Disclaimer: Since J.K. Rowling's birthday is in July, and mine was this week, it's safe to say that I am not J.K. Rowling, which in turn means that I sadly do not own the rights to Harry Potter. However, I do own several new movies and some birthday cash, so I'm not totally inconsolable. ; )
A/N: I know that this isn't my usual ship, so I'm sorry for all of my loyal readers who were waiting for a DHr. But I've written outlines for three more stories that will come soon, so don't worry. I apologize in advance for two things: 1) any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes you might encounter. I read it over myself but didn't get it beta-ed. I was too anxious to post it after the weeks and weeks I worked on it. 2) any canon improbabilities you may find. I practically read the GoF again to make sure I knew what I was talking about, but with a ship like this, I had to take a little creative license. 3) yeah, yeah, I said two, but just a warning – it's pretty long for a one-shot. Worth it though, I hope.
I've never done this ship before, and I found it rather challenging, so please let me know how I did.
Marionette, here's your C/Hr. Enjoy!
XxXx
The house was small, quaint, and very much like a fairy-tale cottage. It was painted a light blue, almost periwinkle, with white shutters and a brick chimney. The door was centered between two spotless windows, giving the illusion that the house was benevolently smiling. A white picket fence lined a meticulously cared for lawn, petite yellow flowers peeking from between the slats. A picturesque apple tree, laden with ripe fruit in early September, lazed in the autumn sun on one side of the yard, several escaped apples lying like golden orbs around its trunk. A single robin twittered on a limb as he paused on his journey south, his rusty red breast puffed as chill breaths of wind whirled about him, but he didn't hesitate in chirping a careless, innocent song. A weathered, gray cobbled path led from the porch step to the walk where she now stood.
A light breeze ruffled her hair, brushing loose, brown curls across her face, but she didn't lift a hand to bat them away. Her gaze was fixed on a scrap of parchment gripped in her hands. It was wrinkled, yellowed with age, and a long, feathered tear marked where a corner had once been. But the organized, masculine script upon it was still legible, the dark ink only slightly faded.
436 Crocus Court, Glastonbury, Somerset
An anxious expression dancing across her face, the woman glanced from the paper to the doorframe. Shiny, bronze characters over the smoothed wood proudly labeled the little house as number 436.
Unconsciously, the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman shivered as another gust of autumn wind blew about her slender frame. Her eyes still fixed upon the numerals over the door, she blindly pulled a yellow scarf closer around her neck, clutching the ends tightly to her chest as if they were a lifeline.
Breathing a deep, tired sigh, she crumpled the paper in her hand and shoved it into a pocket of her jacket. Leaning over slightly to swing open the picketed gate, she walked hesitantly up the cobblestone path and halted on the doorstep.
An antique doorknocker of tarnished gold beckoned warmly to her, cajoling her to reach out and grasp the smooth metal loop.
One hand still wrapped around the scarf, the other buried deep in her pocket, she paused and simply stared at the whitewashed wood paneling in the door. Taking steady breaths, she nodded, as if trying to convince herself that she would, in fact, knock.
"I just need a minute, that's all," she whispered, the frail, irresolute words almost completely carried away with the wind. Her procrastination did nothing to strengthen her timid heart.
Suddenly, all the last threads of her resolve broke as she uttered a dry sob, panic beginning to overflow her thoughts as she gasped, "Who am I trying to kid? I can't do this."
Her breaths came in irregular gasps as she struggled to keep wet, cold tears from falling from her eyes. As if time had slowed, she felt herself slide onto her knees, right there on the doorstep. She stared ahead at the insulating, sealing rubber underneath the door, not really seeing or perceiving the object of her gaze.
In a broken, small voice, she spoke, "Come on, Hermione. Pull yourself together. A Gryffindor would never break down on someone's doorstep."
She began to rock as she knelt, breathing in rhythm as she closed her eyes tightly.
Back and forth, in and out. Back and forth, in and out. Slowly she became calmer and she was able to open her eyes. Shifting slightly, she moved her legs out from under her so that they were lying, bent, beside her. She sat quiet for several moments, still and silent as time returned to normal speed.
Lifting a shaking hand, she reverently stroked her scarf, tracing the stripes with her fingertips.
Calmly, with a voice that sounded far away as if she was recalling the words from the past, she murmured, "Even in the face of the unknown and the unimaginable, we must stand strong with courage in our hearts and perseverance on our minds."
She sighed deeply, years of unforgotten grief weighing down the motion.
"I never thought that I'd be coming here all alone." Her words were wistful and light, like she was talking to a ghost of long ago, an apparition, a specter. "I always thought you'd be right on the other side of that door."
