Hi

Title- Just Stacey

Author- 4give4get

Rated- T

Pairing- CedricxOC

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter. I am not a rich, English woman, I'm a poor (okay, not really) fourteen year old, American wanna-be writer! SNIFF Anyway, Harry Potter is property of Joanne Rowling, not me.

Serena- Okay, this idea just sort of… came. So please read!

Chapter One; Welcome to the Cedric Diggory Fan Club!

Hi. My name is Stacey….. er, just Stacey, and I'm your average Cedric Diggory fangirl. Of course, the love of my life has never even looked in my general direction even ONCE, because I'm Stacey, just Stacey and hide my face behind books whenever I can.

If Cedric is even really in the same vicinity as me, I turn and hide in the first place I think of. If I have to crawl under a desk in the library, so be it. I will get down on all fours and shove myself under there, choking on dust bunnies and wondering if I'm getting anything more than I bargained for in my hair. But, Oh! My heart is racing and my hands are trembling—it can only be love!

On lucky days, I might be able to make out him speaking. I even feel at home in a spider web-y, dusty underside of an ancient desk if I can at least hear Cedric laughing with one of his friends, or whatever. Of course, I'm so crammed in there, my knees are touching my forehead, but my darling Cedric is there, right?

Well, er, no. Actually not. Unfortunately, my darling Cedric is not actually my darling Cedric. He never was, and never will be. Hey! But that's really okay, I've accepted that in about third year, when I first noticed him. Or was it second? Who knows—it's love, okay?

I'm fifteen years old and in my fourth year here at Hogwarts. I'm known sort of as The Smart Girl if I'm ever even noticed (rarely, as it is) so I'm a proud member of Ravenclaw. I have zero redeeming qualities. My best friend in the world, Bethany says that's not so, but really it is.

My appearance—dark hair, darker eyes, and pallid skin. I might not look SO bad, if I didn't have my tacky glasses. Of course, no offense to anyone reading this. We should unite and be proud! If this applies to you, say it with me: "I am a proud owner of tacky glasses! I don't care what anyone says—I will look as tacky as I want!"

I'm a bit of a chicken, which is the main reason I probably wasn't sorted into Gryffindor in my first year. When we had to fight the bogarts, mine turned into a HUGE snarling dog, and I totally went berserk. The whole class STILL probably hasn't forgotten about it. I'm a screamer—I'll just let your imagination run wild with that.

I am the most clumsy, uncoordinated mess you'll probably ever know. I can't even throw a quaffle on solid ground, much less on a flying broom trying to avoid being beaten to death by bludgers. I have never flown on a broom, and I don't plan to, thank you VERY much. I'd likely kill myself if I just kicked off the ground.

Not even in school am I all that great, though. Like, take potions class. I'm just dreadful when I try to mix ANYTHING in that class, and Professor Snape is hardly sympathetic. I usually put the wrong thing in the cauldron thinking it's something else. I say I'm unlucky, Professor Snape says I'm careless.

So, unless you count taking notes in Professor Binns' class, or studying in Professor Sprout's class, I'm known in my year as tacky, unlucky, Stacey, just Stacey, who can't do anything right. Which, is not very far from reality at all.

But, I love to read. Reading for me, is an escape. When I open up a book, Stacey doesn't exist anymore, and I can be someone who's clever or beautiful or brave. So, I really hate it when I have to put the book down and face reality, and I'm Stacey again, just Stacey who's squashed so she can hardly move under a desk in the school library with her knees up on her forehead.

There is a loud thud from overhead and I look up from the book in my lap to see a boy looking down at me, more like I'm a termite infesting the desk, rather than a girl STUCK in it.

"Do you mind?" he asks in annoyance, "I'd like to sit."

"Sit," I repeat, "Right."

I wiggle my way out of there, and eventually I crawl out, my nails digging into the moldy carpet, my hair falling out of my ponytail, my skirt has gotten a little snagged, and I am coughing from the dust.

