"I'll do it," said Cedric, his eyes shining bright.
Ron whipped around.

"Hang on, we haven't finished explaining it all yet—"

"But it's a brilliant idea,"

"Turn around, Ron!" Hermione's hand hovered over a copied-out diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage as she glared, "It defeats the whole purpose if you're looking right at him!"

A new morning had dawned upon the castle, broad streaks of cloud spelling warm weather in an open sky.
Because Hermione insisted against approaching Cedric within a discernible range, they all lounged inside the library with a bookshelf forced in-between—it was an ancient thing made of macassar ebony—separating the three Gryffindors on one side, while Cedric leisurely perused some books on the other. (Harry still had no idea how they even found him in the first place, but was told it had something to do with the ghosts of Sir Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar.)

Crossing his arms, Ron turned, leaning against the shelf once more; its ebony veins shining in a smooth veneer.
"I still think that this is a bit excessive,"

"Then it might just work when worst comes to worst," Hermione replied, unperturbed. The bookshelf warped into a long desk that touched the wall, and there she sat with crossed legs, furiously scribbling on her parchment.

"Excessive or no, I'm glad you guys have come up with it," said Cedric. Energetically, he flipped a page in a large, fur-covered book, "it's just what everybody needs,"

"We could get into trouble—" said Harry. He crouched cautiously to a lower shelf and pretended to look at a book labelled 'Asiatic Anti-Venoms'— "if we're right about what Umbridge is here to do, and she finds out; it could easily be more than just lines,"

"Then, we just won't get caught," said Cedric. He crouched down to the same level, catching his eye over the same row of musty, old books, "besides, it's not like... wait, how many did you say?"

Harry shrugged. He looked back at Hermione, who seemed extremely focused on her diagram.

"It's just a few here and there," she said, loosely, her hand drew out straight lines across the parchment, "We haven't talked to many people,"

"Well, regardless, I'd be happy to teach alongside if you'll have me."

"You're certain you can take it on?" Ron yawned. "You've got Quidditch to prepare for, haven't you? And, it's your final year!"

"Why not? People could stand to learn a little more than just Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I should brush up on my duelling skills, anyways,"

Cedric's eyes grew hazy for a moment. "Besides, this is important, right,"

Harry gave a mild exhale, though it did not sound like he disagreed—

"That's why we're doing this?"

He nodded; though still seemed unconvinced.

"Well, you're free to say no up til the day of the trip, so just… just think about it, properly, I mean," Harry said. "If you end up not showing, then there'll be no hard feelings at all, we'll understand—"

"I don't need to think about it; I'll be there," Cedric seemed more lucid in his expression, no longer holding an air of excitement in the light of his face. It was earnest. It didn't matter that they had broken the rules by looking directly at each other; it eased Harry.

"We'll see you in Hogsmeade," he murmured. Cedric smiled; a tuft of hair fell against his face. He got to his feet, stretched his legs for a moment, then—and without another word—he walked briskly out of sight.

Harry stared in space. His fingers ran up and down the lacerations healing at the back of his hand.

"Hermione?" he said, after a few seconds.

"Hm?"

"Could you teach me how to make that murtlap stuff?"

Both of his friends heads, whipped to him, surprised.

"Absolutely," Hermione said, after a moment.

"Cool,"

Harry stood, he looked at the watch around his wrist.

"We'd better get to class."

Hermione gathered up her things, hopped off her seat and Ron muttered a quick "Finally."
Then, they hastily exited the library.

The next two days passed in a strange suspense, anticipation snaking through the late October air. Despite himself, Harry looked forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade.
There had been many scheduled before this coming visit, but he and Ron had always forced themselves to sit inside the castle during those weekends, lest they fall behind in their load of homework (and Ron in polishing his Keeping skills).

One thing nagged at Harry, however.
Sirius had maintained a stony silence since the last time he had appeared in the fire, and as the weeks have passed, Harry had grown steadily more troubled as no word came: not even a single letter. He knew that he had made his godfather angry with his overprotectiveness, but he still worried from time to time that Sirius may throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway.

What were they going to do if a great black dog came bounding up the street toward them in Hogsmeade, perhaps within the visible range of one Draco Malfoy?

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," said Ron, bracingly. Another day in, and the three traipsed down to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures, enjoying a decently sunned afternoon.

