Where Loyalties Lie

by AelysAlthea

In a flash, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament appeared before the audience, cup in hand. Alone. In but an instant he was crying for the boy he'd left behind. Cedric managed to escape the deathly curses of Voldemort and his men, a narrow escape that cost Harry Potter his own. But Cedric hasn't given up on the boy who had sacrificed himself for him...

11. Chapter 11 - Bye Bye Beautiful

Chapter 11: Bye Bye Beautiful

The damage the Fiendfyre had done was devastating. At least three quarters of every wall Cedric passed was charred to blackness, most of the panelling crumbling to ash in a cloyingly acrid pungency. The endless succession of rugs that covered the floorboards was as patched as a crocheted blanket where they still remained at all and only the dwindling light of the pulsing embers stood in a poor mimicry of where once were candles.

Salomé's magic had been explosive. Not only that but it had persisted and thrived, ploughing through the corridors with single-minded determination. As though it had a purpose. As thought it had a goal in mind, a target it sought. Maybe it did, but when Cedric asked Salomé, she only shook her head mutely. She either didn't know or didn't care.

It was a race, Cedric knew. They were fighting against time in a race to be free of the vast expanse of the manor before Riddle's Dark subordinates honed in upon them. And hone they would, Cedric knew. He'd erected a Hawk-Eye Charm around himself from the instant he stepped onto the grounds; he could feel the movement of other witches and wizards around him as though he had a sixth sense, his awareness extended even through the walls and floors around him. It was because of this more than anything else that he knew they were drawing closer. Cedric was given the uneasy impression that he and Salomé were a pair of fleeing deer being run down by a wolf pack.

When the first opponents were upon them, Cedric reacted instantly. It was at a crossroads, the hallways wider than they had been floors beneath the earth but still just as marred by destruction. Chance would have it that Cedric looked the right way to notice the pair of wizards before they had time to respond. Before he was even fully aware of it himself, his wand had snapped up. An Expulsion Charm springing to mind. The wizards were soaring backwards along the corridor before they'd even flinched, cracking into the far wall with a sickening crunch. Cedric hardly heard it.

Glancing immediately back in the other direction of the hallway to ensure no other threats approached, he caught sight of Salomé. She'd poised herself in readiness, her stance grounded and wide and her own wand held aloft. It was remarkable, and not because of the ferocity of her expression, a ferocity that Cedric had scarcely witnessed before for the aloof mask she held permanently affixed. It was incredible because even to his favourable gaze she looked terrible.

Exhaustion had erased any visible semblance of infallible strength from Salomé. She looked a mess, with smudges deeper than merely ash blotted beneath her eyes, contrastingly flushed and pale beneath the dirt. Her shoulders noticeably sagged beneath robes torn to scraps that barely preserved modesty and her usually perfect curls were a mess of tangles, locks chopped irregularly by the cruel blade of Fiendfyre. Thankfully, Cedric recognised with overwhelming relief, she didn't appear to be burned in any other area. It was hard to entirely discern beneath the soot that smeared her naturally pale skin, but she didn't seem to be favouring anywhere specifically. Except her left shoulder, that was; the way she gingerly raised her fingers towards it every so often worried Cedric immensely. But he didn't ask. He knew Salomé well enough to acknowledge that he would be far more likely to receive a scowl than an explanation.

"What?" Salomé muttered. Despite her near-glare, even her voice sounded weary.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Salomé's gaze was keen enough that Cedric had to wonder whether she'd lied when she told him she didn't practice Legilimancy.

Cedric shook his head. "Nothing. Only that… you shouldn't be using magic."

"I need to defend myself."

"That's what I'm here for."

Salomé's eyes flashed dangerously and, though he could see it caused her to wince to do so, she folded her arms in a telling sign of disgruntlement. "I'm not incapable, Cedric."

"I know." Cedric nodded. "We've already discussed this. But you are exhausted. If you'd like –"

"I swear to Merlin, if you suggest I should let you carry me one more time, I will hex you right know and leave you here to die." Salomé's glare was fierce, more so than Cedric expected it would be had she replied in kind in alternative circumstances. But she was pushing herself into a visage of strength, of endurance. Cedric could see that. And damn him, he wouldn't force her from it should she find it necessary.

"I wasn't going to suggest that," Cedric lied. He'd asked her twice already, only to receive increasingly heated glares in reply.

Salomé grunted in a clear indication of her disbelief before stepping past him and falling into a slow run in the direction they'd been headed once more. Cedric followed a step behind, struggling to keep his worry from baring itself. Salomé didn't like to be worried over, he'd discovered, and liked even less to be offered assistance. Cedric was surprised, really, that he'd survived with nothing more than a glare at his suggestion for physical support. He'd expected a tongue-lashing at the very least. It was a testament to how exhausted Salomé was that she hadn't bothered.

She's fit to collapse, Cedric thought, falling prey to his worry as he felt a frown settle on his brow. Salomé did a good job of hiding it but he'd watched her every move for weeks now. He could see the catching stumble in her step, perceived the slight hunching of her shoulders and the almost inaudible hitch in her breath that just faintly gasped. She can't keep this up much longer. Curse her pride that she won't let me to help her.

Fiendfyre was exhausting. Cedric had never cast it himself but he knew that much. The more uncontrollable the magic, the more tiring it was to breathe to life. It was even harder to instil some element of control upon it. The destruction that Cedric observed around himself, even as they ran through the corridors of the manor, was indication of how much energy Salomé must have thrust into it. Not only was the Fiendfyre fiercely potent but it was refined. Rather than simply spreading outwards as would an uncontrollable fyre, Salomé's curse truly did seem to have purpose. Like a creature racing through the hallways, it had swept down passages and chewed that which stood in its path. Always moving forward but with intent. That it persisted in its intent even so long after its initial conjugation… Cedric needn't wonder at all why Salomé was wearied.

They happened upon a witch next. A single witch. Cedric considered he could have taken her down in a heartbeat, even when she was the one to notice them first and loose a hex spiralling through the air. There was no arrogance in his belief; he was Auror-trained, taught to respond with speed.

He didn't get a chance to put those skills into action. Before Cedric had mentally thrown a spell away, the witch was on the ground. A Shield Charm hung suspended in the air for a moment longer, quivering with the reverberation of the enemy spell that had struck it. As he watched it rapidly faded into disappearance, he glanced towards Salomé.

She appeared to have visibly paled in the seconds since he'd last spared her his direct attention, and yet even with such evident exhaustion, she stood tall. Her legs barely trembled, her gasp around her lowering wand tight. Noticing Cedric's attention, she lifted her chin slightly. "What?"

Cedric only shook his head in reply. Nodding curtly, Salomé spun from him and started off once more. Though she must have been even more tired than before for the rapid defence, her step was faster than it had been, as though she was trying to prove that the use of her magic had not affected her at all. Cedric kept his lips firmly pressed; he wouldn't impinge upon Salomé's perseverance simply for practicality's sake. If she wanted to believe that she could handle the magic, he would let her. Besides, he knew the power of resolution. If Salomé thought she could persist, then she would.

