Sitting in the Hufflepuff common room, I found myself surrounded by a group of girls who seemed far more interested in my brother than in anything I had to say. I’d come here hoping to catch up with Cedric, but instead, I’d become the unwitting center of attention for his admirers, each trying to charm their way closer to him through me.

“Some cookies, little Ben?” one of the girls offered sweetly, her smile pleasant yet purposeful. I could tell her kindness was more strategic than sincere.

I shook my head, glancing away. “No thanks, I’m not much of a fan of sweets.”

One of the other girls pouted, visibly disappointed. “What kind of person doesn’t like sweets?” she muttered. Judging by the pile of treats she’d amassed, she’d gone all out, probably hoping to score points with Cedric through a “little brother” connection.

As I endured their attention, my mind wandered to more serious thoughts. I’d already shared the truth about who I am with a few trusted friends. Cedric would need to know someday, too, though the idea sent a wave of anxiety through me. He might understand, but he could just as easily tell our parents, and the thought of their potential disappointment felt like nails on a chalkboard.

Turning to Cedric, I finally voiced my frustration. “Cedric, can we stop playing games? I didn’t come here to find out how many girls have a crush on you.”

The comment had its desired effect. The girls around us went silent, some blushing furiously at the not-so-subtle implication.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “You’re one to talk about popularity with girls. I heard you’ve already got yourself a little girlfriend. Why, I didn’t even have one at your age! Mother’s going to be ecstatic.” He grinned, signaling to the girls that he needed a bit of space.

A few of them retreated, looking embarrassed, though a couple lingered until Cedric gave them a more pointed look. Once they were out of earshot, I winced, realizing that Cedric had likely read my letters to Mother.

As Cedric joked about Hermione, I felt a mix of irritation and… something else, maybe a bit of embarrassment. Yes, Hermione had become my closest friend, but calling her my “girlfriend” didn’t feel right. Even so, she was special to me—someone who understood a side of me I’d hidden for a long time.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Cedric,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my face. “She’s just a friend. A friend who happens to be a girl.”

“Yes, a friend,” he teased, “who also happens to be inseparable from you. And a girl.”

Cedric wasn’t wrong; Hermione had gravitated toward me, relying on my knowledge and abilities even before I’d saved her life. She hadn’t initially planned on joining Ravenclaw, but after meeting me, she’d changed her mind. It wasn’t surprising, then, that people assumed more.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Not funny, Cedric,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Is this really why you wanted me to come?”

Cedric’s expression turned a bit more serious, though his mischievous gleam remained. “Well… truth is, little brother, Mother wrote to me with that assumption. She’s thrilled, actually. She knows Hermione is Muggle-born but doesn’t care. She’s even convinced Father to go along with it.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was exactly the sort of meddling I’d worried about. I gestured for him to continue.

Cedric sighed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s this girl I like from Ravenclaw—Cho Chang. I’ve kept my distance, mainly because… well, you know how Father feels about, er, Orientals.”

I nodded, seeing where he was going with this. “But since I supposedly have a Muggle-born girlfriend, you think he’ll be more accepting?”

Cedric nodded, looking hopeful. “Exactly. And it doesn’t hurt that my little brother is in Ravenclaw, too.”

“Fair enough,” I replied, “but be… tactful, at least.”

“Oh, and Mother’s already asking when you’ll bring Hermione and her family over for a visit,” he added with a smirk. “She’s pushing for Christmas break.”

I let out a long sigh, not sure whether to laugh or groan. “You know, these girls might think you’re charming, but I see right through you, Cedric. You put on this act, but you’re really just a fanboy for those cowboy films. I bet that’s why you think wands are dorky—even though they’re magical tools we’ve had longer than guns.”

Cedric chuckled, pretending to look offended. “Guns are undeniably cool. That’s why I hold my wand the way I do,” he said, striking a ridiculous pose as if holding a pistol.

I smirked. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll help you craft something more to your taste than a wand.”

“Studying wand-making, are you? Planning to replace Ollivander?” Cedric asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly. I’m already working on a magical rifle for my friend, Draco. Maybe I’ll make one for you too, if I figure it out.”

“Why would you make a rifle for your friend?” Cedric asked, genuinely curious.

“Because one of Draco’s strengths is his aim, and wands are medium-range weapons—they lose nearly all accuracy after a hundred meters or so. He’s learning spells well enough, but he has trouble in close combat.”

Cedric laughed. “It’s like you’re training him to be a soldier, Ben.”

The joke struck a bit too close to the truth. Preparing Draco wasn’t just about enhancing his talent; it was about arming him for the conflicts to come. Draco was learning, his perspective shifting, but in the end, only time—and whether he succeeded in gaining Merlin’s legacy—would reveal where his loyalties lay. Merlin wouldn’t choose someone who would side with someone as vile as Voldemort. Merlin had believed in the worth of Muggles just as much as that of magical folk, valuing the strength and potential in both.

“I just want my friends to be the greatest wizards and witches of our era,” I said carefully. “And that includes you, Cedric. If you don’t like wands, I’ll make you a weapon that suits you better.”

His face lit up, and he grinned. “Now that would be the greatest gift—well, aside from having you as a little brother.” He reached over, ruffling my hair affectionately, but beneath his warm expression, I felt a pang of guilt. How would he look at me if he knew the whole truth?

These emotions weighed on me heavily, making me wonder how long I could keep up this game of secrets. This “game” of kept secrets felt less and less like something I could manage and more like a trap I couldn’t escape.