Cedric Diggory sat up in bed, gasping, tearing at the blankets that weighted him down as though he were tearing off the twisting arms of a kraken. Even once the duvet and the sheets had been violently kicked away, he still patted himself down, half expecting to feel the divets in his skin where the suckers of the kraken's tentacles had stuck onto his flesh. He was panting, looking around the moon-lit room, sweat beaded on his forehead.

In the next bed, Herbert Fleet was sitting up as well, legs thrown over the side of the bed, looking over at Cedric with wide-eyed concern. "Diggory?"

Cedric couldn't speak, his throat felt like it was tied up in a knot. He waved his palm, trying to tell Herbert he was alright without words, but the truth of it was he wasn't alright and that was too plainly on his face. Herbert slid out of his bed, kicking his feet into his slippers, and waving for Cedric to follow him. Cedric nodded and got up, too, barefoot, following Herbert out the door of the boys' dormitory and into the common room. 

The hearths were alight, glowing low and orange, filling the Hufflepuff common space with heat. The pair of them went to their favorite space - a deeply comfortable orange couch with thick cushions. Herbert sat on one end, back against the arm of the couch, his legs folded up before him, and Cedric sank into the the other end, leaning back into the cushion and running his hands through his thick hair, looking up at the exposed rafters. There were thick-furred cats lazing about up there and potted plants with hanging vines, bushels of potions ingredients that students were growing themselves or herbology projects they'd kept the clippings from.

Herbert didn't ask about the nightmare, he just sat and waited, allowing Diggory time to process. Cedric's breaths slowed and evened out as he watched a heavyset calico cat's tail flicker high above as it hung over the rafter's edge.

Cedric looked over at Herbert after several long minutes of silence.

"We were playing quidditch," Cedric said, his voice a low rumble in the back of his throat, quiet so not to be heard, though nobody else was awake. Herbert's eyes centered on Cedric's, listening intently. "My Dad was there," he said, "And my Mum, but Dad's who I focused on most. I was trying my best, but it wasn't going so well. We were playing Gryffindor and my Dad kept on shouting - 'Go on Ced, you're better'n that Potter ain't you?' and suddenly next thing I know the pitch isn't the pitch, it's an arena and we're in the middle of the triwizard tournament and there's a gigantic pool of water and suddenly there's the kraken and me Dad's shoutin' how I'm going to best it and the next thing's next, the bleedin' thing's tentacles are all 'round me and it's suckers are on my skin and I'm going down and --" Cedric fell silent.

Herbert murmured, "Kinky." Herbert's smile was gently teasing.

Cedric said, "Shut up, Fleet."

Herbert rested his head against the couch back and stared at Cedric, who turned to look back up at the ceiling again. The calico cat had pulled his tail back up and curled it 'round his haunches, tucked his nose under it, and fallen asleep. 

"You know, Diggory," said Herbert, "I think you have a complex."

"A complex?" Cedric asked, looking over. His eyes were glistening and though he would never admit it, he'd been damned near to crying. 

Herbert could tell but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Yeah," Herbert said, "A complex. Always wantin' people to explain why they're proud of you and insisting they haven't got a reason."

Cedric shrugged.

Herbert said, "You know people can think you're brilliant and the only reason they need to have for it is that you're you... He can be proud of you just because he's your Dad and you're his kid, you know? He doesn't need any other reason to be."

"Maybe. But I need him to have a reason."

"Why?"

Cedric sighed, "Because I want to know I deserve it?"

"Well I'm proud of you, you dumb fuck," Herbert said. "And I have a reason."

"Yeah? What's your reason, Fleet?"

"Because you're a damn good quidditch player. You're my Captain. You're a bloody hero to all us Hufflepuffs. I mean, damn Ced, we never get any recognition and then boom there's you being all great at quidditch. You're the best quidditch player in Hogwarts. So what if Potter's the youngest Seeker in a couple decades --"

"...century, rather," Cedric muttered.

"-- you're still a better over all player."

"Been doing it longer," Cedric argued.

"It doesn't matter, the kid could learn some stuff from you. And besides quidditch, there's also just the fact that you're an actually decent guy."

Cedric looked over again. "You're a decent guy, too, Fleet."

"You could tell me sometime you know, you great scab," Herbert joked. "I deserve some recognition for the shite I put up with from you, too, you know, you bastard. It isn't all sunshine and roses following you around, worshipping at your feet you know. Always having to explain why I'm proud and what have you..." Herbert was grinning and Cedric laughed. Herbert reached over and nudged Cedric's knee. 

Cedric said, "I'm proud of you too."

Herbert grinned. "Ah it's music. Say it again."

Cedric threw a cushion at him.

Herbert caught it and tucked it under his chin, laughing. 

Cedric closed his eyes.

After several moments, Herbert said, "You don't have to put in for the triwizard thing. I know I've said it like a thousand times already to you but I really want you to know that if you're scared of the kraken --"

"They'd never do another kraken," Cedric laughed, shaking his head.

"--or whatever they might have this go 'round --" Herbert added emphatically, "Literally, you're the one imposing this on yourself. You don't have to do it."

