The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXXXVII: This is Bloody Real?

The Draught of Living Death brings upon its drinker a very powerful sleep that can last indefinitely. This draught is very dangerous if not used with caution. This is an EXTREMELY DANGEROUS POTION. Execute with maximum caution.

"I've figured out your trainer situation." 

Cedric looked up. He was sitting at his desk in Potions, reading the instructions for the Draught of Living Death for the fifth time, nervous because Snape had been floating around, looking rather murderous and annoyed, checking the cauldrons, squinting down his long, hooked nose with distaste. Cedric had overheard him commenting to one of the Ravenclaw girls that the potions were a disgrace and thus far none of the cauldrons appeared to have even come close to a passing grade. He'd already added the wormwood and asphodel and stirred twice clockwise, next step was the sloth brain and he was looking for some guidance how to cut it when Herbert Fleet slid onto his stool opposite Cedric.

"I thought you were feeling ill?" Cedric hissed. Herbert had begged off the first half of potions class, claiming he was terribly ill and was going to stay in bed. Herbert, however, didn't look ill at all, and was, in fact, grinning ear to ear and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. "I could've used some help. Have you ever tried powdering root of asphodel? It's a right pain, my wrist is gong to be sore for days." He shoved the bag of sopophorous beans at Herbert. "Here, make yourself useful will you? Extract the juice from these things."

Herbert lay the newspaper on the table, folded to the quidditch news pages, and jabbed a finger at it. "I've made myself quite useful to you this morning, rather, and you'll be right pleased."

"Oh will I?" Cedric asked, sighing and picking up the bag of beans, putting them on top of Herbert's newspaper. "Cut and talk at the same time. You should be able to manage, since you've had yourself a lie-in."

Herbert moved the beans and pointed to a story in the paper. "Look here, Ced. I've managed something pretty fantastic and I expect the proper reaction when I tell you this now. Are you ready?"

Cedric sighed and looked up. "What, Herbert?"

Herbert drew a deep breath and read outloud from the paper: "Chudley Cannons star seeker Oliver Kent has been fired of his multiple-year engagement as trainer of Victor Krum, who recently made headlines playing on the Bulgarian World Cup team. Krum's dismissal of Kent has shocked the world of Wizard sports, especially with Krum's anticipated participation in the upcoming Triwizard Cup."

Herbert looked up at Cedric.

Cedric stared at Herbert. "Yes, I heard about all that."

"You don't know where I'm going with this." 

"No I do not. You're right." 

Herbert sighed and shook his head, "Oy vey, Diggory."

"Will you tell me what you're on about or else start cutting those beans, please?"

Herbert nudged his chair closer. "Now's the time you can start thanking me, Diggy."

Cedric raised his eyebrow.

"I wrote him. I wrote to Oliver Kent. When this whole mess with Krum first broke news? I wrote him then." 

Cedric sighed and picked up the cutting board with the sloth brain and pushed it into the cauldron, which sizzled loudly, splashing a bit, the potion inside turning from the soft lavender shade it was to a dark grey. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad. I wrote him and I told him about you, about how much the Triwizard Tournament means to you, and about what a grand bloke you are. I told him how you're great at quidditch and how we all look up to you and how you bloody a break, how your life's been a bit horrid lately with the divorce and everything and I told him - I said we didn't have much to pay him right at the moment, but if he was willing to put in the work with you I just know - I bloody know you'll win - and that if he stays on training ya that you could be as big a star as him. I told him we'd pay him when you made league."

"You're mad," Cedric repeated. "Oliver Kent isn't going to go for something like that! He's never met me, never seen me play, he knows nothing about --"

"He wrote me back, Ced." Herbert's voice shook with excitement.

"What?" Cedric blinked in disbelief.

Herbert reached into his robes and took out a scroll of parchment, unrolling it, his hands shaking, he laid it out on the table before him, looked up at Cedric, then back down, and read, "Dear Herbert, Thank you for your letter and the compliments -- I told him we were huge fans and how we both have his number jersey and posters up in our dormitory -- I am writing to tell you that I would love to meet with your friend Cedric to discuss the possibility of training. Once, my best friend wrote a letter very similar to this to a great quidditch player that we admired and he agreed to help me. I've been thinking about him a lot recently and it seems only fitting that I should remember the kindness that I was once shown... and pass along the gift of believing in someone who needs a hand up. Write me back with a date that might be good for you and Cedric and I will make it happen. Yours most kindly, Oliver Kent." 

Cedric grabbed for the parchment, staring at it, staring at the handwriting, shocked because it wasn't Herbert's own. Shocked because the words Herbert had said were truly, actually what was written on the sheet. He looked up. "This is bloody real?"

Herbert nodded. "Yeah it is."

Cedric let out a whoop of excitement, making Snape jump with shock at the front of the room before he scowled in disapproval as Cedric and Herbert were shouting at one another, hugging, and jumping up and down.