Seven more times they were confronted. Each time, Cedric leapt to impregnable defence and aggressive offence with more speed than he had been taught was realistically helpful. He reacted more than he considered, letting instinct respond for him. He had to, for even a split second of delay would mean Salomé acted herself. Cedric couldn't allow that. She'd run herself to exhaustion before allow herself to be a victim of magical attack. She held on by the skin of her teeth and twice it was Salomé before Cedric that rebuffed their assailants.

Incredible. Even exhausted, even wavering on her feet, she somehow managed to defend herself, to retaliate. Almost surprisingly, it was never to kill. It would have almost been easier to simply kill than to disable, but Salomé blasted witches and repelled wizards and always left them breathing.

Cedric didn't think he'd ever admired her more than for that.

The hallways had widened to the indicative ground level dimensions by the time Riddle's voice began its mantra once more. It rebounded off the stonewalls and panelling, muffled not in the slightest by the tapestries adorning those walls, nor thick rugs only sparsely singed that would otherwise have bared polished floors.

"Useless fools! Bring her to me now!"

Cedric turned his head to glare at the omniscient-apparent voice overhead, the voice that battered at his mind, as though the force of that glare could pierce through ceilings and thick floors to spear the man in his room on the fourth floor. If Riddle was even in his room still. It was more than likely that he swept like a archangel through the halls in pursuit of his prey.

"Well, at least he's no longer demanding my instantaneous death," Salomé murmured at his side.

Cedric's glare dropped instantly as he turned towards her. He kept pace with her, letting her set the speed; they'd slowed to barely a trot now, but the periodic sidewards glances she gave him forbade Cedric from mentioning the fact, let alone offering assistance. "What do you mean?"

"Were you not here to hear his initial glowing orders?" Salomé replied sarcastically. At the shake of Cedric's head she rolled her eyes. He got the impression the gesture wasn't meant for him, however. "He wanted me dead. From the second that he – that Nagini – knew I sought her to kill her."

"The snake knew?" Cedric asked. He had a surplus of other questions he further wanted answered that Salomé had barely hinted at – how did she discover Nagini was a Horcrux? How did she even know how to defeat a Horcrux in the first place? She had always simply suggested that she 'learned' but never expressly specified how – but Cedric held his tongue. There were better times to ask, and more likely situations where he would be afforded an answer.

Besides, there were more important things to consider. Like the fact that Salomé didn't even afford him an exasperated glance for what he realised was a fairly redundant question. She simply nodded instead, pausing as they had made a habit of doing so to peer around the corner of a corridor. "As Riddle's familiar, I suppose she told him."

"That's inconvenient."

"You're telling me," Salomé agreed, before pushing off from the wall and starting down the adjacent corridor.

"I will burn you to ash, Salomé! My fyre will make your own seem nothing more than a candle's flicker to my bonfire."

"Stop her. Bring her to me. I will deal with her!"

"Your breaths are numbered, Salomé. Enjoy the flavour of air while it lasts for you won't get the pleasure of its taste for much longer."

Again and again Riddle's words sliced through the air. They must have been mentally conveyed, magical, for even cupping a hand over his ear as Cedric attempted didn't dampen the booming volume. Salomé hardly seemed perturbed, only offering another eye roll as she and Cedric stepped around their latest opponent. The dark-haired witch twitched in her unconsciousness. "He's getting more imaginative. Eloquence is always worrisome with him. It means his anger has become more cold than hot."

Cedric nodded. "No mercy, apparently. You should be very afraid." He kept his tone forcibly casual, despite the tightening in his gut.

Salomé snorted softly, as much an indication he'd been successful in his attempts at light-heartedness as anything. "I suppose our 'star-crossed relationship' truly was only a temporary state." Her lips quirked, considering. "Not that I can particularly blame him. I have been gradually obliterating his soul."

"You think he's aware the other pieces are destroyed?"

Shrugging, Salomé paused before a 'T' section of hallways. She glanced one way, then the next before murmuring, "I know where we are now. This way." She beckoned Cedric, who was fairly certain he knew their location too but couldn't be sure given the almost identical décor in every hallway. Salomé took a moment longer before replying to his question, though Cedric thought it as much to regain breath as to think of a reply. She was almost panting now. "If Riddle is unaware of the destruction of his Horcruxes, he will be soon. I'm sure of that. He would have been able to deduce the reason behind my killing of his snake." She paused, before saying in a low voice, "Unfortunately, he is not a fool."

The words seemed an ominous prophecy. Cedric felt a shiver dance along his spine at the thought.

It vanished into loathing an instant later, however, when Riddle's voice resounded through the air once more. "I know where you are, Salomé. I will always find you. You cannot escape from me, and when I have you in my grasp once more you will be begging for death long before I allow it."

A growl slipped from Cedric's lips, yet unexpected as it was he felt no need to suppress its arousal. The bastard. Cedric would let Salomé have at the man first – she deserved it – but should anything, anything, change her mind, leave her inclined to avoid the act of killing him herself, he vowed he would do so for her in a heartbeat. It was almost a blessing for the monster that he was not before Cedric in that moment; he was sure he could have annihilated him even without his wand, and with relish.

"Fuck."

The harsh word was barely more than a whisper but it snapped Cedric from his hate-flooded stupor. Eyebrows rising incredulously, he turned towards Salomé. "What –?"

"How could I have forgotten? How is that even possible?" Salomé's scowl was entirely self-directed and she was almost stamping her feet in frustration as they ran. She looked on the verge of smacking her head with her own hand. As it was, she merely pressed the heel of her palm to her temple. "Merlin, what a…"

"What is it?" Cedric asked. He could hear the anxiety in his own voice.

Salomé turned wide, dark eyes upon him. Wider than usual even, and there was a flicker of fear in her gaze. That brief spark was enough to set Cedric's nerves on edge. "I'm bonded to him. Of course he'll be able to find me."

The tightness in Cedric's belly coiled to an almost painful tension. His jaw squeaked with the firmness of his clenching. Before he could comment, however, Salomé was speaking once more. "How could I have been so stupid? I have considered this, over and over. I knew I had to be rid of it before I could escape but I…"

She trailed off with a gasp, pausing in step. This time, she actually did butt her head against her hand. For the first time, Cedric saw her completely removed of masks. She looked very much her age, very much a short, slight, seventeen-year-old girl who had just been presented with an insurmountable task. Her shoulders hunched further in more than just exhaustion, her eyes squeezing shut tightly. Salomé had never looked so vulnerable, not in Cedric's memory, and that made it even worse to witness.

If anything could induce Cedric to thrust aside his own concerns, it was that. Glancing quickly around himself – blessedly, the manor was large enough that they'd been provided with a brief respite from attack – he took a step towards her. Bowing himself slightly so that they were nearly eye level, he raised a hand to her shoulder. Her right one, of course; he wasn't so foolish to touch the other, especially without knowing exactly what was wrong with it.

"Salomé? Do you know what it is?"

She opened her eyes and peered up at him. "What?"

"You know what the bond is, yes?"

Salomé nodded. It was with relief that Cedric noted a hint of condescension rise alongside her desperation. "Yes, of course. What, did you think I would remain ignorant when such a binding was upon me?"

Cedric didn't pause to answer the question. It was likely rhetorical anyway. "And you know how to break it?"

Nodding again, Salomé gradually grew more grounded. Her desperation, though still evident, appeared to come under grips with Cedric's careful, practical questioning. "Of course I do. A Ritual of Fission is hardly unheard of. I- I just couldn't do it until now."