"I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, I know that can't have been a laugh... but at least he was free, wasn't he?"

Harry agreed.

"Now, he's stuck in Grimmauld," he said, glumly, his soles clunked against dusted soil, "Just shut in all the time with someone who hates his guts,"

"Kreacher doesn't hate his guts—" said Ron, in what strangely sounded like an attempt at reassurance— "I'd say his guts, and the entire rest of Sirius's body and blood are the only things that Kreacher doesn't hate, really—AGH!"

Ron lurched forward, his foot missing a step, and Hermione and Harry instinctively grabbed some part of his robes to keep him from teetering over the edge.

"The trouble is—!" Hermione huffed, straining to pull him upright— "until V-Voldemort—oh for heaven's sake, Ron—comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, our stupid Ministry isn't going to realize that he's innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth all along... but once they start catching real Death Eaters again: it'll be obvious that Sirius isn't one! He hasn't even got the Mark,"

"Yeah! All he needs to do is wait—" gasped Ron. They had finally steadied him, though he slipped an arm around Harry's shoulders for extra measure— "Blimey! ... I mean, I reckon he's smart enough to figure that out, and Sirius still listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears anyways, so..."

Harry nodded as they continued to slog along but couldn't help remain in doubt. When he continued to look worried, Hermione piped up.

"Listen. Ron and I have been sounding out the people that we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple more who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade,"

"Right," said Harry absently, his mind still on Sirius.

"... We've also told the teachers about what Umbridge has done to you and Cedric, as well,"

"Yeah... sounds reasonable,"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a furrowed glance.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate without Sirius too."

He kept quiet. She was right, of course; he could barely keep his head above classes and homework and fretting about Cedric and Hagrid, although, Harry knew he was doing much better now that he no longer spent every evening with Umbridge. In contrast, Ron was even further behind in work due to his prefect duties, whereas Hermione—who had taken on more subjects than either of them—had not only finished all her homework, but also found time to knit more clothes for the elves. Harry had to admit that she was getting better, it was now almost always possible to distinguish between the hats and the socks, and as they trailed down the steps with their conversation lightened by that thought: they came across Evan, climbing the hill as well, his tight coils tied into a handsome bun.

Harry had no clue what he was doing in this part of the castle; as far he knew, Evan did not take Care of Magical Creatures or anything related to it, but the boy gave a wide smile upon recognizing them, nodding as he passed through—covered in paint as usual—and the song that he hummed gradually faded away as the trio continued the path down.

"Oh!" Hermione said, suddenly; she frantically looked at Evan's retreating back, "Harry, don't you need to—...? Did you remember... about the salve?"

Harry nodded; he could hardly forget. Not only had he had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to get the concoction exactly right, but also, he tried his best to follow the particulars of Hermione's warnings.

"It's with Hidiyah. I got Neville to take it, apparently, he knows her from his Herbology Society thing," he mumbled. Hermione nodded, clearly relieved.
It was understandable why she had insisted on all these precautions, but it felt odd to be going through intermediaries and indirect means again; Harry felt that it somehow made everything much more difficult.

"I know, I know..." Hermione moaned. He turned to her, with the fleeting and frightened impression that he spoken aloud by accident; but she had only read his face.

"We'll all be able to talk like normal soon... first thing in Hogsmeade," she assured.

"Mm." Harry nodded. He didn't say anything more; they reached the bottom of the hill and mixed into the larger group of their class—all yawning, or in various states of drowsiness—and they made their way towards Professor Grubbly-Plank', whose stout figure waved ardently at them, from the edge of the woods.


The morning of the Hogsmeade trip dawned bright but windy, with a rather large crowd of students gathered in the Clock Tower square. dressed warm and in various, lively colours. After breakfast, they queued up in front of Filch, who began the arduous task of matching their names to a lengthy list of all those with proper permission to go and visit the village.
Shuffling forward in the line, Harry felt a slight pang at this, remembering that if it had not been for Sirius: he would not be going at all.

When finally, he reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff, as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then, he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver and Harry walked on, out onto the stone steps and a cold, sunlit day.

"Does he think that you're the one smuggling Dungbombs into the castle?" said Hermione, incredulously.

