I don’t know when it happened, but for a few weeks now whenever Cedric Diggory and I run into each other, our exchanges consist on a few remarks about each other team’s, followed by the pair of us sending minor jinxes to the other. Marietta says it’s our way of flirting, and I reckon she’s right.

He laughs his way through our small duels, dancing his way around the few hexes I shoot at him, and I hate myself for purposely aiming at anything but him, just to hear the sound of his laughter. Not that actually aiming at him would make a difference; Cedric has the sharp reflexes of a keeper, the daring mind of a beater, and the agility of a seeker. For someone as tall as him, he is exceptionally light on his feet and possesses an easy grace that is usually reserved for shorter people.

But Cedric doen’t own the scheming mind of a beater. Just as I’m about to fake an injury to get at least a better shot and say ‘Rictusempra,’ it strikes me that I know more about him than I should.

He tilts his head to once side. “You okay there, Chang?”