"Because Riddle would be suspicious?" Cedric asked. Salomé nodded. "You think you could conduct a breaking of the bonds? If given enough time?"

Salomé bit her lip. There was nothing vulnerable about that gesture, however. It was considering, determined if anything. "It's not a matter of time – I can do it quickly enough. More is the question of my magical reserves."

"Can you use mine?"

"No. No, I couldn't," she said with a shake of her head. "Not for something so personal. But…" She took a deep breath. "Maybe, if I was in the right place."

"Place?" Cedric asked hopefully.

"Somewhere magically potent. Somewhere that will lend me a crutch without acting for me like borrowed reserves would."

A sound behind him caused Cedric to snap his attention over his shoulder. He peered into the faintly glowing shadows for a moment in an attempt to make out any movement. Nothing. Nothing yet. He turned warily back to Salomé. "You know of such a place that we can get to?"

This time, Salomé nodded her head fervently. Her determination had rapidly extinguished the last traces of fear and replaced them with resolution. Weariness still visibly hung from her like a heavy cloak but she pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. "I do."

"Then –"

He didn't get a chance to say a word more. Salomé didn't give him another second. Reaching up to the hand clasping her shoulder reassuringly, she gripped his fingers in her own, spun on her heel and took off at a run. A real run this time, as though the prospect of breaking her bond was rejuvenating. Cedric felt like a puppy dragged along on a leash as she charged headlong down one hallway, turned sharply and legged it down the next.

The encountered two more of Riddle's subordinate parties and were exposed to another resounding demand from the man itself – "Come to me now, Salomé, and I may consider killing you swiftly" – before they reached the outdoors. It was like stepping into a cool-room, the chill of the night washing over Cedric like a dash of cold water. The balcony and subsequent steps from the wide doorway were whitewashed and gleaming in the darkness. The night itself was pitch-black, the flat darkness broken only by the bioluminescent flora and the radiance of the half-moon overhead. It illuminated the opaque clouds of their breath. A shiver trembled briefly through Cedric's limbs for the thinness of the robes he wore. A glance to Salomé showed she too was wracked with goose bumps. He cringed slightly at the inadequacy of her apparel once more.

Another sound behind Cedric drew his attention over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. He spun more completely at the sight of a charging wizard. An instant later he'd erected a shield, reflected a curse, and retaliated with a Reducto of his own. The wizard skidded back along the floor in a tumbling roll and didn't move again.

"It's at the end of the gardens," Salomé was saying. She hadn't even glanced behind her at the potential assailant. "This way." And with another tug of Cedric's hand still grasped in hers she drew him down the steps from the balcony into the faintly glowing darkness.

The gardens were as much a maze as the manor, with the exception of being only on one level. The interlaced hedging, however, broken by stunted trees and bushes with glowing, luminescent-green autumnal flowers, made it just as labyrinthine. Pathways abruptly stopped, though Salomé ignored the cessations as often as not, and those paths seeped from stepping-stones of marble to rivers of pebbles and bleached grasses. To Cedric, each step appeared to take them no further, no deeper into the gardens. It all looked exactly the same to him.

Apparently not to Salomé, however. She trotted with purposeful steps from path to connected path as though she knew exactly where she was going. As though, unlike in the manor, she knew each and every turn, each tunnel between hedges with prefect remembrance. At a brief glance over her shoulder towards Cedric, and evidently perceiving his curiosity even through the darkness, she shrugged. "I spend a lot of time in the gardens," she offered by way of explanation.

The best part about the gardens, as far as Cedric could discern, was not the escape they offered from Riddle's voice – proved barely a dozen steps from the balcony to be negligible at best – nor the freedom from the confines of the walls. It was instead that Cedric realised the witches and wizards under Riddle's direction had not yet spread to such a distance. They seemed almost exclusively restricted to the manor itself. Cedric doubted it would last long, especially given that the wizard who had witnessed their departure into the gardens had only been knocked senseless rather than silenced completely. They would have to use their time wisely.

They'd been weaving through the gardens for nearing twenty minutes by the time Salomé final drew Cedric into a modest clearing. It was illuminated by the whiteness of the moon reflecting off a simple white pagoda, off the pale pavers surrounding and leading down to a tranquil pond just as glowing. Ringing the little clearing, a scattering of bioluminescent lowers in blues and purples, whites and soft greens, radiated with light of their own. A speckling of equally luminescent insects, bulbous abdomens as yellow as fluorescent light, danced around one another and skimmed across their reflections on the pond's surface just short of touching.

It was beautiful, but otherwise unremarkable. Except for the fact that even as Cedric felt Salomé drop his fingers, knew that she was hastening into the bond-breaking, he could feel the magic. The air was thick with it, almost pulsing. To Cedric's magical senses it felt gelatinous.

"I can feel it," he murmured, turning slowly on the spot and unconsciously searching for a visible sign of the presence of the magic.

"I would expect you to. It would be more concerning had you not been able to feel anything," Salomé replied. Yet condescending as her words were, she sounded distracted. And that distraction drew Cedric's attention to her once more.

He leapt to her side when he noticed what she was doing. "Stop!" He cried, falling onto his knees beside her and reaching for the wand she held towards the crook of her elbow. Too slowly, however, for the Slicing Charm had already torn through skin and spilled a torrent of blood down her forearm. Cedric watched, horrified, as thick pulses of blood arose and dribbled, trickles as dark as black water in the night.

Sparing only a deterring glance for Cedric, Salomé slapped his hands away. Holding her left arm aloft – and slapping Cedric away once more when he tried to reach for her pulsing wound – she leant forwards and streaked her fingers through the blood.

Cedric couldn't help but utter a warning plea. "Salomé, surely there must be something –"

"Cedric, if you can't sit by quietly without intervening, I will forcibly remove you from my company," Salomé cut him off. The flatness of her brief glance indicated that she would very much stick to her word. She held Cedric's gaze for a moment longer, pinning him with the weight of her attention until, apparently assured of his immobility, she went back to dipping her fingers and subsequently painting the pavers with her blood.

Cedric watched with a mixture of horror and fascination. He had been taught from parents, professors and Auror trainers all that blood magic was a forbidden art. That the use of bodily fluids would make a potion or ritual that much more potent. That the volatility of the use of such substances was as unpredictable as a game of Exploding Snap. As an Auror, it was Cedric's duty to be on the lookout for individuals that partook in blood magic. Not that he could do all that much when they were found other than report the criminals to a dismissive superior; those that were found more often than not had connections in high places, were in some way related to the Darker leaders of political Wizarding Britain or, in some cases, Riddle himself. They would hardly be reprimanded for their behaviour, especially when most had connections themselves on the Wizengamot or the newfound Judiciary.

Everything within Cedric was averse to Salomé's actions, from the act of using blood magic to the fact that she inflicted damage upon herself both physically and through further exhausting herself. In a detached part of his mind, he recognised that it was the latter that concerned him more, yet he could do nothing about it. Nothing for either of his inclinations. Because Salomé would send him from her side should he object once more and though Cedric may be proud, may possess the determination and steadfast commitment to his own sense of right and wrong, such dismissal he could not abide. Remaining by Salomé's side was of the utmost importance. That simple yet complicated fact was perhaps the thing he was most certain of. More certain than anything he'd ever felt in his entire life. It wasn't so much a want but a need.