"I suppose, he's still suspicious from when Mrs. Norris caught us at the Owlery," Harry muttered. Ron gave a laugh.

"The cat? You're saying that his cat went and told on you?"

"What? You're seeing McGonagall turn into one all this time and not wondering if there are secretly others?"

Ron screwed his face in slight repulsion, "I'd rather not know, thanks. I dunno if it'd be funny or just scary, if it were true,"

Harry gave a short bark of laughter, "Whatever, let's just head on to..." he paused.

"Where are we going?"

They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned onto the road toward the village, a steady carry of wind whipping the strays of their hair into their eyes. Ron pulled his hat firmly onto his head, and Harry quickly shoved his gloves on. Hermione fumbled with the buttons on her coat.

"I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head—that other pub—you know, the one that's not on the main road. It's a bit, erm, dodgy, but it suits our purposes well; students don't normally go in there..."

Harry tried to catch Ron's eye to see his reaction at this, but he and Hermione both seemed adamant on moving forward. He shrugged.

"Lead the way,"

They reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade in a restful pace, the village looking as idyllic as ever with festive autumn decorations billowing under a bright sky.

Through the main street, they strolled by Zonko's Joke Shop—unsurprised to see Fred, George, and Lee Jordan going in—and passed the post office, whose delivery owls flew in and out of an open sunroof at regular intervals. Eventually, the trio broke off from the main road, turning left and walking up a little side street which led to a small inn. There, a battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, and as Harry grew closer, he could see the picture upon it depict a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth. It creaked in the wind.

The three of them stared it, uneasily.

"Well, come on," said Hermione, slightly nervous. She led the way inside.
It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness; instead, the Hog's Head comprised of one small, dingy, and very dirty room that smelled awfully close to goat.

At first glance, the floor seemed to be earthy but as Harry stepped onto it, he realized that it wasn't soil but stone; worn stone, beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries' worth of customer boots. In the wooden walls that encased bay windows, each glass pane looked so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate into the space. As a replacement, the bar was lit with the stubs of candles sitting on assorted barrels and crates gathered in the corners, alongside a fireplace and industrial gas-lamps—spines bent and protruding from the walls—which illuminated the spread of mismatched wooden tables around the area: some antique, some closer to haphazardly put-together wood scavenged from the hull of a ship, and a lot looking like dead tree-stumps on metal legs. Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning this pub in his first year: "Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head," and could imagine what attracted such 'funny folk' to this establishment.

There was a man at the bar whose face was wrapped in dirty-grey bandages, gulping an endless stream of goblets filled with a smouldering, fiery substance through a small slit over his mouth. At a table by one of the windows, two figures shrouded in hoods sipped from metal tankards of shadowy, smoking liquid—Harry might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents—and in a shaded corner beside the fireplace rest a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to poke out slightly.

"I don't know about this, Hermione," Harry muttered, as they crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you that Umbridge might be under that?"

Hermione cast an appraising eye at the veiled figure.

"Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she said quietly.

"Are you purposely ignoring the fact that she can do magic?"

Hermione purposefully ignored him.

"Even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry. I've double and triple-checked the school rules, and we're not out-of-bounds! Study groups and homework groups are allowed, I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing,"

"No," said Harry dryly, "'specially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?"

The barkeep sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a tall, grumpy-looking and portly man with a great deal of grey hair and beard. For a reason that Harry could not place, he thought that the man looked vaguely familiar, though he could not think of a name.

"What?" the old man grunted.

"Three butterbeers, please," said Hermione. The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed onto the bar.

"Six Sickles," he said.

"I'll get them," said Harry, quickly passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over him, resting—for a fraction of a second—on his scar. Then, he turned away, depositing Harry's money into the drawer of an ancient wooden till, pulled open and closed with a translucent orange hand that trailed from his fingers.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to the farthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around, while the man in the dirty-grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.

"You know what?" Ron whispered, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. "We could order anything we liked in here, I bet that bloke would sell us anything and he wouldn't care! I've always wanted to try firewhisky—..."

However, as soon as he got to his feet, Ron flopped back down into his seat again with a great flumpf!

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, alarmed. The smile faded from Ron's face.

"Can't... 'm a prefect," he mumbled. Hermione gawked at him with a mix of shock and approval before Harry changed the topic.

"So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" he asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his butterbeer.