Her fingers caught on the raised emblem embroidered on the end of the scarf and she lifted it up to peer closer. A badger inside a coat of arms stood out against the yellow, a reminiscent figure from happier, younger, and more carefree times. She remembered him wearing this scarf, seeing it wrapped around him as the days grew colder and the sun fell asleep for longer. But more than anything, she simply remembered him.
XxXx
She was sitting at a table in the library, studying during her cancelled Arithmancy class. Her place was secluded, an alcove at the back of the library near a window. If she glanced up from her textbook, she would see shivering streaks of rain as plump droplets trailed down the glass pane in glossy, wet rivulets. The light, rhythmic patter was a steady, soothing song permeating the quiet.
Her book lay open to a weathered, stained page, but her eyes weren't following along the lines. She stared at the words, her mind focused elsewhere. With a sigh, she closed the cover and pushed the heavy volume across the table, sliding parchment and a quill away as well.
Pulling her elbows upright on the table, she rested her chin in her hands as she peered contemplatively through the window. The grey, dreary sky merged with dark, wetted trees, a smeared oil painting that had lost all color with age and exposure.
"Boys. Why do they have to be so immature? Why can't they just get over their petty arguments and go back to being friends? It's the day before the first task and they won't even speak to each other," she muttered to the heavy library silence. Blowing a puff of air out of her mouth in frustration, she lifted a finger and brushed away a tangle of messy curls.
A light creak in the floorboards behind her interrupted her reverie, pulling her attention as a hushed voice spoke.
"Excuse me, you're Hermione Granger, right?" A tall boy with golden hair and strikingly blue eyes approached her table, a scarf of Hufflepuff yellow drooping across his chest.
Slight surprise flitted across her features as she nodded hesitantly. "Yes, can I help you?"
The boy, Cedric, she recalled, smiled in barely concealed relief and moved closer. "Madame Pince said you had a book I need, Advanced Transfiguration: Inanimate to Living," he said, his voice lilting upwards to inflect a question.
Hermione smiled back demurely and lifted the book she had previously been attempting to read. "Trying to turn an object into an animal? Tricky business."
"Yeah. Are you any good at it?" he asked as he stretched forth a tanned hand to take the proffered text.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she looked down modestly and replied, "I'm first in my class, but I'm no genius."
Cedric raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Right." Absently, he opened the cover and skimmed a finger down a random page. With a small chuckle, he looked back at her.
"I don't even know what some of these words mean. Ephemerality? How can you even read this?" His voice was partly self-depreciating, partly incredulous awe.
She shrugged again as her cheeks tinted a light pink. Noncommittally, she answered, "It's not that bad if you can decipher it. Ephemerality simply refers to the fleeting nature of certain spells. What are you trying to transfigure?"
His smile widened, showing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, not too big, not too small. Pulling out a chair and sliding down onto the worn cushion next to her, he replied, "I need to know how to transfigure something pretty big."
Her curiosity peaked, Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically and asked, "This isn't for school, is it?"
Cedric's grin turned sheepish. "No, it's not." He leaned towards her conspiratorially, so close she could see the distinct electricity of his azure eyes. Her breath hitched as he waited for him to continue.
"I'm actually trying to come up with a strategy for the First Task."
Hermione's eyes lit in realization. "You want to transfigure something to distract the dragon?"
The Hufflepuff's eyes widened in surprise as he sat back, one muscled arm propped against the back of his chair.
"How do you know about the dragons?"
Now it was Hermione's turn to look sheepish. "I've been helping Harry all day with the same thing."
After a moment's pause, Cedric nodded in revelation. "Oh yeah, you're Potter and Weasley's friend. I knew I'd met you before."
Hermione smiled again. "At the Quidditch Cup."
"Right. Ireland won…What an incredible game!" His words sounded awed, wistful, blissfully content as if he didn't remember the disturbing events of the rest of that night. The dark memories still burned hot and fresh in Hermione's mind even months later.
Banishing black images from her mind, she shook her head playfully, curls bouncing every direction, and chuckled. "Boys and their Quidditch."
Cedric laughed, a pleasant, rich sound that seemed to emerge from his lips from the very tips of his toes.
She continued to smile, her cheeks slightly pinked still, and waited for his laughter to die out.
A little timid, shy, as if she was offering a single penny to a wealthy, noble king, she asked, "Would you like me to help you? On the transfiguration, I mean?"
Cedric relaxed his shoulders visibly and his smile softened. "I was hoping you would offer. When it comes to sports I'm fine, but I'm utterly hopeless at Transfiguration."
Hermione smiled tentatively and gingerly took the textbook from his hands, letting it fall open on the table and turning to a page from memory. Scooting her chair closer to his hesitantly, she leaned over and rested a finger on the book.
Cedric's eyes moved from Hermione's face to her finger, watching attentively.