So Cedric watched. He trained his eyes upon Salomé with the sole intent of ensuring he knew the moment she reached the ends of her energy reserves and required his aid. For he knew it would come. He knew that her magic was spread thin and that necessity dictated she must use it further. There was no way she could not collapse from sheer exhaustion.

Instead of objecting each time Salomé dipped her forefinger into the welling blood in the crook of her elbow, Cedric clenched his teeth. When she scored the thick, dark fluid onto the pavers in arcing lines, ringing herself in a sketchy circle, he dropped to the ground in a crouch five feet away to prevent himself from leaping towards her once more with grasping fingers to stem the pulsing wound. And when she finished her circle and moved onto painting bloody runes inside the line, he bit his lip to keep from objecting once more.

Blood Runes. They were perhaps the most dangerous of all.

Cedric wasn't familiar with many Ancient Runes alphabets. He was even less familiar with the ones Salomé drew; they were not straight and simplistic, nor pictorial and elaborate, but a cursive script not unlike modern languages. Cedric only looked for a moment, though, with only mild interest, before his attention turned once more to Salomé. Did she look paler already?

Whether teetering on exhaustion or not, she persisted. Dabbing at her surrounding pattern of runes once more, pausing to check them with a brief scan, Salomé folded herself into cross-legged seating at the very centre of her rune-embedded circle. With a deep breath, she straightened her back, raised her chin and closed her eyes. In her right hand she held her wand in a loose yet firm grasp. With the other she reached up to her neck, dipping into the folds of her bodice to extract a golden chain. Cedric didn't miss the slight crinkling of her brow as she raised her wounded arm.

A flat, heavy locket, plain and circular, tinkled slightly as it tumbled loose into her fingers. Eyes still closed, Salomé snapped it open with her thumb and, to Cedric's attentive gaze, pulled what looked to be a curl of dark hair from within. The locket jingled once more as Salomé dropped it in favour of crushing her fingers around the hair, squeezing almost hatefully for a moment before reaching forwards and placing it delicately upon the S-shaped rune directly before her.

Hair. It was a primary component of Binding magic, alongside blood. Cedric swallowed down the sour taste that lathered his tongue. This is necessary. It's necessary. And it's not as though Salomé is the one doing the binding. She's breaking it. To himself, the words rung true, were steadfast and dismissive of his concerns. It was surprisingly easy to disregard his qualms. The logic that adhered to protocol, to that which Cedric had learned through his training, was brushed aside like a feebly clinging cobweb. It was hardly a concern at all; what was more concerning was the distant calls that Cedric could hear over his shoulder. He spared the direction they had come the barest of glances, but couldn't discern any new arrivals as of yet.

The moment he drew his attention back, the ritual – for that's what Cedric deduced it must be – suddenly picked up its pace. With a sweep of her wand, Salomé muttered a spell beneath her breath and touched it to the bloody circle. A spark of blue-green flame erupted, sizzling with the sound of splitting twigs, and immediately spread around the entirely of the circle. Only the runes were spared contact, just visible behind the ethereal dancing of flames that reached not a handbreadth into the air. To Cedric, still shivering slightly in the cold of the night, the fire felt even colder. It seemed to sap any hint of warmth from the air like a hungry snow demon. Those icy flames cast Salomé into black shadows and contrastingly ghostly paleness.

She reached her free hand up once more. With a vicious tug, she plucked an admirable chunk of her own hair from her head. Eyes still closed and dextrously juggling her wand, Salomé wove those hairs into an intricately cord that resembled a circle of braid tied in upon itself. Placing it upon the rune to the right of the first lock of hair, she tapped first one than the other with her wand, whispering a spell beneath her breath. Both curls of hair blurred slightly, as though seen through fogged glass, until they began to glow in tandem with bright, white clarity. It was all conducted fluidly, Salomé's motions smooth and sure. Cedric had to wonder at how determinedly she'd committed this Ritual of Fission to her mind to be able to act with such certainty, for though she had claimed that it was 'hardly unheard of', Cedric had certainly never encountered it before, let alone witnessed one enacted.

Then Salomé spoke. Her voice, even naturally low as it was, had dropped further in depth. The slight hoarseness that had filled her voice since Cedric had first stumbled to her side at the manor was unidentifiable. Yet when Cedric leant forwards slightly, straining his ears to make out the words she spoke, he realised that, even had they not been nearly inaudible, he would not have been able to make them out. They were in a language unfamiliar to him, though the sounds, the pronunciations and the curl to the accent seemed almost recognisable.

Eructavit cor meum, corpus dimisit;
Ex libertatis inest fission I, facta est in compedibus pannos.
Recedite: non est bene quis solvit ... ungues

She continued, her words fluid and unbroken, another indication of sincere and manic dedication to learning the procedure exactly. Was it Latin? Perhaps Gaelic? Cedric wasn't sure. He spared only a moment for consideration, for when Salomé paused and, to his ears, begun to repeat herself, she began to sweep her wand in elaborate motions. It was, Cedric pondered in his staring attentiveness, oddly reminiscent of the grace she wore when dancing.

Then light flared. It was with even more profound vibrancy than the blue-green flame, than the muted whiteness of the glowing locks of hair. A beacon itself, the glow radiated in a morph of the two colours, creating a blue-white light that beamed like a spotlight into the air. Salomé was nearly lost behind the wall of that light.

It was beautiful, in a way. Wondrous. It was a magic that breathed purity, and though Cedric knew he was likely swayed by prior understanding, by his knowledge of the ritual itself and what it stood for, it looked like… freedom.

Then reality hit him. The beacon was so vibrant and expansive that there was no way than anyone within a kilometre radius could have missed it. Cedric knew the gardens of Riddle manor were extensive, but they weren't that large. Not so deep and buried. Which meant that –

A cry of triumph, expected yet still jarring, resounding through the silence of the glowing gardens. Whipping his head to the direction they'd entered the clearing from, Cedric rose sharply to his feet. His body flowed into readiness, knees bending slightly, shoulders dropping and back straightening. His arms rose widely and he readjusted his fingers on his wand. He didn't know how long Riddle's subordinates would take to reach the clearing but it hardly mattered. He would defend Salomé for as long as was necessary.

As it happened, the ritual was indeed less dependent on time than Cedric had anticipated. Salomé had evidently known that. As Cedric peered with narrowed eyes up the pebbled path leading from the clearing towards the manor, the light directly behind him faded. To the sound of calls and shouts, the ring of Riddle's voice resounding across the grounds with "Get her! Get her now!" the magical whiteness of pure light faded. Within moments it had disappeared entirely, plunging the gardens into darkness broken only by the faint spots of blossoming bioluminescent flowers. They seemed feebly inadequate when compared to the beacon that had briefly manifested.

The echoes of approaching witches and wizards grew steadily louder. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cedric closed his eyes to vanquish the afterimage of the white light from his eyes. When he opened them, he glanced over his shoulder towards Salomé, assuring himself that his suspicions about the end of the ritual were correct.

