Who: Zach Smith and Cedric Diggory Where: Beside Astoria's house When: Late Monday night What: Zach is stuck under some mistletoe. Enter Cedric to the rescue Status: In progress
It had been hours.
Hours.
Zach was getting cold, and cast another warming charm on his coat. Explaining his situation to Cedric had been almost painful. How did you admit to a bloke you were interested in that you couldn't get anyone to kiss you? Not that he would ever have wanted to be snogged by Harry Potter - ever, no matter how drunk he had ever been - but one would think the 'hero' would take the time to find someone to come help him rather than walk away, barking laughter like he'd never seen anything so funny in his life. A pretty blond had gone by too, and she had spoken to him for a while but then had told him, point blank, that if he was going to be an arse, she hoped he had a very pleasant night and walked away. Without helping. Then there had been a bloke with a strange hat and there was no way that man was straight. Zach had believed him free at last, but when he had explained what had happened to the strange man, he had simply laughed, patted him on the shoulder and walked away, saying it was a tough break.
Yeah, a tough break. Zach planned on showing him a tough break as soon as he got out of here.
Then Rodolphus Lestrange who, quite honestly, Zach was glad hadn't paid any attention to him; he would prefer to be stuck here for a week than snog Rodolphus Lestrange.
That's what you got for helping out a bitch, Zach told himself. That's what you got for helping anyone at all. Maybe that was why no one else was helping; because they didn't want to take his place. Honestly, if he had known, he wouldn't have helped the bitch either.
So he had asked for help. No way was he putting Cedric in that situation, of having to snog him to set him free. Not that he'd forgotten, even for a moment, the almost-kiss that had happened. The tease. No, Zach remembered it very vividly, particularly in the shower. And then the guilt would hit; seven years' difference and Cedric was supposed to be dead... He was a sick man. A very, very sick man. But nor had he missed the fact that Cedric was washing his sheets every single day, that he took really long showers and that when Zach succeeded him in the loo, the room was cold rather than steamy.
Technically, asking Cedric for help was a cruel, cruel thing, although Zach had to forgive himself; after all, he hadn't asked Cedric to snog him. He had asked for warm blankets. Food. And Zach had no one else to turn to.
He figured the mistletoe had to drop eventually. If he didn't turn around and try to kill every single person who had simply walked by as soon as he got out of here, Zach wouldn't recognise himself.
Zach checked his watch again. Eleven twenty-eight. He had been here almost five hours. How splendid.