"It's simple really. You just have to know exactly what you want to change the object into. Get a clear picture in your head and concentrate on it. What kind of animal were you thinking about using for the task?"
They continued to talk for the better part of an hour as the rain continued to dance across the torpid grounds of the castle, washing the world clean and drenching it in cold, heavenly tears. But in the library, it was warm and dry as the two students planned for the following day.
XxXx
"Cedric?"
Tentatively, Hermione drew back the fabric of the tent flap and stepped into the relative darkness of the makeshift hospital.
"Cedric?" she called again, scanning the cots for a glimpse of the Hufflepuff Champion. Madam Pomfrey startled her as she came around the end of a bed, her footsteps muffled and quiet on the trodden grass.
"You aren't to be here if you're not a Tournament Champion, Miss Granger."
Hermione hesitated a moment before she started to reply indignantly that, in fact, she had been allowed to see Harry only minutes before, but Cedric himself walked up behind Pomfrey, causing both women to turn to him and Hermione's unspoken words to fall, unheard, to the floor.
With a charming smile that would make any girl his age weak at the knees, he turned to the medi-witch.
"We'll only be a minute, Madam Pomfrey."
With a frustrated huff, the woman moved away, muttering about the "recklessness of children."
Cedric turned his smile on Hermione, one side of his face filmed in a thick, orange paste.
Hermione frowned, eyes narrowed in concern. "How are you feeling? It looked like that Short-Snout burned you pretty badly."
"Nah, I'm all right. No dragon can get me down for long."
Hermione smiled, but the expression didn't reach her still-worried eyes. Delicately, she said, "Well, I'm still sorry it didn't work very well. I feel like this is my fault."
Cedric snorted, casting away her concern with a reassuring wave of his hand. "I wouldn't have even gotten that far without your help. It's thanks to you that I got such high marks."
She laughed shortly in disbelief. "I guess we just needed a bigger dog, huh?"
He nodded as he laughed, his smile and happiness washing over her with pleasant, unsuspecting warmth, inviting her to laugh as well, the sounds creating a melodious juxtapose.
XxXx
The music of the Weird Sisters was brazenly loud, the once amusingly bizarre and entertaining tunes mutating into a discordant cacophony, mocking Hermione's ruined mood.
She lifted a smooth hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose in agitation and an attempt to hold back the tears that were so determinedly threatening to spill. With a deep, shaking sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall behind her, just outside the Great Hall. Yellowish light from bracketed torches whirled like eerie clowns, their hideous laughter seeming to penetrate her mind.
Whiter light spilled across the stonework from the partially open doors of the Hall, the sweet, distant sounds of the ball wafting out like the tantalizing, unattainable smells that filled kitchens.
"Hermione? Are you all right?"
Her head snapped up sharply as her eyelashes fluttered to open, startled surprise written in her eyes. Cedric stood in front of, his head bent down slightly, the personification of concern.
She stood up straight, pushing off the wall and brushing her hands down her blue robes.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Even as she said the words, she wanted to catch them again, force them to sound sincere.
"Is something wrong? Isn't Krum treating you well? Because if he isn't…" His voice dropped off as he continued to peer at her, reading the expressions that sprinted across her face as she struggled to control them.
She shook her head and sighed, then hesitantly replied, "No, Viktor's acting like a perfect gentleman. It's Ron who's not. Apparently he's upset because he thinks I'm 'fraternizing' with the enemy." The words were bitter, sharp, but tainted with softer disappointment.
Cedric shifted his weight back to his heels, nodding slightly in realization. Then he looked back at her and laid a warm hand on her arm.
"He's just jealous, Hermione. I bet he's in there right now wishing he had taken you to the dance instead of Krum."
She let out a burst of scoffing laughter. "No, he's not."
"Well, why shouldn't he be? You're quite the catch, Hermione. I'm not surprised he's feeling put out."
Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. And Jack Frost is in love with the Tooth Fairy."
He laughed at her joke, but her eyes remained earnest. "I mean it, Hermione. Any guy would love to have a girl like you. Krum's a lucky man." His face took on a pensive expression as his voice lowered and tapered off thoughtfully.
"If only someone who wasn't from a completely different planet would be so lucky," she replied wistfully, a sad sort of smile gracing her features.
"Don't you like him?"
"I do, it's just…we're so opposite. We're interested in such different things. He doesn't understand about my schoolwork, and I don't get his love of Quidditch. I mean, I understand that guys love sports, and I'm fine with that. But when it's the only thing that matters in their life it tends to bother me. He has no sense of balance."
Cedric nodded. "No, of course. I would have never pictured you two together. For starters, he doesn't deserve you."
She looked at him sharply. "One of the most famous Quidditch players in the world isn't good enough for a plain, ordinary bookworm girl? That sounds a little backwards to me."
