Little Talks | Fred Weasley x Cedric Diggory

Thirteen.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely not."

They're standing on the shore of the lake, looking out over the water. Side by side, arms linked together for good measure. Outward appearances tell the world that everything is fine and that everything is calm. The inner workings of one body in particular tell otherwise.

Little things give true dispositions away. Cedric has his jaw clenched tighter than normal and his free hand is in constant motion, the fingers wriggling all around, unable to remain still. Fred depends on brief glances to his side, optics scanning over the features of the other. It is, however, mostly internal. Both remain quiet but their thoughts are screaming. They talk of panic, stress, of apprehension.

For Cedric, the single most important day of his life thus far is approaching. The day where he has the chance to truly make his parents proud, to make his entire school proud, to show to everyone that he was always worthy of their appreciation and support. That brings pressure beyond the ideal amount. His talent is without question. Skills have been trained for weeks, for months, to prepare for this event. And yet, there is so much tension rising through his muscle, making it feel as though his skin is tightening and as though he is being forced out of his body. The most uncomfortable feeling imaginable. The weight of the world, situated just between his shoulders, bearing down hard.

For Fred, he has to confess fear to himself. That was a new experience. Of course, he had been fearful before; no human alive could lie and say they were never afraid. This time was different. More real. It was accepting the fact that genuine danger was right in front of them, taunting the security of the very foundation on which their courtship rested. Life. This was not the time for jokes, an extremely foreign concept to Fred. Up until that point, any discomfited scenario had the potential of being eased by some good humor. Family arguments, disagreements with teachers, squabbles with friends, they could all benefit from a stupid punchline. At this moment, Cedric deserved better than a witty companion. He needed someone who was truly supportive, someone who could inspire his best mental state, someone who could manage to lift even a minuscule portion of the pressure. Fred had to be that person. He has to be brave.

And he was scared.

He tries not to show that. His face gives no signs of complete and utter hysteria. That, at a minimum, was helpful to Cedric.

The Hogwarts champion squeezes the arm he has a grip on hard and turns his head to look at Fred, eyes begging for some assistance, to make him feel better.

"What if I'm not good enough? What if I get in there and make myself look like an idiot?"

Action is taken immediately. The link is broken in favor of a close touch. Hands reach for his face, cradling pale skin. Thumbs run over cheekbones, a standard procedure for an embrace as intimate as this one. Best of all, there's a smile. It is manufactured to be as comforting as one could be, when its owner is suffering from the same level of stress as its recipient.

"There is no one in this entire school better than you are. You'll never admit that, but I promise you that it is completely true. Why do you think a hundred people are sitting up in their dorms right now painting banners with your name on them?"

"I don't think that's-"

"Because they believe in you. Just like I do."

The idea takes root. Cedric allows his lips to move into an expression resembling relief. A sigh is released. Facial features soften, including the tension in his jaw. Arms slide around the waist of his love, initiating a gentle grip, soft enough not to leave any identifiable pressure.