Disclaimer: all rights belong to JK Rowling.

Written for QLFC, round 3, reserving Chaser 2 for Tutshill Tornados. Prompt: Tornado(es). Word count restriction: 1201-1500.

Word count: 1438 (without A/Ns)

Optional prompts: (word) cosmos, (dialogue) "Sometimes I really dislike you."

Beta: Prisoner of Azkaban711

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Amos had always believed in his son, whom he considered his solid and unwavering rock, his hope for the future. He had had blind faith in his son's abilities, that son he was so proud of. Then the unpredictable had happened, and as mountains collapse, the Killing Curse had slaughtered the teen. Now, instead of rock, there was only dust, which the man couldn't cling on to. The ground Amos walked upon wasn't there any longer, and he felt lost for the first time.

A shower of rain was beating on the window panes and big whirlwinds were forming. In the distance, the thunder boomed.

Amos looked at the dusty table where a lot of empty Firewhisky bottles laid. He touched on the surface then blew on it, using all his breath; a strong smell of alcohol permeated the room, and the dust soared. His head spun, but he still managed to sit straight. Yet, he himself knew it wouldn't be for long. Had he had to cope with a tornado while his son was alive, he would have withstood that; not now, though. Now, even an old, tired man's breath was enough to bend him.

He looked around, seemingly out of his depth...

"Ced..." he mumbled, in a drunken slur, before passing out.

"One, two, three!" Amos touched the stick and instantly felt the familiar sense of weightlessness overcoming him. The world started spinning rather fast and he felt as though he was being thrown into a tornado...

Except, that time he hadn't counted to three and that was not a portkey... Nothing could have prepared him for that. But a tornado that was most definitely, for his life had been turned upside down, and it had left a trail of destruction: Cedric's body. Mr Diggory knew not how to get himself onto the ground anymore, so, when the whirlwind stopped, he fell.

He had been falling, falling, falling... for so much time now, his spirit lost, his energy wind-dispersed.

He had said to him, he had said to his son, "Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!" *

The wind had taken those words... and tore them to pieces in the span of mere seconds. Amos had played that scene in his head many times. He hadn't been there, of course, in the middle of that evil maze, but he knew what had happened as if he had indeed: the first vortex, the green flash, his loved son's lifeless face, his still body, the second vortex... And it all had ended... But not to him, not to the proud father he had been and was not anymore, not to the lovely grandfather he had hoped to become and would never have the chance to be.

His steady anchor had been torn by the storm.

"He was an excellent Quidditch player, the best Hogwarts has ever seen!"

"Really?"

"Of course!" He sounded outraged, but a sparkle in his eyes gave him away. "Do you dare doubt my reliability, you little rascal?"

He fondly started tickling his ten-year-old grandson, Cedric's son, getting a big, crystal laugh from the child whom he held in his lap.

"Stop... stop, granddaddy... I can... barely... breathe..." The kid looked at his grandfather, his huge eyes full of fun, his voice breaking with happiness.

This was Amos' favorite day, the one when he got to see his son, daughter-in-law and grandchild, and got to tell the little boy everything about his Cedric, who was now talking with his wife Cho.

"Please, granddaddy, I wish to hear another story about my father."

His grandson would certainly be in Ravenclaw, just like his mum. He was curious and clever, never tired of learning something new. Casting aside that thought, Amos spoke.

"Your father, my Cedric, was the most handsome and attractive guy, and every girl wished he looked at them."

"But he only had eyes for my mum!"

Amos nodded. "Of course! Now, as I was saying... He was a talented Quidditch player, a brilliant student, and, most importantly, won the Triwizard Tournament..."

It was the Diggory family's old joke. The kid would ask for a story, the granddad would praise his son, and that very same son, ever so modest, would interrupt the flow of Amos's proud words. So, even today, the old man stopped and waited for Cedric's protests, which promptly came.

Cedric poked his fair head in and said, winking at his own son, "You're getting old and memory fails you, Dad. Harry and I were even."

The running laughter didn't discourage Amos, who kept speaking, undaunted, "Oh he was better than Harry Potter himself. Everyone loved and cheered him, and he had the whole cosmos at his feet. It's your daddy who has some memory issue, you see." He messed up his grandson's hair, before resuming. "Ced beat Harry Potter. It actually happened."

The wind howled, and Amos slowly and painfully woke up. He didn't need a reminder of what he had lost, forever. He didn't need a reminder of how he had lost it.

The wind, the dust, the tornado, the rock... If only the room stopped turning, and his head stopped bumping... Everything twirled in the air as if it were dancing, a fast and furious dance, which was becoming more hectic and nervous with each passing minute, until his surroundings were vortexing into a giant whirlwind. Amos felt he was caught in the eye of the storm and wondered whether anyone had ever survived such a hurricane. He tried to reach for his wand, but his head twirled once more, once too often, and he met the hard table in a clump.

"Granddad, granddad," someone was calling for him, their tone urgent, their breathing labored.

He quickly woke up, then stretched himself with a muttered curse. It was not a good idea to take a nap in one of his daughter-in-law's bamboo chairs.

His grandson ran towards him and, after swirling around the old man a few times, jumped on him unceremoniously, and Amos felt his bones complaining about the harsh treatment, but it was a sweet and good pain, so he managed to force a smile.

"Hi, my little tornado. Is there some reason why you are here?" he gently teased the child.

The child pouted. "Granddaaaaad! You know why I'm here. You have to tell me everything about when my daddy played against Harry Potter." He spoke the last name almost reverently.

"Alright, honey. Listen very carefully, then. There was a storm, I remember, a very bad one: lightnings and thunderbolts everywhere. The wind was so strong that the Quidditch players could barely keep themselves on their broomsticks... Not Cedric, though. No, your dad looked like the spirit of the storm itself. My son soared with the wind, raced with it even, regardless of the Dementors."

The child shivered, and Amos hugged him closer, before triumphantly saying, "But it was a glorious and sunny day nevertheless to me, because Ced beat Harry Potter that day!"

He caught sight of his son's fair hair and managed to whisper, "Do not let your father think otherwise," before hearing Cedric's voice.

"It's that old story again, isn't it?"

Two outraged voices reached the younger man's ears. "It's not an old story," the kid said. "Can't I be proud of my son?" Amos asked.

Cedric retreated back again knowing it was a lost battle. Two against one, it was unequal. And he knew he couldn't ask Cho. She would gladly join his dad and son's forces. He sighed. "Very well, then. That's all, in any case."

"That is not all," the two other people huffed. "We're just getting started!"

Amos brushed his hand over his grandson's soft cheek, proud of him.

"You're corrupting him," Cedric accused, barely preventing himself from smiling. "Sometimes I really dislike you."

"Let's go elsewhere, honey," the grandfather said to his grandson. "Here we are not appreciated as we'd deserve."

"Or," the boy intervened, his voice whiny, " we could just blow my daddy away. You're very comfortable and I don't want to get up. Blow, granddad, blow. Let's create twin tornadoes! One he might resist, but not two, I'm sure!"

But they were all laughing too hard to gather enough strength to do such a thing.

Was smiling, Amos Diggory, at last.

Was dead, Amos Diggory, at last.

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* J K Rowling, The Goblet of Fire.