All my life my father has bragged about my accomplishments; although I have told him many times that I don’t like this, he continues to do it. It seems as though nothing I say matters, unless it deals with being the best at a certain thing. I have tried many times to sit down and talk to him, but it’s like he doesn’t want to listen to anything I say.

As I sit on my bed waiting to leave for the Quidditch World Cup, I try to think of a way to tell my father to stop. I have never been one to talk back to him, and the last thing I want to do is make him upset, but it’s frustrating always trying to be the best at something. It’s good, I guess, that my father pushes me to do well in life, but there is no need for a person to be perfect in every single thing they do. For one, it’s impossible; no one can be perfect at everything, not even me. Secondly, I don’t want to be perfect at everything. I want to be like a normal teenager: able to make mistakes and learn from them on my own. I feel as though my father doesn’t want me to do these things; he wants me to be flawless and to not have to learn from the bad choices that I make. It’s like I can’t afford to make a bad choice, or my father is on my back the moment he hears of it.

I hear the patter of footsteps on the carpeted hallway floor, and I know that my father is ready to leave. I quickly grab the things I know I’m going to need, which isn’t much, and head for my bedroom door. Taking one last look at my room, I open the door and am standing face to face with my father.

“Cedric, are you ready, my boy?” he asks. “We have to be at the Portkey in twenty minutes, so we have to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m ready,” I reply, stepping into the hall and closing my door. “Let’s go.”

My father nods towards the stairs, and I set off walking in front of him. My mind travels back to my earlier thoughts, and I glance back at my father. He smiles at me, and I smile back. There’s no way I can try to talk to him right now. He’s too excited for the game, and I don’t want to be the reason why he doesn’t enjoy himself. It’s not like he’d listen anyway, but to even bring up the subject may be disastrous. I knew that if he didn’t want to listen to me I might snap. No one would think it possible, but . . . things do happen.

“Where exactly is the Portkey?” I ask as I open the front door.

“Stoatshead Hill. We’re meeting the Weasleys, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger there,” my father replied as he nudged me out onto the front step.

I nodded, and we began our walk. It was possibly the quietest walk I have ever been on. My father spoke a few times about a previous Quidditch game that was between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. I knew that it would be brought up again when we finally reached Stoatshead Hill, there was no way around that. Harry would be there, and then he would think that I had gone home and bragged to my father about beating the “famous Harry Potter”. It didn’t happen like that at all. As soon as I got home from Hogwarts at the end of term last year, my father had asked me about any Quidditch games we had played. I told him about Hufflepuff beating Gryffindor, and he became excited. I knew then that he would brag to anyone he met about how his son beat Harry Potter.

I am tired of always having to explain to people what really happened at the Quidditch game. No one liked to remember that there were Dementors all around Hogwarts at the time, and even though they weren’t supposed to go near the students, they did. It caught Harry off guard, and he fell from his broom. It was a win by default, but no one, especially my father, wanted to believe that. They all thought it was the most amazing thing that could happen, Cedric Diggory beating Harry Potter.

The sight of the large hill in front of me snapped me from my thoughts. We were close enough to see the outlines of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, which meant that the bragging would start soon, and then I would have to try and explain everything to Harry. The trip there was going to be awful, and I had a feeling it was going to be because of my father.

The figures of the people standing on the top of the hill began to come into focus as we got closer. I couldn’t help but be nervous about what was going to end up happening. My father was going to open his big mouth, once again, and who knows what will happen this time? He’s going to end up bragging to the wrong person one day, probably someone who has a kid in Hogwarts, too, and they’re going to end up . . . doing something.

After ten minutes of walking, my father came to an abrupt stop in front of me. Luckily I was able to stop myself from running into him, but it didn’t keep me from tripping as I did so.

“Ah! Amos! We were just about to leave . . . as soon as we find that Portkey,” Mr. Weasley said after he realised we were there. I looked around at all of the people that were standing with him. Ron was there, along with Fred, George, and Ginny. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were with them, also. I sighed, it was going to be a long trip.

“Amos, have you met Harry and Hermione?” Mr. Weasley stated, coming to a stop next to Harry.

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure!” My father replied. He stepped closer to the two and stuck out his hand to shake theirs.

“Hello, Mr. Diggory, I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, taking my father’s hand in hers. She smiled politely and nodded to me as I moved to stand next to my father.

“Ah, yes! Hello, hello, it’s very nice to meet you, my dear.”

“Mr. Diggory,” Harry nodded, also taking my father’s hand. “I’m Harry Potter.”