"Just a couple of people," Hermione said loosely, again. She checked her watch and looked anxiously toward the door. "I said to be here about now, and I'm sure they all know where we are, er... oh! This might be them!"

The door of the pub opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment before vanishing, blocked by the incoming rush of a rather sizable crowd of people.

First, came Neville with Dean and Lavender, closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with—and Harry's stomach jolted—Cho, alongside one of her usually giggling girlfriends. Then, looking so dreamy that she might have walked in by accident, Luna Lovegood came in with Ginny, followed by three Ravenclaw boys that he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot, joined by one tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose (Harry recognized him vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team). Then, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry did not know. Finally, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan brought up the rear, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.

"A couple of people?" said Harry, hoarsely. He turned to Hermione and Ron, "A couple of people?"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione, timidly. Harry scoffed. No wonder she had been so fidgety the entire way. "Ron, help me pull up some more chairs?"

Ron had already gotten up.
"Right ahead of you," he said.

Behind the counter, the barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy, it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.

"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions with a sweeping glance. "Could we have... thirteen... twenty-two... twenty-five butterbeers, please?"

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important—exactly what, no one could decipher—he started passing up dusty butterbeers from under the bar.

"Cheers," said Fred, grabbing three at a time. He faced the pub, "Alright, cough up, everyone! I haven't got enough gold for all of these..."

Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged into their robes, their coats and their jackets to find coins. He could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to him, that they might be expecting some kind of speech. He rounded upon Hermione at once.

"What have you been telling these people?" he asked in a low voice. "What are they expecting?"

"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly; but as Harry continued to look at her so exasperatedly, she quickly added, "You don't have to do anything yet! I'll speak to them first."

"Hi, Harry," interrupted Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite to him. Harry forced a smile but did not say hi back; his throat was exceptionally parched. As Cho sat down across the table, she smiled at him as well, though her friend—who had curly reddish-blonde hair—did not smile as she took the seat next to her, instead opting to give the entire room a thoroughly mistrustful look.

In twos and threes, the new arrivals followed, settling around Harry, Ron, and Hermione: some looking rather excited, others curious, and Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space as always. However, once everybody had pulled up a chair, their chatter slowly begun to lull down by itself as every eye drew upon and toward Harry. It was at this moment—half-way between the dying down of talk, and the sudden realization of how many people were truly here—that he became struck with the most thorough and overwhelming desire to cut loose, that resolution to fight in a different or meaningful way be swiftly damned.

He likely would've gone through with it too, if he did not have Hermione and Ron firmly guarding his exit points, and, if it were not for the door opening one last time: the tall goliath-like figure of Evan, followed by Hidiyah's golden bobbing head and Cedric, all bursting into the Hogs Head with a fresh shock of wind.

"See! I told you, we should've come earlier!" said Hidiyah, reproachfully. She wore a tweed skirt that swayed just above her knee.

"These were limited edition!" said Evan, clutching at a long wooden box, "All the shades are titled after a real thing that they're made of, and—!"

Hermione called out to them, "It's fine, there's lots of room and seats! You all can sit over to—"

"Cedric." Ron stood suddenly, causing Harry and Hermione to gaze up at him, "You take my spot,"

Without thinking, Harry's hand shot out, tugging on the hem of his sweater.

"You sure?" he said, worriedly. Ron patted his shoulder.

"They're all here for you two, aren't they? I'll go make sure that no one'll get too out of line,"

As Ron moved away, Cedric promptly squeezed through, shedding his coat as he flashed Harry a quick smile.

"Hi," he barely spared anyone else a single glance, "alright?"

"... Alright," said Harry, relaxing into his seat. Though unseen, Ron smirked a bit as he walked towards the back of the crowd.

"Okay... should get this started..." Hermione muttered, drumming her fingers against the wooden table. It creaked as she got to her feet and gathered a bit of her courage, "Er, well, er… hello!"

Though the group had been chatting lightly and glancing at Harry this whole time, bit by bit, they quietened down, focusing their attention instead on her, as Hermione's voice—slightly higher than usual out of nerves—carried across the room.

