Stupid Cedric Diggory – Academy Arc Begins

"I want to live without standing out, but I can't just watch that bastard die alone in that graveyard."

June 30, 2014. The Hogwarts Express was rolling back toward London after the end-of-term ceremony. Outside the window, peaceful English countryside drifted past, but the stiff laminated sheet in my hand looked like it had taken a direct hit from an airstrike.

"Ha…… fucking Umbridge."

A deep sigh escaped me. I dug a bottle of pills out of my bag and swallowed them. The cocktail Professor Pomfrey had prescribed for bipolar disorder, insomnia, and half a dozen other things left me foggy when I took it and made my skull feel ready to split when I didn't. As the tablets went down I stared again at the glorious report card I was supposed to hand over to my adoptive father, Uncle Raul. He wasn't the type to chew me out over grades, but both of us had been fretting for years over my stagnant practical spellwork. He kept worrying that I at least needed basic shielding charms; I still couldn't cast anything beyond Lumos.

I fired the reply off to Uncle Raul and sank back into thought.

When I first landed in this world I figured I'd just grow into magic the way the kids in the original story did. Ron, Neville—hell, all of them eventually became solid wizards. Even after I realized this was a parallel Wizarding World where the International Statute of Secrecy had been smashed to pieces, I never imagined I'd turn out to be this much of a magical dud.

The sixteen-year-old magical prowess I'd dreamed of was not "pretty good at Lumos, born Occlumens, and otherwise a complete spellwork eunuch."

Eugene Kim, try believing in magic for once. Scientific analysis of magic has only been going for less than a hundred years. Of course there are more unproven laws than in physics or mathematics. Still, at your age you ought to let yourself be enchanted by the mystery itself. Your peers fell under that spell in elementary magic school and only later started craving theoretical proof—how did you manage to reverse the whole process?

In Common Magic lectures Professor Flitwick had told me the root problem was that I fundamentally didn't believe in magic.

Fucking hell. Thanks to a previous life spent as a lab slave endlessly demanded existential and theoretical proofs by my advisor, I had unconsciously treated magic as "unsolved proofs" rather than wonder. Professor Song and senior Haerin had wanted every letter and number in a paper to have a clear reason and basis; after years of that brainwashing I carried the same attitude into this world. So of course my spellwork lagged behind the others. They had grown up in a world where magic was simply normal; I had dropped in overnight from a world where science was normal.

Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration said that to use magic you needed desire. You mustn't be consumed by it, but if you controlled it properly you could become a greater wizard. Then she had smiled and added, "Eugene Kim, the only desire I can see in you is the desire to make money."

The kind, strict Deputy Headmistress who had even noticed I was more obsessed with Bitcoin than with O.W.L. prep. Even you can't kill my hunger for wealth and comfort, ma'am.

I just wanted to make a ton of money, put distance between myself and this world, and live a quiet life. Become an anonymous rich nobody in Monaco, order room service whenever I felt like it, blow a day's interest at the casino every night, surrounded by beautiful women. Tony Stark before the cave, only without the fame. That was the dream.

"Why the face? Looking at the report card again? Why do you keep throwing yourself into the pit of despair? If you're dizzy, take your meds."

The compartment door opened and a halo of light spilled in. Handsome face, easy smile, good family, good personality—the walking cheat-code character. My best friend and roommate, second-year Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory.

"Where are the others?"

"Gone. Penny's mum went into labour out of nowhere. The second she got the call Karina shoved her into their car and they flew to the hospital."

Right after the ceremony Penelope's phone had rung, her face had gone white, and Karina had hustled her friend into the family car without missing a beat.

"So why did Percy tag along? Is he going to the hospital too?"

"Nah, he's getting off halfway and heading home."

"To the Burrow? Why the hell would he take such an inefficient route?"

"My theory is the bastard just likes riding in Karina's limo. He cadges lifts every chance he gets."

Ah. Percy Weasley. Snobbish and honest little shit.

"Cedric, is there a spell that changes letters on paper?"

"That's forging official documents. Get caught and you might end up in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Azkaban. You didn't hit the top three hundred in practicals like you promised Uncle Raul, so you're off to Weybridge Academy, huh? Tough break—I hear that place is brutal. They throw you into simulations the second you walk in."

Cedric was fiddling with his iPhone 5s right where I could see it. Subtle bragging about the prize he'd won this year, no doubt.

"Let's grab a drink. Looking at this report card is making my throat burn. I bet the second I read it some invisible ancient runes auto-cast Incendio down my gullet. Throat's on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fire."

"I dunno. I think Uncle Raul, the guy paying your tuition, is the one whose insides are on fire. More like Bombarda than Incendio."

"You wanna die for real?"