Cedric drew a deep breath. "I do, though, Herbert, that's the whole thing, isn't it? I just want to feel like I've accomplished something. Anything. You know, I don't really know what I want to do when I finish up school, even... My Dad still talks about quidditch like he expects me to go pro, but I couldn't ever. The scouts that have come out haven't even talked to me at all and I haven't really got any other real passions, you know? What if I get through this year and I fall on my face and he realizes he was an idiot being proud of me all this time? What if he suddenly realizes I haven't done a damn thing to earn his bragging? I gotta do the thing, Herbert. I've got to."

Herbert studied Cedric again for several moments, then said, "Alright then I think we need to get you a trainer."

"A trainer?"

"Yeah. Someone who will see to it that you're fit and ready for anything."

Cedric raised his eyebrow. "Is that a thing to do for the Triwizard?"

"Dunno," Herbert shrugged. "But sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission and honestly, what's the worst they can do? Disqualify you from volunteering to play in their little games?"

Cedric thought about it a moment. A trainer. Maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible idea... and maybe if he got a trainer, maybe even if he didn't end up in the triwizard tournament... maybe they could help him with his quidditch. Maybe they could get the scout's attentions on him next term, when the scouts came from the League in the Spring. Maybe he could be discovered like Krum, like he'd read in Quaffle Talk Magazine.

"Where am I going to get the money for a trainer, though?" Cedric asked.

Herbert snorted. "You're talking like you aren't a spoiled little bastard with parents that fawn at your feet like your toes are made of gold."

"My parents can't afford a trainer, I'm sure they're terrible expensive to pay."

Herbert said, "I dunno, maybe it's not as much as you think. I mean, maybe they volunteer. My Dad used to volunteer to do pee-wee quidditch, you know? Nights and weekends after he got done his real job?"

"I doubt it."

"Doesn't hurt to look into it, does it?" Herbert asked.

Cedric murmured, "Yeah I s'pose it doesn't hurt to look into it."

"I'll fell better about the whole tournament thing if I thought you'd been training at least."

"And we both know what matters most is your comfort," Cedric said, smirking.

"It is what matters most, you self-centered prick," Herbert joked and he tossed the cushion Cedric had thrown at him back at Cedric. "Next time you're having a nightmare, I'll bloody let you go on until kraken eats you."

Miles and miles and miles away, in London, on Grimmauld Place, in the bedroom on the third floor, Sirius Black lay in the bed staring up at the green velvet curtains that covered the bed. He, too, had been having a nightmare, though not of krakens and their tentacles. He felt paralyzed, unable to move or shake off the tangled mess of feelings that wove through him, dark as smoke.

Outside, thunder rolled and lightening flashed and the room lit with the brightness then plunged into darkness again.

Sirius closed his eyes.

If he strained hard, he could almost hear the sound of Regulus's feet on the stairs.

He could almost hear the frantic knocking on the door.

"Sirius!"

Sirius's knuckles locked around the sheets beneath him. "What is it, you ickle sodcake?" he whispered so quietly now that his voice barely made the sound. It was almost entirely a breath, except for the slightest wheezes that escaped his vocal cords. 

"Sirius, I want you to know that I am sorry for the things that I have done in my life, but most especially for the things that I have done to you and the things that I did not ever do for you. I regret so much..."

His knuckles were white with the strain of how hard he was gripping those sheets.

Was the room spinning?

Or was that the empty firewhiskey bottle on the floor causing that awful, uneven feeling in his belly?

He wasn't sure.

"Is the Master needing anything of Kreacher?" came a croaky voice beside the bed.

Sirius didn't answer. He couldn't. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he wanted.

Well, except for one thing.

He wondered where Remus was.

He thought for sure Remus would have come by now.

Sirius closed his eyes.

"Kreacher has done his duty, asking if there's anything needed of him, but the Master does not answer Kreacher, it is not Kreacher's fault he is not given orders to fulfill," the elf muttered, "No, no, not Kreacher's fault... Kreacher thinks the Master has gone mad, perhaps..."

Sirius grit his teeth.

The elf shuffled toward the door. It opened and closed and Sirius reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation when he heard the little flap of a peek hole open with a squeal of metal. Kreacher would sit outside and listen, like he used to do when Sirius was young.

Outside, the lightening flashed again.

If he kept his eyes closed and he strained real hard, he could hear the sound of Regulus's voice.

"Tell me the story, Sirius..."

Sirius bit his lips as the thunder rolled so loudly that the window panes shuddered and rattled in the frame.

And so Sirius did what any good big brother would do.

"Once upon a time," he muttered into the darkness, "There was a dog named Snuffles..."

Remus was sitting in the little room at the Hog's Head Inn, where Dumbledore had paid to put him up for the night, a glass of wine on the table in front of him. The bottle was an old vintage and had been stuck into a small bag with a packet of information and instructions for the help that Albus Dumbledore had been asking for. It had been delivered by owl an hour before, awakening Remus with incessant pecking on the glass of the window. Frustrated with the persistent bird, Remus couldn't go back to sleep after that and so he had pulled out the bottle first, poured himself a glass, and was now opening the envelope.

On top of several reams of information lay a note:

Old friends of yours are on the move again in Iceland, in the old village there. Rumors that they've been approached by You Know Who... We need to know what he is offering them and in exchange for what? What does he stand to gain from the werewolves? Is it just for fighting purposes or are there darker plans that we yet know? I trust you, Remus, and I know that you can get us the intel that we need to take necessary actions against our enemies... You did it once. Surely, you can do it again.

Remus sighed and dropped the letter down onto the table.

He downed the rest of the wine in a single go.