Decent People

“Decent People”

“Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate, Potter.”

--Barty Crouch Jr. as Mad-Eye Moody, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

“Go ahead,” his friends urged. “Go ahead and ask him.”

Cedric brushed them off, not wanting to cause a scene. Eventually, both curiosity and his unwillingness to turn down a dare prompted him to raise his hand.

“Diggory?” Mad-Eye Moody asked him in that growling, menacing tone.

“Sir,” he asked carefully, “How did you lose your eye?”

There was a gasp in the class, and a few people inched away. It seemed they didn’t want to be too near him in case the hexes started flying. Cedric wasn’t afraid. Moody was a friend of his father, and a friend of Dumbledore. He might be menacing, but he wouldn’t hurt a student, especially not for asking a question.

After a tense moment of silence, Moody’s gash of a mouth opened in a grin. “Tell you what,” he said in an almost friendly tone (for Moody, anyway), “stay after class and I’ll tell you.”

Cedric nodded, a grin on his face as his classmates whispered, “Way to go!”

The bell rang, and the rest of the seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws filtered out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Cedric stayed behind, as good as his word.

Moody favored him with a gimlet eye that seemed calculating. He launched into the tale, a thrilling one of adventure and danger, in which several Death Eaters were apprehended and many lives were lost, culminating in the untimely loss of Moody’s own eye. Cedric’s mouth was slightly agape by that point, having heard only snippets of the famous Auror’s thrilling escape so far.

“Now,” said Moody when he was finished talking. “Seems to me that you’ve been given something of the short end of the stick.”

Cedric, about to leave the classroom, stopped in surprise. “The stick, sir?”

Moody nodded, sitting down on his office chair with a sigh as the weight came off his stump. “The competition, boy. You’re starting off wrong-footed.”

Cedric smiled. “Maybe not many people think I’m the favorite to win, sir, but to my way of thinking that’ll make it all the more rewarding when I hold up the Triwizard Cup.”

There was a low chuckle from somewhere in the region of Moody’s chest, and the older man growled, “You don’t take my meaning. I don’t mean that no one thinks you’ll win--I mean that no one’s helping you. You’re the only champion who isn’t being sponsored personally by a Head of school. Fleur’s got Madame Maxime, Karkaroff would walk through fire for Krum, and...well, we all know that Albus has had his eye on Potter since the day the boy first arrived here, don’t we?”

The words hit home, little as Cedric wanted them to. He believed firmly in fair play and transparency, especially in competitions. He did not grudge Harry Potter the chance to compete, though he secretly wished that the boy could have chosen one thing at which to excel that Cedric hadn’t. And there was no doubt that while Fleur and Krum were no doubt getting tip-offs from their Heads of Houses, Cedric certainly hadn’t gotten any from Dumbledore--not that he wanted any. “I don’t think Professor Dumbledore shows favorites, sir,” he said respectfully.

Moody rolled his normal eye, the magical one whizzing about. “Really. And how do you think that Harry Potter knew about the dragons, hmm?”

That was a thought that had occurred to Cedric, little though he wanted to give it voice. How had Harry known about the dragons? It was decent of him to pass along the news, but why couldn’t the Headmaster (if it had been the Headmaster who told the boy) had told Cedric himself, if he were going to tell the other champion? “I don’t know, sir,” he admitted.

“Seems to me,” Moody growled, “that what you need is someone on your side. Someone who knows the kinds of traps they’ll set for you. Someone who’s fought those traps off. Someone whose mind works the right way. And it seems to me that what you need to do is convince that person that you’re the most able candidate.”

Cedric swallowed. It sounded an awful lot like cheating to him, no matter how Moody might dress it up. He opened his mouth to say so when Moody cut him off again.

“Any luck with that egg yet?”

There had been no luck with the egg. He had sat with it for hours, trying to apply rules of Numerology to the frequencies and pitch of the sounds, tried breaking it (fortunately that hadn’t worked), tried sticking his hand into it, tried everything short of covering it in jam and using it for a Quaffle. Nothing made the slightest bit of difference to the shrieking wailing. And the idea had been looming every closer in his mind that maybe, maybe Harry, Fleur, and Krum were all getting some sort of help already. It wouldn’t be cheating, he thought. It would actually be making things more fair, by leveling the playing field. Hadn’t all the other contestants known about the dragons before he had? Slowly, Cedric nodded. “I do need help, sir.”

“That’s not quite what I said, Diggory,” Moody growled. “I said you’re going to have to convince me.”

Cedric stared, completely at a loss as to what the other man meant. “Sorry,” he said honestly, “I don’t follow.”

“Everyone is a favorite for a reason, Diggory,” the older man said almost casually. “Fleur has that beauty and charm. Krum is one of the best Quidditch players in decades. Harry Potter is The Boy Who Lived. What have you got?”