"Well, erm... well, you know why you're here. Harry had the idea—... I mean!" her eyes darted around,"I had the idea... that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts—and I mean, really study it, you know—not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us,"

"Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked deeply heartened—

"Well, I thought it would be good if we took matters into our own hands," she paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, "and by that, I mean, learning how to defend ourselves properly. Not just with proper theory but also, real spells—"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.

"Of course, I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense, since... since..." she took a great breath, "Since, as you know... Lord Voldemort is back,"

The reaction was immediate and predictable.

Cho's friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave some kind of involuntary twitch, and the Patil sisters shuddered; even Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to disguise into a cough, and Hidiyah jumped in her seat, causing Evan to drop his box to the floor with its content clattering loudly inside. Despite this, all of them looked fixedly and even eagerly at Harry.

"Th—that's the plan anyhow," said Hermione, "so if you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to—"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff player unexpectedly. Everyone whipped to him as he sat in his chair, arms folded, staring with aggression.

"Oh. Well, Dumbledore believes... from some very reliable sources, that—" Hermione began.

"Reliable? You mean Dumbledore only believes in him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry, almost accusingly.

"Yes, and—"

"One person isn't all that reliable,"

"Well—" Cedric began.

"Wait, who are you?" said Ron, rather rudely.

"Zacharias Smith, Hufflepuff Chaser," said the boy, turning in his direction at once, before he turned immediately to the front, again. "Look, I just think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back,"

"That," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "is really not what this meeting is about—"

"No, it's alright, Hermione," said Harry. It had just dawned upon him why there were so many people there, and it seemed oddly sweet—if nauseating—that she had not seen this coming.

"You're here for the firsthand story, yeah? What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" he asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face. "Well, we saw him."

"You saw him?" Zacharias repeated. "That's it?"

"Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me and Cedric: I'm not going to waste an afternoon trying to convince anyone,"

The whole group seemed to have held its breath while they spoke. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening in; he was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, and it was becoming steadily dirtier.

Zacharias said dismissively, "All that Dumbledore told us last year was that you got ambushed by You-Know-Who and that the captain was knocked out and on the brink of death for most of it... he didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how it happened, and with you being the only person to have actually witnessed everything that you've been saying, I think we'd all like to see some proof of—"

"And as I keep saying... if you're here to see photos or a three-point lecture about what Voldemort and his Death Eaters look like when they try to kill you, we can't help!" Harry snapped. His temper—always so close to the surface these days—was rising again, and he did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face; he knew better than to lash out but felt determined not to give in, he would not look anywhere else but that stupid nose of

"Would you like know, Zacharias?" asked Cedric, softly. "Truly?"

Both Harry and Zacharias's head whipped back from glaring each other, startled.

Cedric had shifted forward, somehow treading the line between being perfectly diplomatic and intensely intimidating at the same time.

"Truly?" he asked, again.

"Captain. I don't mean anything by it. Like I said, I'm just—"

Cedric took out his wand and waved it circularly above his head; light began to trail from its very tip, winding round and round until it created a bright and glowing orb that floated down to the middle of his palm.

"Let me tell you if you're so curious then, because when Voldemort—" and Cedric said that name so firmly, yet the crowd only winced, more enthralled than horrified as he wound the golden orb larger and larger— "when Voldemort ambushes you, you're dead. Simply like that. Murder: that's what it's like... Would you like to ask what being dead is like?"

He inhaled and blew, the orb moved—it was about the size of a mountainous gobstopper—and it drifted aloft in between the group, bouncing from shoulder to shoulder.

Zacharias sat up in his chair, "It's not that I don't believe you—"

"Won't you ask?" said Cedric, cutting him off. Zacharias stayed silent.

Without looking away, Cedric stared at him, and then he snapped his fingers. The orb immediately disappeared, but that was not all that went out.
The brightest burning candles to the right of the group, the entire row of gas lamps above their heads—even the fireplace flickered—and the line of smouldering, smoking drinks that the barkeep had made for the bandaged man all blew out within a single breath. They shivered.

It was as if a draft had entered the room and gone to their heads.

"You're here," Cedric addressed the group now, "because some small part of you are all asking the same kinds of questions: what was it like? What would it be like being dead?"

Cedric took his time, gazing left to right, pouring into every single face.

"Because if Dumbledore's right, if Harry's right, if we are right... then you all know that dead is what you're going to be," Cedric snapped his fingers once more; the orb reappeared in front of Zacharias's face, and it simply hovered in place, barely touching his nose.