His eyebrows furrowed a little as he frowned. "Hermione, you'd consider us friends, wouldn't you?" He didn't wait for a response, but simply continued, staring over her shoulder at the stone wall she was leaning on. "We haven't known each other very long, but I've been around you long enough to know that you are far from plain or ordinary, Hermione. Even the most famous, rich, or talented man in the world couldn't hold a candle to you. That's something you need to realize. You're intelligent, generous, perceptive, and incredibly…well, you. Your friends are lucky to have you, even though they may take you for granted or get upset once in a while."
A single tear finally escaped, surprise and hurt and disbelief running down her cheek in a tangible line. Cedric's eyes widened and he reached a finger to brush it away.
His voice was once again filled with concern as he apologized. "Hermione, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry."
She shook her head and smiled again. "No," she replied, slightly breathless, "that's just the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thanks, Cedric."
He smiled back, and stood up straight, his hand falling to rest beside his strong frame.
"Cedric?"
His face brightened as he turned towards a pretty, dark-haired girl in silver robes.
"Cho, there you are. I was looking for you."
She smiled, revealing a delicate row of straight, very white teeth. "I was in the bathroom. You wouldn't believe how many girls are in there touching up their makeup."
He laughed happily and placed a hand on the girl's back before starting to turn. "I guess I'll see you later, Hermione."
She nodded once, a wide smile pasted on her face. "Of course, have a great time, you two." Both Cho and Cedric waved as they walked away, his voice animated as he began to talk to his date, their footsteps echoing loudly before they fused into the noise of the dance.
"There you are, Herm-own-ninny. I haff drinks."
She turned, the same empty smile on her face as she took the delicate flute of punch Viktor handed her. "Thank you, Viktor."
He smiled back, an odd, uncomfortable-looking expression that didn't seem to fit his face. He motioned at the Great Hall with his empty hand.
"Shall vhe?"
She nodded and accepted his arm, placing her hand delicately on his sleeve. Then he led her into the Ball where the bright lights, laughter, and music quickly hid her unsettled mood.
XxXx
Fat droplets of dark lake water rained slowly off the bottom of her robes, running down her gooseflesh-covered calves and dripping coldly into her shoes. Her hair hung black and lank in wet ringlets, chilling her exposed neck and dampening the coarse blanket draped over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed and her nose stood out pinkly against the white of her skin, her resilient body's attempt to increase circulation and warmth. A single droplet of water rolled down her forehead, springing down her eyelashes and rushing down her face.
"What-t were they th-thinking, scheduling a-a water task in winter? Where's my w-wand, I want t-to cast a drying spell." Her words sounded frail and unsteady, shivers racking her body and twisting her voice.
Beside her, Ron nodded, his chin trembling. "I ca-can't believe they put us in the l-lake! Who was the bl-bloody moron who thought-t up that bright idea? I'm g-gonna k-kill him!" Their shoes squelched as they trod up the hill, their footsteps muted on the brown, muddied leaves that caked the frozen earth. Their breath came out noisily in abrupt white puffs, whirling in the thin air like dancing frost fairies, jeweled with the tentative rays of late winter sun.
Harry let out a cold chuckle and lifted his wand, whispering Latin through purple lips, instantly drying his friends' robes.
"Thanks, Harry. Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup p-potion wasn't nearly enough. I feel like my b-bones are frozen!" Hermione fought to smile, the winter cold still permeating her frame and rendering her practically nonfunctional.
The three shivering students were some of the last to leave the shore, their peers and elders only moving black forms as they migrated back to the castle, seeking the warmth of common room hearths and heavy quilts in dormitories.
"So Hermione," Ron said, struggling to appear nonchalant, "Where's Vicky? I would have thought he'd want to walk you inside."
Hermione glared at him, her eyes particularly cold, mimicking the weather around them. "I told Viktor he should stay at the lake. That's where the Durmstrang ship is, after all. Besides, I think he was getting annoyed with me for ignoring him and paying more attention to you two."
Ron nodded understandingly, but couldn't keep the smallest of self-satisfied smirks off his face. Hermione just shook her head in exasperation, which evoked a gentle laugh from Harry.
Their shoes pattered hollowly on the stone as they climbed the steps to the enormous front doors of Hogwarts, the hinges squeaking shrilly as Harry pried them open. Hermione was the first to walk in, but with her head turned towards the boys, ready to ask if they were hungry, she didn't see the tall figure inside until she had collided with it, emitting a very unlady-like "Umph!"
"Oh, sorry! I didn't know you were coming in!" Cedric's face sang of concern, his hands holding her arms steadily, unobtrusively looking to see if she was hurt.
Harry and Ron had followed her in, pushing shut the doors and coming to stand protectively near her shoulders.
