Leigh!fic | The Wrong Person (1/1) | Cedric Diggory/Penelope Clearwater
Title: The Wrong Person (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Cedric Diggory/Penelope Clearwater
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 420
Summary: Cedric was the type of man Penelope was supposed to want as a husband.
Author’s Notes: Written earlier this summer for hp_humpdrabbles using the prompt "marrying the wrong person."
For her entire life, Penelope Clearwater had always done what was expected of her. She'd made top marks, been named prefect and eventually Head Girl. She'd taken a job at barrister position at the Ministry before moving on to a private firm, and had made a name for herself as an expert in international law.
She'd dated some since Percy. They had all been safe, clean cut, men. Oliver Wood, Roger Davies -- tall blokes with bright smiles and nice haircuts. The kind of man any parent would hope their daughter would bring home. Cedric was that type, too. It'd thrilled her father when he'd asked for his permission to marry Penelope.
Cedric was kind. Cedric was sweet. Cedric was handsome.
Cedric was boring.
It wasn't his fault. Merlin only knew, Penelope had tried so, so hard. But life with Cedric was...routine. Predictable in its monotony. And it wasn't what she wanted.
She wanted passion. Fire. An all-consuming romance that would sweep her off her feet and leave her aching with want.
She'd had that, once, and she'd swore that she was finished with that type of man. The kind who smirked but didn't smile, whose every word was half-veiled in secrecy. The sort of man whose touch made her knees turn to water and made her blood run hot, who could coax wantonness from the most buttoned-up of barristers.
He was the man she thought of when Cedric touched her. With her fiancé's hands on her skin, Penelope had to close her eyes and imagine it was his hand sliding between her thighs, his lips closed round a pink nipple.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him -- asleep now, his face peaceful in the darkness of their bedroom. He was, all in all, everything she should have wanted in a husband. He didn't keep secrets or deal in things of questionable repute. Cedric Diggory was as open and honest as a book.
And she couldn't marry him.
Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she slipped out from beneath the covers and crossed the room to the dresser. Penelope wasn't a Gryffindor. She wasn't brave, someone who took risks on love. All her life, she'd done what was expected -- what was safe. Cedric was safe.
She was bloody sick of safe.
She slid the antique diamond off her left hand and set it down on the polished mahogany.
"Forgive me."
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Cedric Diggory/Penelope Clearwater
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 420
Summary: Cedric was the type of man Penelope was supposed to want as a husband.
Author’s Notes: Written earlier this summer for hp_humpdrabbles using the prompt "marrying the wrong person."
For her entire life, Penelope Clearwater had always done what was expected of her. She'd made top marks, been named prefect and eventually Head Girl. She'd taken a job at barrister position at the Ministry before moving on to a private firm, and had made a name for herself as an expert in international law.
She'd dated some since Percy. They had all been safe, clean cut, men. Oliver Wood, Roger Davies -- tall blokes with bright smiles and nice haircuts. The kind of man any parent would hope their daughter would bring home. Cedric was that type, too. It'd thrilled her father when he'd asked for his permission to marry Penelope.
Cedric was kind. Cedric was sweet. Cedric was handsome.
Cedric was boring.
It wasn't his fault. Merlin only knew, Penelope had tried so, so hard. But life with Cedric was...routine. Predictable in its monotony. And it wasn't what she wanted.
She wanted passion. Fire. An all-consuming romance that would sweep her off her feet and leave her aching with want.
She'd had that, once, and she'd swore that she was finished with that type of man. The kind who smirked but didn't smile, whose every word was half-veiled in secrecy. The sort of man whose touch made her knees turn to water and made her blood run hot, who could coax wantonness from the most buttoned-up of barristers.
He was the man she thought of when Cedric touched her. With her fiancé's hands on her skin, Penelope had to close her eyes and imagine it was his hand sliding between her thighs, his lips closed round a pink nipple.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him -- asleep now, his face peaceful in the darkness of their bedroom. He was, all in all, everything she should have wanted in a husband. He didn't keep secrets or deal in things of questionable repute. Cedric Diggory was as open and honest as a book.
And she couldn't marry him.
Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she slipped out from beneath the covers and crossed the room to the dresser. Penelope wasn't a Gryffindor. She wasn't brave, someone who took risks on love. All her life, she'd done what was expected -- what was safe. Cedric was safe.
She was bloody sick of safe.
She slid the antique diamond off her left hand and set it down on the polished mahogany.
"Forgive me."