Prologue

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soul-less and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life," Hermione remembered. Those had been Remus' words to Harry upon his inquiry about the horrid creatures.

The definition seemed only too apt to Hermione, even if the words seemed a bit weak. Nothing, she thought, could exactly define the feeling that overcame her whenever she found herself near one of those damned creatures. It didn't happen often, but with them roaming around the Hogwarts Express, Hogsmeade, and now Hogwarts, she was becoming much too well acquainted with them. The day of the Quidditch match, when the dementors had come into the grounds of Hogwarts itself, Hermione had felt her heart shrink in her chest. The constricting pressure, paired with the worry about Harry and his fall, had rendered her useless. While Ron and the Weasleys ran to the hospital wing to see Harry, Hermione ended up sitting at the doors to the Gryffindor locker rooms, her knees tucked under her chin, shivering and sobbing. She had never felt so useless, empty, or miserable.

It was like this that Cedric Diggory found her as he left the Hufflepuff locker rooms. He was feeling rather rotten himself, both from the effects of the dementors and from the match, which seemed absolutely unfair to him. He was on his way to request a re-match when he ran into the sobbing fourteen-year-old, who looked much too young for Hogwarts at just that moment. Her red tie, bushy hair, and despairing face gave away her identity easily, however.

"Granger?" he asked awkwardly, not quite sure how to deal with a sobbing girl he did not even know. "Are you alright?"

The Granger girl nodded clumsily, her jaw clenched tightly. Cedric felt remarkably insensitive; it was obvious she was not alright, but she would say no such thing. He knew that she was Harry Potter's best friend, and so could only imagine how miserable she must feel, particularly when his fall was combined with the dementors' presence and effect. As a prefect, he argued with himself, he had a responsibility to look out for every student's well-being. That included Granger's emotional turmoil. With that resolution, he pushed his own misery aside and sat down next to her, ignoring the rain and the mud.

"Granger, you're obviously not alright. Um… do you… Are you cold?" he finally asked, unsure as to what his course of action should be. Apparently he was not too far off the mark, though, as the girl nodded once more. He took out his wand to cast a warming spell, but stopped himself before starting as realization dawned upon him. The poor girl was not renowned for having very many friends. In fact, the only students known to be friends with her were currently in the hospital wing, where her very best friend laid on a bed, wounded. She did not need a warming spell; she needed a hug. Comfort. A friend. And so, he put away his wand, unbuttoned his outer robe, and pulled Granger closer so that she was sitting between his legs, her head tucked under his chin, warm in his embrace and under his robe. She continued to cry as he held her.

After a while, he realized just how awkward the situation was. He had acted on instinct, putting himself in her shoes; if he were in her situation, he would want to be held and comforted. But he did not even know the girl. He was not her friend or anyone in a situation to comfort her at all. He did not even know her first name. In fact, he probably had done more damage than good; the poor girl had run off to be on her off and suddenly found herself pulled onto the lap of a boy practically three years her senior. He began to pull away from the girl, figuring he might as well put her out of her misery, but Granger gripped his robe tightly and refused to let go. Well, he thought, maybe she really just needs comfort, not matter from whom. He wrapped his arms around her once more.

"Say, Granger. What is your first name?" he asked after a while.

"Hermione. I'm Hermione," she replied in a quiet, tearful voice, muffled even further by his robes, against which she was hiding her face.

"Well, Hermione, I'm Cedric Diggory."

Her only response was to burrow further in his arms, resting her head on his chest. Her sobbing began to subside. Cedric allowed himself to smile.