Not really thinking, I crawl a few more yards sputtering on the dust-filled air, and my hand lands on someone's foot. I look up, expecting to see someone sneering down, but instead I am looking straight into an ANGEL'S face. Yes, an angel, otherwise known as Cedric Diggory.

He looked a bit surprised to see a girl groping on the ground in the library, but did an ADORABLE half-smile-thing and reached down to help me up.

"You alright?" he asks, (his voice is just as sweet as his face!)

My first reaction is that I had died on gone to heaven. Then, I realize that I would never go to heaven since I am about as lucky as the number thirteen. Yes, I think, That is it—I must be dreaming. A wonderful, unrealistic, dreamful, WONDERFUL dream. So I pinch myself. Blood trickles out my wrist, but I don't wake up, ergo, I am not dreaming. I think I'm going to have a heart failure, but I don't. I just stare into his BEAUTIFUL gray eyes. Ahhhh.

"I—I—I'm sorry," I stutter, and my blood is rushing loud in my ears. I bet people can hear my heart beating all the way in Tokyo. With shaking hands, I get to my feet and run, grab my books on the table and high-tail it out of there, leaving Cedric wondering what's wrong with that strange girl crawling on the floor.

As soon as I'm out back in the corridor, I hug my books closer to my chest and sink to the ground against the wall. Never, never in my wildest dreams have I ever been that close to Cedric! My hand touched his shoe! I gaze lovingly at my wonderful, and now beautiful right hand. I chuckle gleefully to myself and stand back up, determined to rush off to find Bethany to tell her the news.

Like I said, I've been in love with Cedric for a few years now, and have filled several notebooks (that I hope never see the light of day) with love poems to him. I'm not a good poet, but that doesn't mean I can't pretend that I am. Bethany, Naomi, Summer, and Ella (the four others in my dorm room) all have read them and suggest that I drop one in his school bag one of these days.

"You don't have to put your name on it," Bethany said impatiently, "He wouldn't even guess it was you—I wouldn't."

In all honesty, I didn't think he should have the bear the fact that such a pathetic poet fancied him.

It was just after dinner and I figure all of the girls would likely be in their dorms pretending to study, Welcome to Hogwarts! The speaker by the entrance focuses on me as I arrive.

"I am a plant that resembles a black slug with swellings that contain a yellowish green liquid. My pus is used to cure acne, but undiluted it causes sores and boils. What am I?" the speaker asks clearly.

I am rather impatient to get up there, but I just clutch my books tighter so I don't lose grip, "Hmmm, let me see. You are a bubotuber." I say, recalling the particular Herbology lesson.

"Well done," it said, and the doors flew open.

I rush in and climb the stairs to the dorm two at a time. I shove open the doors and throw my books on my trunk and squeal in delight, jumping onto my bed.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Summer wants to know. I look over and see that she is reading Hogwarts, A History. Probably for the fiftieth time.

"You're never going to believe it," I take one last jump, the top of my head barely brushing the ceiling and fall onto my back, the springs on the bed groaning in discomfort.

"Probably not, but tell us anyway," Naomi snorts, she's reading last month's copy of Witch Weekly. Probably for hair tips.

I sit up, knowing my hair is in pretty bad shape, seeing as I stuffed my head along with my body under that dusty desk, wiggled back out of the desk, and then jumped around. But it doesn't really matter because I'm grinning ear to ear and it's the best I've felt in months.

I see that Bethany is in the room, too, working on her Charms essay (which I haven't even started) and Ella is digging through her trunk, probably looking for her other sock, seeing as she's only got one on.

I grin wider, if that's possible, "I know call this meeting of the Cedric Diggory Fan Club in session, and I, Stacey, the captain—"

"Shut up, Stace, the only one in love with him here is you," Bethany points out, cutting me off. The thing is, I was about to use my wand against Summer's trunk as a knocker to set the image off a little better. Oh well.

I know she is right, too, so I remark, "So? Does that mean I can't have a club?"

"A one woman club, how fun," Naomi says, not even looking up.

Yeah, I think, and there isn't any quibbling about who gets to be captain.

"Stacey, this crush of yours—" Bethany begins.