The stark contrast of horror, protectiveness and anger jolted Cedric almost painfully. Salomé had finally collapsed beneath the weight of exhaustion. Slumped half across the ashy remnants of the runes and bloody circle, she looked like a limp doll cast aside by a careless child. The blood still pumping with worrying slowness from the crook of her left elbow painted her arm in a sleeve of streaked darkness. The contrast of her dark hair and the scant remnants of her dress to the pavers beneath her was startling, yet less so than the fact that her face, half turned into the ground beneath her, was paler still.

She looked dead.

Hysteria overtook Cedric's mind. Protectiveness didn't even begin to cover what he felt.

Cedric didn't remember how he defeated the witches and wizards that fell upon them. He wasn't even entirely sure if he fought anyone or if he simply fled the scene, Salomé's wellbeing at the forefront of his mind. He had a faint impression of launching curse after expulsive curse towards dark figures as they appeared on the path leading to the clearing, but he couldn't be certain. All Cedric would remember was the pounding in his chest that pulsed a like drumbeat in his temples, of the heat that jumped to icy chillness as aching worry consumed him.

Of the feel of Salomé's limp body as he slung her into his arms. She was small, light and cold. Too cold.

He must have run from the grounds, but he couldn't recall doing so. Cedric would have thought it possible for him to break through the Anti-Apparation wards that encompassed the manor and its grounds, such was the intensity of his desperate need to escape.

The echo of Riddle's scream of hatred and anger, the crushing press of Apparation as he funnelled himself from the hated estate. The weight of Salomé as he cradled her in his arms. They were the only elements Cedric registered before he gave himself up to the magic with only the desperate need to seek help as direction.

---

BANG-BANG-BANG!

Cedric could have cursed that bloody door. He did, in fact. Numerous times as his boot struck it at the base. Grimmauld Place was an old estate, ancient when compared to some that shared its proximity. The heavy wood of the carved front door was thick and impregnable. That impregnability was a product of the times when witch burning ran rampant, when the simple barrier of slightly thicker wood could slow the burning of a house or an invasion for long enough to escape the persecutors.

Times had changed, however. Cedric would definitely be suggesting that Sirius install a new door. He'd bloody well put it in himself.

"Sirius, dammit, open the door!"

It was the third time that Cedric had said those words. Said with increasing force, until he uttered in a growling shout more than a request. Each time had been punctuated with similarly increasingly savage kicks to the door. Cedric was not a rude person, nor a demanding one. He'd been told throughout his life than many perceived him as gentlemanly, cordial and considerate. He would never presume to impose his presence upon another individual or their space, not unless necessity absolutely demanded it.

Glancing for the hundredth time down at Salomé in his arms, Cedric knew that necessity had never been more demanding. She hadn't moved except for limp slumps as Cedric ran since he'd swept her into his arms and fled from the manor. Her face was utterly expressionless, slack and half-hidden behind the matted strings of her fringe. The deep slice in her arm had stopped seeping her life blood only because Cedric had taken a split second to patch it up with a Healing Charm seconds after Apparating.

The blood loss concerned him, but not as much as the results of that loss. Salomé wouldn't wake – and given her evident exhaustion Cedric didn't want her to – but more concerning was her absolute paleness. A corpse possessed more life, more colour in their cheeks. Her lips were bloodless and the shadows beneath her eyes more pronounced for her loss of vitality. Her chest barely rose and fell with breaths, and when it did they were hesitant and uneven. It was horrifying to behold, and as his gaze raked over her once more, fingers unconsciously grasping more tightly at her waist, at the back of her knees dangling over one arm, the urgency of his need for help only doubled once more.

His boot smacked against the hardwood sharply enough to jar his toes as Cedric kicked the door once more. "Sirius! I swear, by Merlin, if you don't open this door I'll –"

"You'll what?"

Spinning around abruptly, Cedric nearly sagged with relief at the sight of Sirius halted curiously on the path behind him. He was nearly invisible in the darkness, dark hair and black robes blurring him into his surroundings. What he'd been doing wandering outdoors in the cold dead of night, Cedric didn't know. He hardly cared. Every other concern had taken an extensive step backwards in his consideration.

Where have you been? was the first thought that sprung to mind when Cedric saw him. Why are you not here when you're most needed? was the second. But some rational part of Cedric mind, some filter, stilled his tongue before he spoke. Such questions were hardly of consequence. They didn't matter. In the whole scheme of things, compared to every other wrong that shrouded Cedric, the ultimate wrong that was cradled in his arms, it didn't matter.

"Sirius. Help."

His tone must have said it all. That or perhaps Sirius' attention had fallen to Salomé curled limply against Cedric's chest. It hardly mattered which, for in an instant Sirius flowed into action. He didn't pause to ask questions, didn't splutter in confusion and expound his worries for the situation. That was one of the things that Cedric found most agreeable about him.

Striding towards him and pausing only for a split second to affix his suddenly fiercely worried gaze upon Salomé, Sirius shouldered through the door. Evidently some recognition charm or other had been in place, for it opened for him. Cedric didn't even have the headspace to be resentful for that fact.

The interior of Grimmauld Place was always dark, always gloomy and more often than not rife with a thin – and rapidly thickening – layer of dust. It was always like that, no matter how Mrs Weasley dedicated her efforts to making the house habitable. The walls seemed perturbed not in the slightest by Sirius' grumblings that it was 'unliveable' and 'Merlin, to only be rid of this place'.

Sirius wasn't grumbling now. He didn't even spare half a glance for the discoloured walls, not a curl of the lip for the faint puffs of dust elicited by his footsteps. He strode purposely through the narrow hallway, leading Cedric with only a glance and a gesture over his shoulder. As he mounted the steps to the upper levels, Cedric on his tail, his bellow rung through the house.

"Molly! Molly, I need you! Now! Second guest room on the third floor." He paused on the landing as they raced up the steps, Cedric taking them two at a time behind him and nearly tripping to a stop. "Now, Molly, now!"

A scuffle from the upper levels was followed an instant later by the distant calls of Mrs Weasley. "Sirius Black, I will not be ordered around by you. It is as much for your sake as anyone else's that I'm ridding this house of cobwebs, dust mites and doxies. If you think I've –"

"Dammit, Molly, this is an emergency. Now!"

It could have been the emphasis on emergency that ceased Mrs Weasley's dispute. Cedric thought it more likely to be due to the urgency of Sirius' voice. Contrary to the harshness of his words, there was nothing but keen worry and something very nearly a plea in his tone. It heartened Cedric none that it reflected his own state of mind almost perfectly.

He followed Sirius into a cold, bare room he'd never stepped into before. It was large, with a single, wide window consuming one wall and a ruddy rug most of the floor. Spartan in its furnishings, it boasted only a bed, a minimalistic fireplace and a wardrobe wedged in one corner, but Cedric didn't think the room was lacking for it. It was, he registered detachedly, perhaps the cleanest room in the house. He unconsciously approved of Sirius' choice.

Cedric had taken less than three steps into the room before Sirius was upon him. Or more correctly upon Salomé. Invasion of personal space restrained him none and he bowed like a sniffing dog over her, eyes narrowed and neck taut with worried tension. "What happened? How did this –? Was it him? He did this to her?" He didn't even glance up as he stumbled through his questions.