We traded nonsense all the way down the corridor to the refreshment cart.

"Oh right—about Weybridge Academy. You guys are all coming too."

"What? Who decided that? I've got to go to Paris. Don't mess with me."

"Your dad already registered everyone. The parents sorted it out among themselves ages ago. Looks like all ten of them were just waiting on my report card. The destiny of a star, I guess. For the record, Bill paid for Percy. All five of us are spending the holiday together. Isn't that wonderful news?"

"Bullshit. Hello? Dad? Eugene's spouting some weird nonsense. I trust you, but just in case…"

Crazy bastard. Instead of believing his friend's honest words he immediately called Uncle Amos to check.

"What? For real? Dad! You know I was supposed to spend the summer in Paris with Karina at Fleur's place! What? Fifteen percent group discount? You, Uncle Raul, Uncle Yoo Seong-heon, and Uncle Arthur all agreed? No, Dad… that's not the point. What about my holiday? What about my dates with Karina?"

Mature, sweet, and kind to the entire world—yet a whiny child only with his own father and with us. Stupid Cedric Diggory.

He hung up eventually, flopped onto the sofa beside me where I was staring blankly at the ceiling, and dropped down with a thud.

"Ha…. Dad. Do Percy and the others know about this?"

"You're the only one who didn't. While you were giggling about your tournament win I already told everyone. I've never seen Jihyun—sorry, Karina—lose it like that. You have no idea what your girlfriend's temper is really like, do you? When she smiles while she's angry she's terrifying. You need to wake up to the true face of Karina Jihyun Yoo."

"What's wrong with Karina? She's the nicest person alive. She never gets mad at anyone except Percy. This is insane. Penelope and Percy must have flipped out too. All of us going to that expensive place… and during the golden summer of second year. Once we hit third year and pick electives there won't even be proper free time in summer. This is all your fault, you bastard. You should've just done better."

"You could've helped me out a little. And look on the bright side—it's a good opportunity."

"What good opportunity? The opportunity to murder your ass, Eugene. The others will back me up."

Two months of academy tuition ran about fifteen million won in Korean money—over twenty-five hundred Galleons. I'd lost the bet fair and square, but I wasn't actually upset about going. With Cedric's ranting as background music I kept staring at the report card and following the thought ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that had been circling all day.

This can't go on.

It was June 2014. Four years from now—June 2018, give or take—when we would be sixth-years, the 2017–18 Triwizard Tournament would open. In the original timeline the kind-hearted friend sitting right in front of me dies on the cold floor of a graveyard as a sacrifice for the resurrection of a bald serial killer. For the record, that bald bastard who couldn't even take over one high school in the books is, in this world, a Thanos-level lunatic who has already slaughtered nearly two million people across the globe.

"Uh, looking for something? Oh, you still suck at English, huh? Hang on… Boss, he wants to know if cards work?"

"Tell him yes, Cedric. Thanks—I was in a bit of a bind myself. Want a free drink? On the house for you and Eugene."

"Thank you, ma'am. Just mine, please. Eugene doesn't need one."

My friend had already wandered over to the entrance of the refreshment car and was cheerfully solving a communication breakdown between a first-year who looked like a Pakistani exchange student and the snack-cart witch with Google Translate. The guy clearly had DNA that couldn't stand by while someone else was in trouble. Someone like him ought to go into politics. And while he was at it he was rejecting the free drink offered to me and flipping me off.

Cedric, you perfect fucking bastard. I cannot leave you alone on that graveyard floor.

If I had one single magical desire, it was this: keep this idiot from dying in the Triwizard Tournament. Knowing a friend's scheduled death and just shrugging it off because "the original plot" or whatever… honestly, that would be disgusting. Wanting to live without standing out was fine; wanting to hide without even trying to save one friend was not. If this bastard died lonely and alone like in the original history, then what the hell was the point of me being sent here? I still didn't know who sent me or why, but the reason I had found for myself was simple: save this excellent, upright, unfunny-joke-telling, Korea-loving idiot Cedric Diggory. That was enough.

"Here. Gatorade, right? I got it as a special freebie. Almost didn't take yours."

"Thanks. Food?"

"We'll eat near the station after we get off. Everything on this train tastes like cardboard. What are you withdrawing, anyway?"

I set the Gatorade Cedric handed me down carelessly and was pulling cash from the refreshment car's ATM.

"Gotta call a black cab today—they only take cash. Figured I'd get it ready."

"Uncle Raul isn't picking you up?"

"Urgent business trip, as usual. I don't feel like dragging this suitcase onto the Tube alone, so taxi it is."

"Why not just take the Knight Bus? Want Stan Shunpike's number?"