Then, with the echo of a scream whispering in everybody's ear, the orb seemingly broke in half; a dark and smokey skull erupting from within before it all faded away into Cedric's wand.

"There. Just like that. There's one answer for you." he put his wand away and leaned forward, elbows against the table. "You can keep asking all the questions that you'd like, but if you're not here to make sure that you stay standing after you ask them... then I suggest you leave,"

Silence.

The lights re-ignited.

Cedric watched them all, waiting, but no one left their seats; not even Zacharias, whose shoulders hunched slightly lower than before.

"Please go on, Hermione," Cedric said, gently.

"... T-thank you, Cedric... erm..." Hermione staggered a little in her spot. Besides Harry, she looked just as unnerved as everyone else, and yet set her arms down on the table in new confidence. "Well. As he put it, we're here to... to stay standing, so to speak... erm, we're here to learn defense, and if you all are on the same page then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to—"

"Were you scared?" said Cho, suddenly. She looked at Cedric from across the table with her eyes wide. "Was it scary to face Him?"

"Yes," Cedric said, without hesitating. "Are you?"

Tentatively, Cho nodded. Some of the group also murmured in quiet agreement, and Cedric softened.

Harry felt his ear twitch.

"Well, good. Hang onto that, the fear is normal, but... sitting in Umbridge's classes, learning the exact the opposite of what you're supposed to be: those things won't help you be less scared. We have to learn real, defensive techniques, and the only person who can teach us..."

Cedric gestured beside him; Harry jerked at the sudden shift in attention.

"The only one who can do it, is Harry."

Promptly, the girl with a long plait down her back piped up, as if she had been waiting to ask this question, "Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?"

Murmurs of interest broke out at this.

"... Harry?" Hermione pressed, gently.

"Yes," he said, slightly nervous. "Yes, I can do that."

"A corporeal Patronus?"

The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory.

"You don't know a Madam Bones, do you?" he asked. The girl smiled.

"She's my aunt; I'm Susan Bones," she said, "she told me all about your hearing. So, it's really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes,"

"Blimey, Harry!" blurted Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said George, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry and a couple of people laughed. The veiled witch sitting alone by the fireplace, shifted very slightly in her seat.

"And, did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year..."

"Oh, er, yeah," said Harry. "I did, yes,"

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, Lavender Brown even mouthed a very soft "wow". Harry felt slightly hot in his hoodie now; he was determinedly looking anywhere else but Cedric and Hermione, who—and he could positively feel them do this—grew brighter and brighter with every word.

"And in our first year," said Neville proudly, to the group at large, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone—"

"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes! He saved that, from You-Know-Who," finished Neville. Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

"And that's not to mention," said Cedric, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year; getting past dragons, the merpeople, and the acromantulas among everything else,"

Harry looked at him.

"You did all that too,"

"What an accomplished young man!" called Evan from the back. He seemed to have been waiting for someone to mention Cedric, and there was another low sound of impressed agreement around the table.

"So, you'll be teaching as well, Cedric?" Ginny said.

"Only as a mere aid to this grand master," he replied, bowing his head slightly. They laughed.

"Look," Harry said, and everyone fell silent at once, "I... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff... Cedric included, we didn't—"

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a serious bit of cool flying..."

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors, this summer," said Susan Bones.

"Yeah, well—"

"And Diggory! You did a Bubble charm for the second trial, didn't you?" said Padma Patil, abruptly, "Flitwick said that you were the only student in Hogwarts to have it figured out!"

"He managed to trick the dragon last year, too! With a very clever bit of Transfiguration!" Hidiyah embellished, from the back.

"Alright!" said Harry, "Alright, okay, we've done some stuff without help, but the point I'm trying to make is—"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" interjected Zacharias Smith.

"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, his voice burst forth, before Harry could even speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

Perhaps the word "weasel" had affected Ron particularly strongly; in any case, he now looked at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him.
Zacharias flushed.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it!"

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred Weasley.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this..." said Fred.

"Put that down!" said Hermione hastily. "Moving on, what I'm hearing is...! Well, we're all agreed, then? About taking lessons from Cedric and Harry?"

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias Smith nodded at Cedric's name but folded his arms and said nothing at the mention of Harry, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument that George played with, in his right hand.