Cedric shook his head sharply. "Not now, Sirius. We need to help her before I can explain. I don't even know if I…" He trailed off as fear tightened his throat. He felt useless, incompetent as he never had before. Cedric knew he wasn't a healer, that he couldn't manage spells any more complex than basic first aid. Salomé clearly needed more than that, and not only to heal her physical wounds; the heat throbbing from her shoulder, warming his chilled fingers, was terribly ominous. Magical exhaustion was complicated to battle at the best of times given that many healing charms drew on the magic of the patient. What would happen if the patient didn't have any to spare?

He didn't get a moment more to consider, to work himself into further distress. With her customary bustle, Mrs Weasley in the doorway but moments later. She wore an apron, her hair dusted more with physical dust than the greyness of age, and her wand stuck out from her hip where her hands rested sternly. All severity faded from her expression, however, as Cedric turned towards her and her eyes dropped to Salomé.

Mrs Weasley was a matriarch. She was a carer, through and through. A mother, a supporter, a confident, the one who put a stop to escalating foolishness. And she was a healer, because every upstanding parent in the Wizarding world would know at least the degree of healing that a novice Auror would. At least.

Cedric had counted on that. Not initially, when he'd charged up the footpath to Sirius' door, but from the second the request for her presence had been demanded resoundingly through the house a modicum of relief had welled within him. He could feel Salomé's heartbeat thudding dully against the arm that hooked beneath her shoulders, but only just. Cedrc didn't know how long it would last, and he could do nothing about that.

Mrs Weasley would know what to do. She had to know. The relief that tentatively spread throughout Cedric was that of a lost child sighting their mother. Responsibility was taken from him. Someone else would know what to do. Surely.

Mrs Weasley didn't waste time with idle chatter. She didn't ask questions, demand to know what had happened. Her surprise and immediate worry abruptly snapped to focus with a sharpening of her eyes. Dropping her hands from her hips, she jabbed her wand at the bed in a directive gesture. "Cedric, put her on the bed. Now." Spinning, she swept her wand towards the fireplace. It burst into flames in an instant, crackling to life even as Mrs Weasley turned towards Sirius. "You, to the Burrow. I want my herbalist and medical kits – they're in the top cupboard in the kitchen – and as many medicinal potions as you can carry. I don't care which ones – don't you slow down to check – just grab them all."

She paused as she followed Cedric to the bed, rounding the mattress to the opposite side and bending with all practicality over her charge. She gave only a quick scan of Salomé's limp form splayed atop the blankets efore snapping her gaze up once more. Cedric suppressed a flinch at the intensity of that focus, even if it wasn't directed at him but at Sirius over his shoulder. "And tell Kreacher I want a cauldron of hot, boiled water and as many clean – clean – bandages as he can find. Now."

"I doubt Kreacher will be inclined to help," Sirius muttered under his breath even as he hastily turned towards the door.

"Oh, he will. Tell him it's for the girl and he'll only move faster for it," Mrs Weasley said, dropping her attention to Salomé once more. Her hands already moved to begin sweeping the hair from her forehead, to directing her wand to running Diagnostic Charms. She paused once more in the act, shooting a glare towards Sirius, as he paused in the doorway with eyes fixed on Salomé. "Now, Sirius. I can do very little without my equipment."

Jerking as though struck, Sirius nodded curtly. For perhaps the first time in their entire relationship, he took Mrs Weasley's orders without complaint. His heavy footfalls, fading quickly into running steps, disappeared rapidly. Only the echo of "Kreacher!" indicated the speed with which he jumped to his instructions, and his following orders were too distant to hear properly.

Cedric found himself standing awkwardly to the side of the bed, gaze flashing between an unresponsive Salomé and an intensely focused Mrs Weasley. She muttered to herself as she read the glowing report of the biopsy. The increasing grimness of her face filled Cedric with foreboding.

Vanquishing the letters of light that had suspended before her, Mrs Weasley paused in the act of leaning back over her patient. She glanced towards Cedric, her gaze suddenly wary. "Perhaps you should leave."

Cedric had known what she was going to say before she'd even said it. He was shaking her head before she finished speaking. "No, I'm staying here."

"Cedric –"

"You may need assistance. Some form of support."

"Cedric, you –"

"Besides, I have to be here. Mrs Weasley, I have to be."

The force of his words must have gotten through to her. Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to respond but paused, snapping her jaw shut a moment later. Shaking her head yet not in denial, she sighed. "There's nothing you can do in here, but I won't force you out. You've a right to be here as much as I do."

"Thank y-"

"But for modesty's sake, perhaps it would be best if you simply waited outside."

It was Cedric's turn to snap his jaw shut. Blinking in confusion, he fought to maintain eye contact with Mrs Weasley rather than dropping his attention back to Salomé. "What do you mean?"

"Well, besides the fact that there is little else you can do, I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me undressing her before you," she said with a huff. "And I can hardly see what I'm doing when she's still clad in these sore excuse for clothes, hmm?"

Cedric didn't feel embarrassed. He didn't flush and stutter, mortified at the prospect of intruding upon Salomé's privacy. He wasn't the sort of person to be so affected by the prospect, and the situation basically forbade such foolishness in the face of practicality.

And yet Mrs Weasley was right. There was little he could do and, even disregarding the issue of modesty, he would be more likely to get in the way in that moment. That Mrs Weasley had played upon his sense of propriety alongside everything else, that she urged his removal from the room by targeting multiple angles… he could see what she was doing yet it made him no less susceptible to her suggestions.

Sparing Salomé another long, worried glance, he finally bowed his head. "Call for me should you need anything. If you have any questions, or –"

"Yes, yes, I'll be sure to. Though right now the how of what happened is the least of my concern." The worry in Mrs Weasley's voice mounted with each word. She too had affixed Salomé with her attentive gaze. Cedric could almost see her itching to get to work.

So he left the room. He strode with sudden and brief purpose into the hallway, closed the door quietly behind him and set up a stoic vigil. And an hour later, as he leant against the wall just to the side of the door with arms folded and head bowed, he still waited. He still watched and still remained in a state of worry and high alert. His attentiveness, the racing pace of his thoughts, had slowed none for the wait, even if such a wait seemed at least thrice as long as it truly was.

Sirius had returned with remarkable speed, his arms laden with canvas satchels that smelled strongly of pungent herbs and a myriad of colourful, clinking phials. A train of similar implements followed behind him like flies chasing a sweet scent. The gasping of his breath, the heaving of his chest, suggested he'd run as much as he'd Apparated. He hadn't even spare Cedric a glance as he strode into the room with barely a knock, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving Cedric staring warily at the afterimage of his passage. He was back out again moments later, however, shunted into the hallway with Mrs Weasley's words of, "Don't interrupt me again, Sirius Black, or I swear by Merlin you'll regret it".

Sirius took up his post on the wall opposite to Cedric. Neither had spoken for the entire hour since.

Kreacher stopped by the room too, appearing with more speed than he had possibly ever responded to a request from anyone. Balancing a cauldron atop his head and shrouded in towels and bandages so white they nearly glowed, he hastened towards the room. Cedric just caught the words, "Poor Mistress, poor, poor Mistress, however did she manage to wound herself so?" before he too disappeared through the door. He didn't come back out again, though whether because he departed from the room magically or because he remained to assist Mrs Weasley Cedric wasn't sure.

