third year — Sirius Black, werewolves, private lessons, broom upgrades. And now this year, the Goblet rule just happens to be lowered right in time for him to enter.”
Anthony Goldstien raised a brow. “That’s not Harry’s fault.”
“No, it’s Dumbledore’s,” Roger growled. “And we’re all pretending we don’t see it because Potter has a scar and a sob story.”
A few students snorted. Even Terry Boot, who usually kept quiet, muttered, “He’s not wrong.”
Padma’s voice cut through. “You’re just being paranoid.”
Roger glared at her. “Am I? Are we?Or did everyone forget the Quidditch World Cup? The Death Eater attack? Where was Dumbledore? Who stepped in to ‘save the day’? Oh, right. Potter, who just happened to be there, again..”
“That’s a stretch,” Anthony said, frowning.
“Is it? Or is Dumbledore grooming him?”
The room stilled.
“Grooming him for what?” Padma said, voice hard.
“To take his place,” Roger said. “To be the next Head of the school. Or the Ministry. Or the ICW, for Merlin’s sake. Whatever throne Dumbledore’s eyeing next.”
Frankly, Cho thought Roger was being ridiculous. But there were some things you just didn’t do when your boyfriend was fighting with a similar stance.
“Is it? Because I see the way the staff treats him. I’ve been in meetings with the Head of Houses. I’ve watched how Flitwick makes special notes on Potter. Apparently Dumbledore keeps Potter for last during the teacher meetings. It’s not favoritism. It’s succession.”
“That’s enough,” snapped Su Li, her voice colder than the lake. “He’s a sixteen-year-old boy, not a bloody prince.”
Roger turned to her. “Then why does the world treat him like one?”
A fifth-year girl piped up from the corner. “Because he saves people.”
Roger rounded. “Does he? The way I see it, he’s just that reckless to dive into danger headfirst all the time. A bloody Gryffindor! And somehow, Dumbledore just rigs the point system year after year just to make sure Potter’s House wins.”
“It’s not his fault he’s there,” Padma said.
“No — it’s Dumbledore’s fault for putting him there.”
“Or maybe he just trusts Harry,” said Anthony quietly.
Roger turned on him. “Then he shouldn’t be Headmaster. He should be Potter’s godfather. Because he sure as hell is not treating the rest of us equally.”
“That’s not fair,” Padma said. “Harry doesn’t ask for any of it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Terry Boot chimed in. “He gets it. Power. Recognition. The Goblet age-drop is just the latest example. Cedric’s one of the best duellists Hogwarts has ever seen! I’m going to be a Potions Master and go places. Bloody hell, Cedric and Johnson are both being scouted for the Spring Leagues. This is about representing Hogwarts by the best and brightest, and now we’re supposed to believe that somehow, fourth years need to be given the chance too? Because sixth and seventh years aren’t good enough? That’s not a joke — that’s an insult.”
Another voice — Morag MacDougal, quiet until now: “What if he does get picked? What happens to the rest of us? What happens to the whole point of the Tournament?”
“They’ll call it fate,” Roger said bitterly. “They always do.”
Su Li stood. “You all sound like Slytherins.”
“Maybe they’re just the only ones willing to say it out loud,” Anthony murmured. “Don’t know about you, but I don’t want to see myself just be a pawn on Dumbledore’s chess board.”
There were nods.
And far away in a corner, Luna Lovegood quietly closed her eyes, like she was listening to a conversation only she could hear. She didn’t even care for the tiny little grasshopper that was buzzing around the room.
....
....
Outside the House walls, the castle felt different. Staircases shifted a little faster. Paintings whispered a little louder. The walls listened — and something inside Hogwarts, something older, stirred at the sound of rising voices.
The Tournament hadn’t even begun.
And already, the war had.
Comments
Oscar Jaramillo Villela
Hello, where is chapters 160?
Hadrian v.E.
I love it. Hopefully Harry will be forced to put some overzealous imbeciles down.