I flipped Cedric off lightly while he snickered, stuffed the notes into my wallet, and let the words "Knight Bus" echo in my head.

Two years from now—one year before Voldemort's return, right after Sirius Black's escape—Harry would ride that bus. What would I be doing then? Would the idiot laughing and talking nonsense beside me be Hufflepuff captain like in the original? Would third-year Harry and fifth-year Cedric be complaining about the Quidditch matches cancelled because of Sirius Black?

If I didn't want to die as Extra Number One on the day Voldemort returned, and if I wanted to protect my friends, I had to get insanely strong. Stick to the original flow only as far as Book Four. That was the only window where I could save Cedric. After that the Order of the Phoenix, the Horcruxes—they could all go fuck themselves. I would save this bastard in the Triwizard, hit the crypto jackpot, and say goodbye. I crumpled the report card and shoved it into my pocket.

"Hey, let's go early tomorrow. Scope out the atmosphere."

"You crazy bastard. Eugene Kim, are you sick? Or looking for a fight? Just show up—why do you need to 'scope the atmosphere'? Oh right, because of you my entire holiday plan is toast. You bastard, that's why you should've tried harder. Aaaaaargh! The more I think about it the more pissed off I get."

July 1, 2014, 9:00 a.m. sharp. Slughorn-Weybridge Academy.

We arrived at the front gate in Uncle Amos's car. A gold-leaf statue with Horace's face prominently featured gleamed as if it had been finished only yesterday. The suspiciously smooth road leading into the back hills looked freshly paved. The moment we opened the building door an alarm blared.

"Dude, maybe coming early was a bad idea? There's nobody here."

"Nobody? They're watching us on CCTV—"

Before Cedric could finish grumbling, a low voice rolled out of the corridor speakers.

"Turn left at the corner, take the elevator to B2. Don't wander. Come straight down."

"Um… what about the bathroom…?"

A brief silence. Both I and the voice in the speaker were too dumbfounded to speak.

"…Cedric Diggory. Nothing on the application about chronic digestive issues… Thirty metres straight, end of the corridor, turn right."

"Thank you. My stomach just suddenly…"

We waited about thirty minutes for Cedric to finish his emergency sprint. He emerged looking sheepish, apologising for the delay, and we rode the elevator down to B2. The doors opened onto a forest of Pensieves and a huge whiteboard in the centre. Standing on the raised platform between them was a tall, solidly built Black man.

"Eugene Kim. Son of Raul, Head of Gringotts Inspection. Cedric Diggory. Son of Amos Diggory, Managing Director of Gringotts Operations. Correct?"

"…Are you the Soul Stone guardian or something? Why the sudden name-drop of our parents?"

"What the hell is a Soul Stone? Eugene. Yes, sir, that's correct."

"And the other three friends who registered with you?"

"They'll be here soon."

"Class starts at ten sharp. Why are you early on day one? It's only nine-thirty."

"We actually got here at nine. Someone with a nervous stomach spent half an hour in the loo."

"…Sorry. When I get tense my stomach just…"

The cold voice filled the underground classroom. The man on the platform was Marcus Weybridge, sharp-eyed and looking like the words "I am a ridiculously strict, solemn, serious hard-ass" had been stamped across his forehead.

"This is not your playground. Don't just stand around waiting—we'll start early."

Marcus pointed his wand at the enormous basin in the centre of the room. Silver liquid rippled inside—Slughorn's Special Pensieve.

"I'll skip the explanation. Learn by dying. We're going into my memory from 2002."

"Hang on, Instructor? At least a basic orientation…?"

Cedric looked flustered. Marcus considered for a second, then continued with a blank face.

"I'll have to brief all forty of you later anyway. You two just showed up early for the free death-demo version, so it's probably unnecessary, but…"

"Knowing what we're walking into makes the experience actually useful."

"Fair point, Eugene Kim. Situation only, then. August 13, 2002. Near London, U.S. forces hunting Bellatrix Lestrange accidentally stumbled across Sirius Black. The Ministry immediately mobilised every Auror from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Magical Police. Result, as you know: successful capture of Sirius Black. Clear?"

"You skipped way too much of the middle!"

"Filling in that middle is the entire point of the lesson. Your way, not mine."

My expression must have soured, because Marcus stepped closer.

"That face says your body is itching for action. Climb into my body and catch Sirius Black. Kill him or arrest him—your call."

His wand shoved me hard between the shoulder blades without mercy.

"Wha—hey! Wait! Don't push—aaargh!"

The world flipped. Gravity vanished. The fragrant fine dust of 2002 London and the metallic reek of blood slammed into my nostrils. Before I could even orient myself, an explosion hammered my ears.

And that was how the worst summer holiday of my life—no, hell training—began.