She stepped back and tilted her head slightly, her face warm with embarrassment.
"No, my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Cedric smiled. "It's all right."
Then turning to Harry, he held out a tanned hand. How he managed to stay so golden throughout the winter mystified Hermione. "I just wanted to congratulate you, Harry. You were great out there. You're really giving me a run for my money with all your 'moral fiber.'"
Hesitantly, Harry shook the older boy's hand, one black brow arched slightly in partially concealed surprise. "Uh, thanks. You did well too." Fumbling for something coherent to say, he added, "And thanks for the tip about the egg."
Cedric's smile was still present, an ever-living crescent that lit his face. "I was just returning the favor."
Scowling, Ron cut in, "I hate to break up this little congratulation ceremony, but we should probably get back to our common room. Look at Hermione's goosebumps – she's still freezing."
It was an odd feeling, suddenly having three boys' attention focused in on her arms, looking for the proclaimed goosebumps.
Cedric frowned. "I'm sorry. How inconsiderate of me. Here, take my scarf." Quickly, he untwisted the thick fabric, Hufflepuff yellow with black stripes, and leaned forward to wrap it around Hermione. All three Gryffindors stood silent in complete surprise before Hermione finally spoke.
"Cedric, I can't take this. I'll be back at our common room shortly anyway. I'll warm up quickly once I'm in front of the fire." She lifted a hand to take off his scarf, but he stopped her with an outstretched hand of his own.
"No, take it. I'll feel bad I kept you so long otherwise."
Ron scoffed quietly. "This whole gift exchange is just taking more time." His muttered words were barely distinguishable, but Hermione knew him well enough to cast him a quick, barbed glare.
"Besides, I have more. Don't worry about it."
Lifting her chin with the smallest degree of defiance, she turned away from Ron pointedly and replied, "Well, thank you then. That's very nice of you."
She could almost feel Ron roll his eyes behind her back but chose to ignore him, instead smiling warmly at Cedric. The Hufflepuff looked as though he was about to laugh, but simply said, "Well, I should probably go. Again though, well done, Harry."
Just before he turned away, he mouthed a quick, "I told you so," at Hermione, motioning at the stewing Ron with a slight nod of his head. Then with a smile, he held up a hand in a masculine wave and turned away. His footsteps reverberated down the corridor even as he disappeared around a corner.
Harry had an odd expression on his face, a cross between amusement and shock. Dryly, he commented, "That was odd. He didn't even go outside. Was that all he wanted to do?"
Ron nodded, a frown etched across his face. "Bloody bizarre. I tell you, that guy's a prick."
Hermione frowned at him and started walking away. "He is not a prick, Ron. Just because he acts like a gentleman doesn't give you the right to behave so…immaturely." Lifting a hand gracefully as she walked ahead of them, leading like the graceful figurehead on the prow of a ship, she gently stroked the yellow scarf around her neck. It smelled like him, warm and masculine, a pleasant mixture of rich leather and evergreen trees.
The two boys caught up with her quickly but had the sense of mind to walk just a little behind in a subtle show of submission, Harry smiling in jocosity and Ron's face contorted in growing indignation.
"I was not behaving –"
"Yes, you were, Ronald," she interrupted, not even needing to turn and see him respond. She laced the words with a bit of lightness – enough to avoid a full argument or a long-held grudge, but with enough brusqueness to cement her point and assure the end of the discussion. She knew her friends well enough to now when to insist on a cease-fire.
Ron sighed reluctantly. "Whatever," he muttered.
Hermione smiled sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. "I don't know about you two, but all that swimming has made me hungry. How about we stop off at the kitchens before we go up to Gryffindor Tower?"
Ron finally smiled, genuine and once again pleasant. Harry nodded as well. "Yeah, I'd like to thank Dobby anyway." Boys driven by hunger, they sped up their pace, elongating their strides, the echoes of their footsteps growing just a little bit louder.
Hermione laughed and shook her head incredulously, but managed to stay a step behind them.
XxXx
The corridors seemed almost cavernous when they were this empty. Hermione was the only person walking across the stone, her lonely footsteps echoing morosely. Everyone else was at lunch, gaily talking about their expectations for the final task, trying to curb their enthusiastic excitement, and in some cases, attempting to soothe their own galloping nerves.
She smiled grimly as she tightened her grip on the slip of paper in her hand – her notes on unregistered animagi that she had hastily jotted down in the library. Her bulky book bag swayed beside her, the thick strap weighing heavily across her right shoulder. In her determination, she almost didn't see the door to the boys' bathroom swing open, but quickly took a second glance when she saw Cedric emerge.
"Cedric!" she called, lifting a wand and waving it half-heartedly to catch his attention.
He spun around at the sound of his name, his warm smile instantly finding its place across his lips.