I unconsciously held my breath and waited for when my father would start his bragging. Again, I knew that it was going to lead to the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Quidditch Game. For some reason he was very proud that we had beat Gryffindor, even though I had told him a million times that it was by default. Of course he wouldn’t listen to me, but instead kept on bragging.

“Ah, very nice to meet you.”

Harry walked back to where the other kids were and continued to have a conversation with Ron and Hermione. I decided to try and join in on the conversation they were having.

“Hey, Cedric! How’s it going, mate?” Ron said as I walked over to their little group.

“Erm, good, and yourself?” I replied, smiling.

Ron shrugged, and then looked over at Harry who wasn’t paying attention to what we were talking about. For some reason he was watching Mr. Weasley and my father as they continued to look for the Portkey. Seeing as how my father knew where the Portkey was exactly, I knew that we wouldn’t get a really good chance to talk until we made it to the Quidditch World Cup.

As if they read my mind, Mr. Weasley and my father shouted to us that they had found the Portkey, and we had to get ready to leave.

We all walked over to where the two adults were, and at once, we all placed our hands on the Portkey. Within minutes we were all standing (or lying) on the grass in front of a wooded area. We knew that we wouldn’t be transported directly into the stadium, but that we would have to walk a bit to where it was. Many spells were placed on the stadium so that the Muggles wouldn’t know what was going on. There was know way that they could even hear or see anything that we were doing while we were in the stadium. It was very well protected.

Seeing as how my father didn’t say anything to Harry about the Quidditch game before we transported, I knew that he was going to say something about it on the walk to the stadium. I prepared myself as best as I could to deal with whatever my father had said. I knew I would have to do some damage control after my father opened his mouth. I didn’t want Harry to think that I had gone home and bragged about beating him. The game wasn’t fair, and we should have had a rematch, but for some reason, we didn’t.

“So, Harry . . .” my father began. I knew this was the moment that I had been dreading the entire time. It was going to happen, and there was nothing that I could do to stop it.

“Dad, no,” I replied before he could continue.

“What? I was just going to ask him what threw off his game during the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Quidditch game last year,” my father said, attempting to give me an innocent face. I knew that there was nothing innocent behind his questions, or anything that he said from here on in.

“Well, I would have thought that Cedric would have told you what happened,” Harry answered, glancing towards me.

“I did, Harry, I did,” I said. “Dad, you already know that there were Dementors on the grounds. I told you that when I got home at the end of term last year!”

My father nodded. “Of course, of course, but weren’t they supposed to stay away from the students? Especially during a Quidditch match, seeing as how the whole school is there to see it.”

“They were supposed to, but . . . they didn’t,” Harry replied. He continued to walk in front of us instead of slowing to talk to my father.

“Ah, I see. Yes, I believe Cedric here told me about that,” my father said. “I still don’t understand how that would throw of your game. From what I heard, Cedric’s game was as great as it has always been!”

I sighed and shook my head. The bragging didn’t start in the beginning of the conversation, but my father managed to put it in there without seeming too forceful.

Harry turned and looked at my father. “Yes, Cedric’s game was great. Hufflepuff deserved to win.” With that, Harry stormed off in front of us. I knew that something like this was going to happen. Every time my father opened his mouth to say anything, someone would always get angry. If it wasn’t me, it was the person that he was talking to. Not everyone was so great at being able to stay calm when it came to my father and the things he liked to talk about. I, on the other hand, was starting to get used to it. Of course it still bothered me, but . . . there wasn’t really anything I could do. Talking to him about these things wouldn’t solve anything. All it would do is cause an argument.

“I told you not to say anything!” I muttered to my father when Harry was out of earshot.

“But . . . I didn’t mean anything by it, and anyway, you should be proud that you won that game! Like Harry said, Hufflepuff deserved to win!”

“Just because Harry said that, doesn’t mean that it’s true,” I whispered to myself. I knew that Harry didn’t mean a word that he had said to my father, but I didn’t want to tell my father that. Harry had told the truth about the Dementors, and how they were supposed to stay far away from the students. Although he had lied about Hufflepuff deserving the win, I knew that I had caught a hint of anger in his voice when he said the word “deserved”. It seemed as though it had hurt him to say it, and I didn’t like that one bit.

If there was one thing I knew, it was that I would have to talk to Harry before this trip was over. I have to straighten everything out with him before the match starts tomorrow, or else he’ll probably end up hating me. I didn’t want him to think that I had gone home to brag about winning the game, and so I decided right then and there that I would talk to Harry early tomorrow morning. So early that no one else would probably be awake. I may even have to wake him up myself in order to talk to him, but . . . it is something that I just have to do.