Cedric was brought up short, and instantly said, “I’ve got the talent and the drive to bring this to an end, sir. I have the dedication and--”

Moody waved that away. “I’m not talking about what got your name pulled from the Goblet. For lack of a better phrase, I’m looking for what you can do for me.”

What he could do for Moody? What use could he, a seventeen-year-old boy, be to one of the greatest Aurors that had ever lived? “If there’s something you need, something you want,” he said slowly, “I’ll try my best to get it for you, but I don’t see--”

Moody seemed to make up his mind quickly, now that he had explained himself. “Diggory, stop talking and get on your knees.”

There was a moment of silence as Cedric stared at the man he had admired for so many years, the man his father said was one of the greatest minds of their time, the man that Albus Dumbledore trusted and respected. “On my--”

“Knees, yes. I want you to suck me off.”

Cedric’s mind was racing. Alastor Moody wanted a blowjob. This...was not within the usual realm of experience.

Of course, being a Triwizard champion wasn’t exactly normal either.

And every other champion had an edge...

“Come on, boy, I won’t wait all day.”

Cedric made up his mind, then, and smoothly moved onto his knees in front of his Professor. “I’m not a boy,” he said quietly, and moved to release the older man from his robes, pulling out a cock that he was pleased to see was not as scarred as the rest of the Ex-Auror.

A hand clenched in his hair then, and Moody’s low voice growled, “I’ll call you what I like. Now, have you ever done this before?”

A flush stained Cedric’s cheeks as he answered softly, “Once.” Awkward fumbling had resulted with an older cousin the night of his coming-of-age party had somewhat culminated in a similar way, but this was very different. That had been tumbling clothes and illicit sensations, emotions and hormones winning out over logic and reason.

This was sterile, an exchange, thought-out and planned. It was cold, and suddenly Cedric worried about his skills as he leaned forward and hesitantly took the head of Moody’s cock into his mouth.

The professor groaned, and the hand in Cedric’s hair tightened painfully. He made a sound of protest, but that only seemed to encourage Moody more. The large, purpling head of his cock was bumping against Cedric’s tonsils, and Cedric tried not to gag. He ran his tongue around the head, thinking of what he would enjoy if their positions were reversed. His hands came to rest on Moody’s thighs, still encased in his trousers under his robes.

Moody’s cock was leaking a little, and Cedric caught a taste that was both salty and bitter, though not altogether unpleasant. Then the hand in his hair was pushing him down deeper, until he was pressed forward on his knees and leaning on Moody for balance. He tried, with limited success, to take the older man all in, but every time the cock hit the back of his throat he pulled away, choking.

After the third time this happened, Moody stopped letting him up for air. “That’s it,” he grunted, thrusting harder down into Cedric’s throat as he started to gag, “take it all, boy. Take it in your slutty little mouth. Look up.”

Cedric looked up through watering eyes, seeing Moody’s normal one fixed down on him, crouched between his legs. “Yeah,” Moody muttered, looking down, “I like seeing your eyes. Look at me when I do this to you, pretty boy. Your lips look good stretched around my cock. Such a slut.” Cedric was struggling to breathe as Moody held him down fiercely, brutally pounding into the back of his throat, and he hoped dimly that Moody would just come before he passed out.

A few more frenzied thrusts and Moody yanked back on Cedric’s hair, letting the boy draw in a huge gasp of air. It was all he had time for before Moody was coming, the first shot hitting him on the forehead, then the nose, they the eyelid he shut just in time, and finally on his lips. Moody was grunting, working one scarred hand over his cock and squeezing out the last few drops so they landed on Cedric’s face, then rubbing the head over his lips. “Clean it off,” he growled, and Cedric opened his lips instantly to obey, running his tongue all over the head, cleaning it swiftly.

Moody let out a last sigh and leaned back in his chair. “You’d better get out of here,” he said to the boy still kneeling at his feet, face covered in his seed. “You’ll miss dinner.”

Shaken, Cedric got to his feet and surreptitiously wiped his face on the inside of his robes. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about any of this as he grabbed his schoolbag and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Diggory?” Moody called from behind him, and Cedric turned around.

“Yes, sir?” he asked quietly, not quite meeting the other man's eyes.

“Open the egg underwater.” Moody’s gash of a mouth split in another lopsided grin. “And come back the next time you need help.”

Once the boy was gone, Moody limped slowly over to the trunk in the corner of his office, opening it to the seventh lock. Peering down inside at the helpless man, he said harshly, “This job is a sweet one, Moody. I can see why you took it. The students are so sweet and...accommodating.” His face darkened as he stared at the one-legged, one-eyed, scarred and mutilated man, then slashed through the air to cut off another lock of his hair. “Bottoms up,” he said, and added it to the rest of the Polyjuice Potion, thinking about who he could have his way with next..