"Hey, Hermione. Why aren't you at lunch?"
She caught up to him swiftly, jarring to a stop, only a little breathless.
"Oh, uh, I just had to look something up in the library really fast," she shrugged with a smile, "You know me, always in the library for something."
He nodded his head, an unrecognizable expression on his face. "Yeah, you're always the same. It's nice. Anyway, was there something you wanted?"
She blushed the slightest bit, thinking it funny how he could always elicit that kind of reaction from her.
"Actually, there was. This will probably be the last chance I get to see you before the Third Task."
He nodded again, his smile back and in full force.
"Well, I just wanted to say, to, uh, be careful."
There was a heavy pause, in which she stood rather awkwardly and he furrowed his golden brows. His mouth took on a contemplative, questioning appearance, but he quickly covered it up with another smile, albeit forced.
"No good luck?" He said it playfully, but there was a certain sincerity behind his words.
Hermione colored again, her lips widening, forming a silent 'o'. "Of course, I just - it's just that I really have a bad feeling about this."
He quirked his eyebrows curiously, imploring her to expand. She cocked her head to the side and twitched her mouth, as if trying to find the right words.
Finally speaking, she regretted how serious the words sounded. "Cedric, you know I don't believe in Divination," she paused as he nodded slowly, "but I have this feeling, deep down in my stomach, that this task is going to turn out horribly."
Putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Cedric offered a comforting smile and interjected, "I'm sure you're just nervous for Harry. He's your best friend, I'm sure you want him to do well."
She frowned, sighed deeply, but continued on. "That's the thing. I am nervous for Harry, but all of this anxiety, this complete dread – it's for you. I feel like something bad is going to happen to you. And that scares me, Cedric. I don't want you to get hurt."
She had been expecting some sort of brotherly reassurance, a promise of safety, even a simple warm smile. That's all she usually got from him, so the tender embrace he enfolded her in surprised her. His strong arms wrapped around her securely, bringing her close against his chest, holding her. She stiffened at first, shocked at the sudden compassionate caress, but hesitantly circled her small arms around his torso, laying her head delicately against his chest. He always smelled the same, a warm constancy of pine trees and rich, conditioned leather.
Then he whispered into her hair, a gesture so intimate, so closely personal that she was once again surprised. His breath was strangely cool across her ear, sending miniscule shivers rippling down her skin. She had never heard him speak this way before – so totally raw, broken, so truly honest.
"Hermione, I'm scared too. But my mother has always told me that even in the face of the unknown and the unimaginable, we must stand strong with courage in our hearts and perseverance on our minds." She could feel him starting to smile against her neck. "You're a Gryffindor, you should know that."
She chuckled bitterly against his shirt. "I don't always have to be brave, do I?"
"No," he whispered, "No, you don't. Sometimes it's okay to be scared, it's okay to not know what will happen, even if that lack of knowledge is the most frightening thing of all."
She nodded slowly and pulled out of his embrace, feeling very cold without his arms around her, the absence making her entirely aware of the drafts in the hall.
Without looking at her, Cedric began to fumble in his pockets.
"How about this – since I probably won't see you again, you know, in all the stress of packing and going home, I'll give you my address. Then you can either owl me or visit me yourself and I'll be able to tell you just how okay I am, all right? Uh, do you have any parchment?" He looked up at her imploringly, one hand held up clasping a Muggle pen. She raised an eyebrow at the utensil, but offered him the scrap of paper she still had clutched in her hand.
He blushed, an action that seemed entirely out of character for such a self-assured, confident boy, and explained, "I find them easier to write with when I'm in a hurry. Don't tell my dad." He smiled again and took the paper, leaning against the wall and scrawling his address on the back. With a dramatic flourish, he lifted the pen and held the paper out to her.
"Here. Does that help at all?"
Hermione smiled reluctantly, "Yeah, but you promise you won't slam the door in my face the moment you realize it's me, your immature little fourth year friend?"
He laughed. "Of course not. I'll welcome you with open arms. Besides, you are so far from immature that it's almost unbelievable."
She rolled her eyes. "Right. Oh, I just remembered. I don't have it now, but I still have to give you back your scarf."
He shrugged. "I told you not to worry about it. I have plenty more; go ahead and keep it."
She raised her eyebrows playfully and tightened her lips, feigning a stern expression. "Are you sure?"
He nodded once very solemnly, but quickly cracked a smile, unable to keep a sober expression.
"I should probably go, my parents are waiting for me." He gestured toward the Great Hall with his head, but made no move to leave. Instead, he reached out a hand and brushed a stray curl behind her ear, letting his fingers trail down her jawline as they dropped.
"And don't worry about me, Hermione. I'll be okay, and I'll make sure to be careful. Wish me luck and I'll go."