It could have been surprising, Kreachers eagerness to assist. A curiosity if nothing else. Even with the knowledge of the reason behind his adoration that Sirius had been able to drag from him – it had been, apparently, like pulling hens teeth – that Kreacher so adored Salomé for her actions in 'fulfilling Master Regulus' dying wishes", it was still surprising.

Cedric didn't find it interesting. He had never been less interested in a house elf in his entire life, and he'd never been one particularly devoted to Hermione's periodic attempts at reviving S.P.E.W in the first place. His disinterest, however, lay in the fact that his mind was very resolutely fixed upon trekking the same, weary tracks in endless, unanswerable loops. Cedric was lost to his thoughts, gnawing on his regrets. Regret that he hadn't been faster to Salomé's side, hadn't been able to help her before she'd driven herself to exhaustion. That he could have been the one to cast the Fiendfyre that would, he knew, destroy the Horcrux. It mattered little that Salomé had acted with immediacy purely in her own inclination. Cedric should have been faster.

He was angry at the bond. Furious that Riddle had compulsively bound Salomé to such a degree that it required a Blood Ritual to break the bond. He felt flooded with determination, resolved to end Riddle's existence at the earliest possible opportunity. Never had he desired someone's death before so strongly. Never at all besides the figure of Voldemort himself. That resolution had increased tenfold over the past weeks in Riddle's service, and doubled again in the last hour.

But most of all he worried. Cedric feared for Salomé's health, her magically fatigue, her exhaustion. Would she be alright? Would Mrs Weasley be able to heal her? If anyone could outside of a qualified Healer it would be she, but what if she was too late? What if she couldn't manage it? There was little to no magic in the patient to even utilise, or if there was it was so scant that to draw upon it would likely cause more harm than good.

Yes, it was Cedric's worry that was paramount. Foremost in his mind, it nagged at him like a mosquito in the dark, the buzzing growing in volume and intensity as he became only more hypersensitive to its presence. His ears strained for the slightest sound coming from the room beside him, the quietest hint of a murmur, the second an order from Mrs Weasley would seep into the hallway so that he could jump to her assistance post haste.

Cedric was good at waiting. Usually. That day, he was not so patient.

It was because of his straining attentiveness that, when the door to the guest room clicked, Cedric had started and spun himself into the doorway before it had even fully opened. Mrs Weasley jolted in surprise before setting a scolding glare upon him and folding her arms. She very deliberately refused to take a step backwards, despite the fact that Cedric could tell from the tension in her body that his proximity in looming over her was making her uncomfortable. It took an effort for him to force himself to take a step backwards instead. In doing so, he nearly stood on Sirius' feet, the man pressed close on his heels.

"Well?" Sirius asked, manoeuvring himself around Cedric to stand alongside him. "How – what – how is she?" His voice escalated to near hysteria in barely a heartbeat.

Mrs Weasley's glare disappeared in an exasperated sigh. Shaking her head, she dropped her folded arms and ran the hand not still holding her wand tiredly through her hair. "She's fine. Or at least she will be fine."

"She's stable?" Cedric nearly overrode her with the urgency of his own question. A part of him, the part that strived for correct etiquette and respect, registered that his approach could be perceived as rude. He ignored it. Mrs Weasley didn't seem to care anyway.

She nodded slowly, then with more confidence. "I believe so, yes. I have done all I can do. Anything more will have to wait until she -"

"Can we see her?" Sirius interrupted. He actually shrunk slightly under Mrs Weasley's renewed glare.

"Until she awakens," she finished with deliberate force. Then, just as deliberately, she turned her attention from Sirius back to Cedric. Apparently their cooperation to reach a mutual goal had only lasted until that goal was fulfilled. "You're more than welcome to see her for yourself if you'd like. I just have to ask you though, Cedric. How much do you know about what happened to her?"

Closing his eyes briefly, Cedric took a deep, stabilising breath. "A little. Less than I would like."

"The nature of her wounds?" Mrs Weasley's voice had resorted to pure practicality. She drilled him clinically.

Cedric catalogued the list he'd compiled in his head over the last hours, a list of those he knew and recognised. It was distressingly short given that he knew for a fact that those Salomé possessed were more profuse than he was aware of. "Some. The slice to her left arm she did herself. She had to use it for a Ritual of Fission."

"A Ritual of Fission?" Sirius echoed sharply. The narrowing of his eyes was dangerous.

Cedric held up a quieting hand. "I'll explain later," he said, and Sirius, after a pause, nodded in acceptance. Cedric turned back to the expectant Mrs Weasley. "Other than that, she'd exhausted herself magically from a combination of defensive and offensive spells in our escape atop the effects of casting Fiendfyre."

"Fiendfyre?" Sirius interrupted again. "A Horcrux then?"

"Later, Sirius." It was Mrs Weasley who rebuffed him this time. "Anything else you know?"

Cedric paused, pursing his lips. "There was an injury to her shoulder. The left shoulder. She already had it when I came across her, but I suspect…"

"A snakebite," Mrs Weasley informed him with a shake of her head. "A bad one, too. I only just managed to catch it before the venom spread irreversibly. But I'm unsure if my antivenin is adequate enough. Do you happen to know –?"

"The snake?" Cedric nodded. "Nagini. Riddle's Familiar." He paused, then with a hint of satisfaction continued. "His Horcrux, and possibly his last one. Salomé destroyed it."

Mrs Weasley nodded without a hint of her own satisfaction. Her figurative clinician's hat was still firmly affixed. "The snake wasn't a magical breed, was it?"

"Not that I'm aware of. The snake itself was magically imbued, but the species?" Cedric shook his head. "As far as I'm aware it was just a common, albeit large viper."

"Good. That's good. I believe I can manage that, then." Mrs Weasley huffed and ran her hand through her hair once more. "Anything else?"

Cedric felt a familiar sense of foreboding rise within him once more. "Was there much else?"

Mrs Weasley's lips thinned and she folded her arms across her chest once more. The motion was more guarded than defiant this time, however. "There… were. Nothing critical. Physical strains of musculature, a sprain, a hairline fracture which could have been from exertion. You say you fought duels?" At Cedric's tight nod of assent she nodded herself. Her eyes fell downcast a moment later, however. "Other than that… bruises, mostly. Knew, as if they'd been made only a few hours ago. Nothing debilitating, and all out of them out of view. Do you…?" She glanced towards Cedric questioningly. She must have seen something dangerous in his expression for she dropped her gaze almost fearfully a moment later. "Yes, I thought so. You don't need to explain; I can deduce for myself the cause of them."

There was no need for further explanation. Cedric could very well deduce for himself, knew he would have been able to even without the very knowing expression on Mrs Weasley's face. He'd seen Riddle's hard-handedness enough for him to join the dots. For an moment Cedric saw red, his heartbeat throbbing fiercely in his ears. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, took a deep breath to instil calm.

"… what you mean?" Sirius asked, Cedric catching only the tail end of his question. "Are you suggesting…?" He sounded horrified at first, but that horror quickly morphed into a growl of outrage. "That bastard. I swear, I'll kill him –"

"Get in line, Sirius," Cedric muttered. His voice trembled slightly with the force it took to maintain a semblance of calm. "I believe he has a long list of those longing for his blood. You'd be hard pressed to beat Salomé to it, in fact; it was a very near thing our escape. We almost wouldn't have managed it at all she was so adamant about seeking him immediately, even in the state she was in."