"It's not a crush, Beth, it's LOVE." I correct her.

Naomi snorts.

"If you love him so much, give him a poem," Summer suggests.

"Better yet, give me a poem, so I can give it so someone, you've only got a hundred thousand in that notebook of yours. You can share," Bethany moans, throwing down her quill.

I stand up and pick up said notebook which was somewhere in the pile of books I threw on my trunk. Of course, I carry it where I go everywhere, in case I need to write another poem for Cedric, but mostly so no one finds it and… no, that thought is too horrid to bear!

"Yeah," Ella says quietly (she is always quiet) now that she seems to have found her sock, "What can it hurt?"

"Well, maybe he can tell from…" I try to think of an excuse, it's not like he knows what my handwriting looks like, "Fingerprints!"

Naomi snorts again.

"Do better than that," Bethany sighs.

"Okay," I sputter, "Well, Cedric is really powerful and advanced, maybe he's got a spell that can trace who a note is from."

Summer pauses, "I've never heard of any spell like that."

"Nor I," Ella seconds her.

I imagine Cedric and all of his friends standing in a circle laughing at me, while they kick me on the ground. I gulp, knowing I would have to drop out of school should that happen, which it WOULD if I gave Cedric a poem.

"Come on, Stacey, maybe he'd like you back," Bethany chides, "I've had four boyfriends, and I had to tell them I fancied them, you know."

"No thank you," I say, feeling lightheaded, "Not interested. I like being secretly in love, you know, the feelings-behind-the-curtain sort of thing. You may be publicly in love as much as you wish, Bethany, but I am not you." I hide my face in my hands.

"And it's too bad too," she says sadly, "I want to take a poetry class from you."

"You don't think he'll laugh?" I say, peeking between my fingers.

"Of course not," Summer laughs, "Your poems are fairly decent, and besides, he's really too nice to laugh about something like that."

"Well…" I trail off, half convinced, "Which one?" I motion to my fat notebook full of poems that are more lovesick than you can even imagine. Even I will admit that.

All four of my friends stand up and gather around my notebook, flipping through it. I am feeling even more lightheaded now. It was probably something to do with the fact that I was only a few feet away from Cedric a few minutes ago. Ahhhhh.

"This is my favorite," Ella whispers in my ear, pointing to the page.

I nod. Ella is usually a very good judge, so I decide to take her word for it. Summer agrees, Naomi shrugs and goes back to Witch Weekly, and Bethany is still ranting about another one that she thinks is better. I reread it.

Never doubt that the trees are tall

Never doubt what I say is true

Never doubt that the rain will fall

But above all

Never doubt, please, my love for you

I wrote it sometime last summer, which is usually a good time for my creative sparks to come since I'm bored stiff. I realize that the beats are rather off, but decide it's still fine. Bethany gives me a pink stationary card with squiggly pink lines that smells sort of like strawberry for me to copy the poem on, and I have to admit, it doesn't look bad.

I tuck the card in my notebook where I won't lose it, and promptly forget about it. We goof off for the rest of the evening; Naomi tries some of the hairstyles in our hair.

Summer, with her dark black skin, and chocolaty eyes is probably the best-looking out of all of us, and I'd say second in Bethany. Bethany's got wavy brown hair as compared to Ella's sandy blonde color. Naomi's got dark hair like me, go us!

The next morning, I don my usual school uniform and make my way down to breakfast. I pull the poem from my notebook and confidently walk down the Ravenclaw table over the Hufflepuff table, and then over the where a few seventh year boys were eating, fairly absorbed in their conversation. I drop the note in his bag, but act like I was just walking by. I smile at how subtle I must have appeared. But little do I know of the pretty brown eyes watching my back as I walk off.

End Chapter

Serena- Okay, I'm SORRY if it's too confusing, I swear the other chapters won't be! Anyway, please review! Also, I plan on updating soon, if I don't die in a car crash. knocks on wood

Also, I'm sorry if there are spelling/grammar mistakes/typos! I have a problem with that! I edited it twice, but you never know….

Luv ya all!