She sighed and smiled sadly. "Good luck, Cedric."
He smiled back, but the same sort of apprehension that filled her eyes tainted his expression. "That's my girl. Bye, Hermione."
"Bye."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione with an unsettling feeling of finality, making her feel suddenly inconsolably lonely. With another deep sigh, she twisted and buried the scrap of parchment into her bag, pausing to stroke her hand against the soft fabric of the yellow scarf, unforgotten and lying quietly at the bottom of her sack.
XxXx
"This is the most boring task yet. We don't even get to see anything!" Ron whined from his seat beside Hermione.
"Seeing Fleur and Viktor come out after being hexed seems pretty exciting to me," Hermione replied complacently, ever level-headed. She sat calmly, but her hands fiddled nervously in her lap. "This is taking a long time though. My thighs are starting to hurt. Who knew the edges of these bleachers were so sharp?" She shifted uncomfortably as if to emphasize her point.
Ron scowled and folded his arms. "I'm hungry. They should have refreshments."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "We had a huge feast a couple of hours ago, Ronald. I don't think I've ever seen you eat so much in one sitting, yet you're complaining about being hungry? You're unbelievable."
He scowled at her again, and she had the distinct impression he would have stuck out his tongue if he hadn't known she would only further reprimand him.
Suddenly several gasps drew their attention back to the maze as several people on the front rows began to stand. The crowd began to yell excitedly, and Hermione and Ron quickly stood up to try to see onto the field.
"Who is it, who's back? Is it Harry? Does he have the Cup?" came Ron's anxious questions as he stood on tiptoe, attempting to get a better view.
Hermione could see several teachers bustling about a dark form in the grass, but several cries began to pull her attention from the mass of people on the ground.
"He's dead!"
"Cedric Diggory – dead!
"Diggory's dead!"
Girls began to cry, scream, fall into each others' arms as if they couldn't even stand. The whole audience seemed to sway, pulsing like a shock wave, shivering and trembling.
Hermione gasped, lifting a hand to her mouth in horror. She stood on the bench, desperately needing to confirm the whispers, the terrifying outcries. There was Dumbledore, helping an inconsolable Harry to stand, and Moody, taking hold of his arm to lead him away, presumably somewhere quiet. And there was Fudge, standing next to a white-faced McGonagall.
But there – there lying in the grass, clad in his familiar Hufflepuff robes – was Cedric, immovable and silent. From this far away, he didn't look dead, just that he was sleeping, or taking a moment to catch his breath. It all seemed surreal, distant, as if Hermione was watching the whole spectacle through a spyglass, her vision warped in around the edges. She felt so far away, so secluded and alone and numb. She could only just feel Ron's hand as he grabbed at her arm, alarmed at the sudden blank expression that covered her features. She could only just hear him repeating her name over and over.
But then Amos Diggory pushed through the crowd and stumbled onto the field, rushing toward the inert form sprawled so coldly across the grass. He collapsed, lifting his dead son into his arms, his body racked with sobs so strong that Hermione could clearly see his shoulders heaving. His display of complete and total grief triggered something in Hermione, and she slowly slid back onto her seat, Ron just catching her in his arms before she hit the wooden floor of the bleachers. She didn't cry, she simply collapsed, as if she was entirely unable of controlling her movements anymore.
"Hermione? Hermione, are you okay?!" Now Ron was sounding scared, shaking her shoulders, trying to evoke some kind of response from her.
Distantly, she whimpered, finally whispering, "I told him, I told him something bad was going to happen." She began to shake, swaying back and forth as she pulled her knees to her chest. The small space for foot room in front of their bench allowed for little movement, but her jarring motions began to knock her into the sharp edges of the bleachers.
People around her were still crying, sobbing, hysterically praying. Many began to glance around sporadically, attempting to figure out where to go or what to do next, but Hermione simply sat quietly, rocking.
Desperately, Ron reached out and pulled her to him, forcing her against his chest in an effort to still her body.
"Ron! What's wrong with Hermione?" Molly Weasley's voice sounded strained and high, far away. She bent down quickly beside her youngest son.
"I don't know, Mum. She's having some sort of breakdown!"
Vaguely, she heard more people rushing to her, tapping her cheeks with flat hands and feeling her forehead, but she gave no response. She recognized a wand as someone tried to cast a spell, but she paid no heed. She was scared, shocked, out of control. The oddest feeling came over her, like she had been detached from her body and she wasn't sure how to get back in again. She was watching everything through fog, blinding smoke that began to stifle her breath, stealing her air and threatening to suffocate her. The smoke got thicker, darker, blacker and more sinister, invading her lungs and obscuring her vision until she could see no more.