Mrs Weasley shook her head a little sadly, a little regretfully. Yet unexpectedly, there was a fierce heat, even hatred, in her eyes as well. Cedric had never beheld it in the strong-headed, kindly woman. She was hardy, no-nonsense and at times too stubborn for her own good, but hate? He'd never expected to see that. It was oddly heartening, that even Mrs Weasley was so provoked by the situation. "I believe even I would be prepared to step into that line," she murmured. Sirius' growl became one of approval.

A brief moment of brooding contemplation settled upon the three of them before Cedric shook himself from it. "Mrs Weasley, may I?"

Mrs Weasley glanced at him tight-faced, uncomprehendingly for a moment before understanding dawned. She nodded sharply, stepping aside and jerking her chin over her shoulder. "Keep it quite, though. She shouldn't wake up to a stampede of Hippogriffs but uninterrupted sleep will do her the most good. I don't want to hear a peep." She glanced over Cedric's shoulder and pinned Sirius with a pointed stare. "From either of you."

"Don't treat me like a child, Molly," Sirius grumbled. He said something else that elicited a scathing response from Mrs Weasley, but Cedric didn't hear it. He was already striding into the room.

The fireplace had chased away the chill, warming even the floorboards through Cedric's boots. Or perhaps Mrs Weasley had placed an ambient Warming Charm upon the air itself. It hardly mattered, but Cedric was grateful nonetheless. He hastened to the beside and, quite without his behest, felt his legs fold beneath him so that he knelt alongside it.

Salomé looked terrible. Her resemblance to a cadaver was only heightened by the blankets that Mrs Weasley had tucked firmly around her, leaving nothing bare but her head and face. Her cheeks were still as pale as a ghost's, lips only slightly warmer in colour, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes were even more pronounced for it. She didn't move an inch in sleep, and hardly seemed to be breathing.

Except that she was. Cedric could see that, from the faint rise and fall of the blankets cocooning her immobile form. And truly, considering the state she'd been in but an hour before, Cedric conceded that she did indeed look better. Marginally. Those breaths were more the inhalations of the utterly exhausted rather than bordering on deathly. While pale, her colouring was not quite as bad as it had been, a rational part of Cedric commented, and if he strained his eyes hard enough he pondered that a hint of colour may even have returned to her cheeks.

But more than that, she looked less haggard. Less drawn in the simple act of sleeping. Mrs Weasley had obviously attempted to clean her up a little, grooming Salomé's hair from her face and arranging it neatly in a dark moat of sorts. The smattering streaks of grime that had smeared across her cheeks had been scrubbed away and not even the faintest sheen of perspiration touched her skin. Cedric knew without having to check beneath the blankets that her shoulder would be bandaged, her elbow padded and strapped despite the magic conducted upon the wounds. That even the slightest scratch or mar upon her body would have been wiped clean if not patched perfectly. Even knowing that, however, Cedric found his arm reaching unconsciously for Salomé's shoulder, touching just enough to feel the uneven bulk of fabric that wrapped it.

A sigh he hadn't realised he held heaved forth in shudder. Closing his eyes briefly, Cedric dropped his chin to rest his forehead gently on the edge of the mattress. He could hear Sirius circling the bed to the other side, the thump of his knees as he too fell into a slump beside the bed. They were a kindred spirit, he and Cedric. Like-minded in that they both cared for the sleeping young woman between them so immensely.

In different ways, though, a whispered thought niggled in the back of his mind. Opening his eyes yet keeping his head bowed, Cedric stared down at his knees.

It was true. He hadn't fully realised until that moment. For weeks he had been aware of his obsession. Aware that the degree of his loyalty was irrational. Strange, even. Salomé had said herself with a smirk not a two weeks prior that many would find his degree of dedication concerning.

"And do you?" Cedric had asked. He'd bitten back the small start of something akin to fear that had surfaced within him.

Salomé's smirk had widened in a way that he'd rapidly grown partial of over their brief time together. "Of course I do. But that doesn't mean I don't find myself enjoying it too."

Cedric hadn't quite known what to make of that, but he found he liked that fact. He liked that he didn't quite understand Salomé, that little things she would do would always leaving him blinking in surprise for their unexpectedness. That she was sharp-tongued and quick-witted but more often than not nurtured amusement beneath her teasing remarks. That when she thought no one was looking, when she thought Cedric wasn't looking, she would drop her hard exterior for a moment and simply allow her genuine curiosity, her derision, her exasperation and even, on rare occasions, her delight to creep forth. Cedric had seen little enough of such heartfelt joy; it never arose others, only in the sheer excitement of the moment when she fixed a difficult potion just right, or worked an impossible spell for the first time.

Or when she lost herself in solitary dancing.

Sometimes, not at first but sometimes in recent weeks, he'd chanced a glance at her to find something resembling fondness settling softly upon her features when she spared him a glance. Salomé didn't seem aware of it herself, didn't seem to realise that she adopted such an expression when she looked at him at times. It was always diverted quickly almost as soon as he noticed, but notice he did.

Cedric loved that expression. It floored him for a moment, staring as he was down at his knees, how true that thought was. He loved it. And it wasn't because he doted on her very existence, as Ginny had said to him not two days before. It wasn't only because he felt committed to her for some misguided sense of loyalty, because be felt he owed her a debt as Hermione had once suggested. His friends, for all that they had patched up their feud after meeting Salomé two weeks ago, didn't quite understand.

Neither had Cedric. Not until he'd been faced with the possibility of sorely losing that which he had, somehow along the way, come to deeply care for. He didn't quite know when it had happened, wasn't even sure what it was; it was different to the care he felt for his parent, for the affection he harboured for his friends. Different yet still just a little the same.

Reaching over the soft mounds of the blankets, Cedric fumbled for a moment until he felt Salomé's hand faintly curled beneath the blankets. Yes, he'd grown to care for her. He felt a deep affection for her, this strange, fierce girl who hid so much from so many yet was so committed to her goal. He admired her for every moment she struggled. Because she had struggled. And nothing short of the extremes she'd faced could exposure such a profound strength.

Cedric loved that too.

"She looks a little better."

Raising his chin, Cedric drew his gaze first to Sirius, acknowledging his nearly inaudible murmur with a nod, before turning towards Salomé. She hadn't moved an inch, but it didn't matter. She still breathed and under Mrs Weasley's care Cedric knew that was as good an indication of potential recovery as any.

He felt a hesitant sigh of relief pass through his lips. "She does," he replied, even more quietly than Sirius. He wasn't sure if his words were even loud enough to be heard. He closed his eyes once more and squeezed slightly on the hand he still clasped.

Be alright, Salomé, Cedric thought with enough force that she must surely have been able to hear it. Be alright and wake up soon. I'll be waiting here for the very instant that you do.

He vowed he wouldn't move from her side until she had opened her eyes.

---

Just as an aside, Salomé's ritual words are translated (from Latin) as follows:

My heart is my own, my body released;

From fission I've freedom, chains wrought to shreds.

Withdraw, oh ye binder, release your claws…