A/N: It's so interesting to read your theories!
It's also very gratifying to hear that you're finding this intriguing. While I don't mind the questions, I hope it's understandable that there are some things I won't answer just yet!
Thanks again to my beta, Heatherbella and to my pre-readers Chaz and deb24601

The day of the Yule Ball arrived with abundant fanfare. A flurry of activity, from decorating to special-delivery owls, to makeshift spas. I've sequestered myself in a valiant effort to tame my hair. My robes are in order and I smile as I see no one else appears to be wearing periwinkle.

There are enough potions in my hair that it should lie flat from sheer weight alone. Though none of the other girls have asked who, if anyone, I am going with, they've all been surprisingly inclusive. Ginny, of course, being the most helpful.

"You look lovely, Hermione," she said, fastening me into my blue robes as I hold my hair up.

"Thank you, Ginny. You do, as well. Neville is a lucky young man."

Ginny nods half-heartedly. I know she had not-so secretly wished Harry would ask her to the ball, but he's been enamoured with Cho for far too long not to seize the opportunity.

"Oh, Ginny, he'll come around."

"Perhaps. Oh, don't listen me and let me ruin your special day."

"Special day?"

Ginny looks at me like I have sprouted two heads. "Being the date of a Tri-Wizard Champion is not something that happens every day."

"What? How?" I nearly shout, then lower my voice to a whisper. "How did you know?"

"Cedric came to me, of course. Wanted to know what colour your robes were, "Ginny says as she heads for the door. "…and other things."

"What other things?" I think I might be shrieking by now. "Ginny, don't you dare leave without telling me!"

"Oh, I really must go. Need to get ready. Almost time," she laughs and yells behind her from the doorway.

"Ginny Weasley, you get back here this instant!"

It doesn't appear she's coming back.

Bollocks.

I am unbelievably nervous as I descend the stairs toward the Great Hall. Many couples are already together, milling about. No doubt, a goodly portion of these nerves are due to the anticipation of hundreds of eyes upon me. It's not so much that I care what most of them think, but after years of scrutiny and snide comments… well, I prefer low-profile moments.

Before I reach the bottom-most step, I pivot and search for him. In this moment, it all becomes clear; mostly, I hope Cedric doesn't have regrets.

That's the hardest part of doing your very best; If you fail, the weakness was inherently you.

Professor McGonagall is scurrying about, herding the Champions and their partners into her fold. I see no sign of Cedric. Cho, however, manages to look like a decorative slip of marzipan draped over Harry's arm.

"She's beautiful." Pavarti's voice draws my attention to a nearby casement. There beside her, Cedric emerges from a darkened hall, looking at me.

"That she is," he says. He's dressed in traditional black robes and holds one hand out to me while the other remains in his pocket.

"I think McGonagall is looking for you." I manage to choke the words out.

"She probably is." He seems to study the polished curls that are huddled near my neck.

I roll my eyes and he mocks me by doing the same. It marks the last of his tomfoolery for the night; in the next moment, he straightens, wraps my arm in his and is the perfect gentleman.

During our entrance, among the crowd's cheers, I can hear the question, again and again.

"Is that... is that really Hermione Granger? With Cedric Diggory?"

We, along with the other champion couples, lead the first dance. It's a peculiar mixture of a waltz with lifts. We look to one another to count off the beginning but by the second spin, I find my attention fixed squarely on the buttons of his shirt. The spotlight's pressure feels like flames against my skin and it's all I can do to count out the steps and hope not to stumble or trip or any other manner of humiliation in front o-

Suddenly, I'm aloft and the crowd is below me. It's not time for a lift. I come back down just as fast, sliding through his encircled arms, only to have my toes skim the floor before he's spun and lifted me on the next beat. Up, hold, then down again.

This time, mid-air, he catches me.

I catch his face.

Mischief.

Joy.

The beat comes again and I'm and laughing and my stomach might be in the ice chandelier and I can't make myself care. And down again.

Up again, and just when I expect to brace myself for a landing the room spins and my hands are on his wide shoulders and hold him and he keeps spinning us and the notes fade away and the world fades away and all that exists is this boy who makes me feel… just feel.

With steady arms and strength I can feel moving me, he returns me slowly to earth. The floor is full and if anyone is looking at us, I neither know nor care.

"Granger," he speaks against my ear. "Are you mine?"

It is the first question with an answer neither one of us fully comprehends.

"Yes."

Hermione closed the book with a resounding thud that nearly, but not quite, covered her sob.

The lathed leather cover had at first appeared to be in a design of intricate swirls, but closer inspection revealed them to be interwoven vines and clusters of elderberries. The pages weren't glued, but rather sewn into the spine.

The thread was a braid of white strands. Iridescent. Gossamer.

She was vaguely aware of the sound of pouring liquid as her cup was refilled.

"They are most likely unicorn hairs." Minerva had endured the silence for as long as she was able. "The creator of such an object must actually construct it, not merely enchant an existing object or conjure it."

Hermione tried to picture Dumbledore in his study – old eyes peering above his spectacles and withered fingers aiming thread at a needle's eye – taking time out of his day, time from running the school or saving the world from Voldemort, to make this insurance policy for her life. Had she done anything so grand as to merit such laborious ministrations from the greatest wizard of the past century? Sure, she'd helped. She was ever so helpful, but those adventures were part and parcel of her friendship with Harry. Learning experiences. She was all the better for them and not at all inclined to think that her personal fortunes were worth such precious efforts.

But then, maybe her attitude had as much to do with what the book was revealing than anything.

"What is the point of this? To cause me pain? To make me remember Cedric, to honour his memory… differently?" Hermione pushed to book across the desk and away from her.

It slid itself back, slowly and steadily, to her.

"Time wants to be mended," Minerva observed.

"And what of me?" Hermione nearly shrieked and then shrank back at her own outburst. "Do I mend in opening these wounds? Perhaps it is better this way. What good can come from remembering when he is gone?"

"Hermione, Cedric was a good person. He was obviously dear to you."

"What if… what if I made this happen?" Her voice was barely a whisper. What if I made everyone forget?" A silent tear ran a trail down her cheek.

"Do you think it is just any individual with whom I would entrust a Time Turner?" Minerva made a show of brushing off her robes, then gave a pointed look. "I do not doubt for one moment that you are one of the few who would have the ability to figure out such an immense magical undertaking as altering mass memories, but you would do no such thing. You, Hermione Granger, are a selfless person, therefore, you would never mutilate the memory of another simply to alleviate your own grief. I rather believe you would be inclined to wear that grief as a badge of honour."

Hermione ran her hand over the leather once more.

"I cannot bear to read more," she said with no small amount of finality. "A part of me feels almost as though he's trapped in that book. But all that's in there is hurt. I don't know what more lies ahead. I don't know if he dies in the maze or otherwise. I don't know much of anything. But I do know this: Cedric Diggory is gone and remembering the specifics won't bring him back."

"He deserves truth." Minerva clasped the brooch holding her robes together. "Only the living can protect the dead in such a way."

No one had protected Cedric when needed, but she could now.

She could be his protector.

Hermione opened the book again.