XxXx
She had asked them not to tell Harry because she didn't want him to be even more upset, and after much convincing, had led Ron to believe that she had just been overwhelmed. But now as she knelt on the doorstep of the little blue house, she knew, as she had always known, that her collapse had been much more than just the effects of being overwhelmed. She could still feel the darkness, the smoke, as if it was curling around her now, even five years later.
No one had ever known about Cedric, about the part of Hermione's heart that he had captured. Five years she had hidden it, buried it underneath all the drama of The Golden Trio's years at Hogwarts and the two-year-long war that had followed. She had never had the time to stop and confront her heartache, had never been given the chance to push him away forever. Instead, she had desperately clung to his memory, grasping it as her solace in the numbing efforts of the war.
Hermione knew how pathetic it was – this shadow of a boy that claimed the farthest recesses of her soul, but the events surrounding her childhood had traumatized her, affected her in a horrible way, despite the logical, collected front she always put up.
She had been fifteen, too young to even comprehend the encompassing power of love, but as she had grown and held onto him, she had begun to love his ghost in a deep, desperate way she never had as a teenager. She had changed after fourth year, her hopes of being happy broken inside herself. The one time she had dared to emerge from her books and 'fancy' someone, her heart had been nearly split into irrevocable pieces. She never wanted to dare again. Instead, she had raised Cedric onto a pedestal, an angel of perfection, a man whom none other could stand beside. Despite how untrue or warped her image of him was, she leaned on him, refusing to find comfort in anything or anyone else.
She kept her emotions to herself, throwing everything she had into planning and helping to conduct the war. It was a more harmful approach to life than she could have ever imagined, more corruptive to her soul than she would have ever believed, and as she buried herself in the war, infesting too much within it, she lost herself. And when the skies cleared and the sun came out again as the Wizarding world rejoiced, she couldn't find herself again, couldn't establish herself as the intelligent, feeling girl she had once been before all the darkness had encroached on their lives.
Her knees had begun to hurt, the hard cement pressing through her trousers and sending miniscule needles pricking across her skin. Shifting uncomfortably, she sat back and curled her knees up against her chest and started blankly at the white paneling on the door of 436 Crocus Court.
Breathing deeply, she counted to ten, in Latin, before she closed her eyes tightly.
"I'm going to be all right, I just need to think." She would have laughed at what she had become, at the ease in which she talked to herself, but she hardly ever had the will to laugh anymore. She was only just learning how to smile again, how to open her heart to others. "I need to move on."
Gracefully, she dipped her hand into the pocket of her long coat, pulling out a black, velvety soft box. With a soft crack, she lifted the lid and trailed a finger over the curve of the diamond ring that lay so innocently in the plush satin. A simple band of silver was crowned with three small jewels, immaculately cut and placed with care.
"He loves me," she sighed sadly, "and I love him. I know I do, but I can't promise my whole heart to him until I let Cedric leave the last corner. He deserves all of me."
With a click she shut the box and dropped it into her pocket, sighing one last time, drawing a last strengthening breath. Shuddering slightly, she carefully stood and drew up to her full height on the doorstep.
"There's only one thing left to do." Her hand didn't shake, surprisingly, as she reached up to her neck. With a determined expression on her face, she unwrapped the yellow scarf and folded it in her hands. The soft fabric was comforting in the same way a quilt is to a child. She looked at it for a moment, running the tips of her fingers over the worn stripes. She had held on too long, and it was time for her to let go.
Slowly she lifted one hand and grasped the golden knocker on the door, tapping it smartly three times. For a brief moment she felt the clutches of growing panic as she heard footsteps approach the door, but she quelled her fear and forced herself to raise her chin.
A woman opened the door, her graying hair still a little blonde, eyes blue and sparkling. She had his nose.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice warm and inviting, genuine curiosity lacing the words. Her smile was wide and comfortable and small lines around the corners of her lips hinted that she used the expression regularly.
With a sigh and a swallow, Hermione nodded. Hesitantly she held out the scarf and watched as the woman took it from her, eyebrows drawn in confusion. The elegantly aged woman lifted a finger and traced the form of the badger, lips slightly parted.
"My name is Hermione Granger. I went to school with your son; may I come in?"
There was a tense moment as the woman's eyes widened, but after a short length of heavy silence, the woman finally smiled and opened the door farther.
"Come on in, Hermione."
Never had words been so warm, so incredibly welcome to Hermione's ears. That one offering, that one request, finally brought a tentative smile to her lips and she sighed in relief before walking over the threshold. The door shut behind them with a soft click, just as the robin started a new song.
XxXx
A/N: It's just come to my attention that my characterizations may have been a little off. Sorry about that; Cedric's hard and my Hermione usually comes out better than that. I have realized that this may not have been my best work, but I hope you still liked it!
You know what makes the best birthday presents, belated or not? Reviews. ; )