"Great!" said Hermione, looking relieved that something had, at last, been settled. "Excellent. Well then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week—"

"Wait!" said Angelina, "We need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Cedric, though he didn't seem as concerned as the two before him.

"Well, I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters—"

"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!"

He looked around expectantly, as though waiting for people to cry, "Surely not!"
However, when nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells—"

"Well, we think a reason that Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is because she's got some... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a sort-of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry,"

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"Yeah, I know, it's... wait, sorry?" said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information. Unbeknownst to everyone, who precipitously focused on Luna: Cedric broke into a large grin.

"He has an army of heliopaths," said Luna, solemnly.

"Erm, no, he hasn't," said Hermione.

"Yes, he has," said Luna.

Harry saw Ron slap a hand to his mouth at the back of the group.

"What are heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever. She brought her arms, wrists arching hands shaped like claws toward the ground, "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione, quickly.

"Oh yes they do!" said Luna, just as fast.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of—"

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts! I can show you in last week's edition of the Quibbler—"

"Hem, hem," said Ginny in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Sorry, but weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?"

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right..."

"Once a week sounds good," said Lee Jordan.

"As long as—" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we-know-about-the-Quidditch," said Hermione rapidly, in a tense voice. From the back, Ron snorted. "The only other thing to decide is where we're going to meet..."

The whole group fell silent; this was rather more difficult.

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed about the prospect of us doing jinxes by her books," Hidiyah said.

"Then, an unused classroom?" said Dean.

"McGonagall might let us have hers," said Ron, "she did that when Harry was practicing for the tournament..."

But Harry felt certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time; for all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling this one might be considered a dragon more rebellious.

"Right, well... we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione, thoughtfully, "and we'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."

Rummaging in her bag, Hermione produced parchment and a quill before hesitating, almost as though she was steeling herself to say something.

"I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So, if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge—or anybody else—about what we're up to."

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully put down his signature, but Harry noticed at once, that several people looked less than happily at the piece of parchment.

A familiar voice rang loudly in the pub.

"What're you all waiting for! Make way at least,"

Evan waded his way through the front, with Hidiyah in tow, and they put their names down; the former flourishing his wand into a thin, calligraphy brush, while the latter took out what looked like a pen fashioned out of a wood-carving knife.

"Most important thing we'd ever do in our lives, eh?" Hidiyah grinned, looking at Ernie as she passed. He suddenly gathered up his breath and puffed out his chest again.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, and he seized the quill from Fred's hand, writing his signature exuberantly. After Ernie, no one raised any further objection and the group trickled toward the table, gradually filling the parchment out. When the last person—Zacharias—had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. An odd sort-of feeling struck the air within the group now; it was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.

"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee, and I have got items of sensitive nature to purchase, so we'll be seeing you all later!"

In twos and threes, the rest of the group took their leave, too. Cho made a rather extensive business of fastening the catch on her bag, the long and dark curtain of hair swinging forward to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her—arms folded and waiting—so that Cho had little choice but to depart with her.

However, before she followed her friend, Cho looked back and waved at Harry, her gaze lingering a little bit to the right of him until she finally left through the inn's old wooden door. Harry did not know if Cedric had noticed; he saw the others around him get up, and he scratched behind his ear.

"Well, I think that went rather well," said Hermione happily, as she, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later.

"Yeah... that Zacharias bloke's bit of a wart, though," said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith just distinguishable in the distance. "He kept interrupting you both,"

"I don't like him much either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? The more people the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—"

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed the drink down his front.

"Wait, what? What d'you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?"

"Ginny and—..." Ron glanced somewhere behind Harry's shoulder— "Oh, come on 'mione, you've got to tell me!"

He abruptly grabbed Hermione's shoulders as he continued to splutter about his sister, and as Harry moved to amusedly follow, he stopped: feeling something approach him from behind.

"So, we've done it," a voice said. Harry smiled before he turned.

"'Certainly done something," he blinked, shielding his eyes from a ray of light. He beheld Cedric's familiar grin and looked around, "Where are your friends?"

"Oh, Evan and Hidiyah have gone to pester Ollivander as usual—" Harry raised his brow— "she's been wanting to be his apprentice for years, you see... haven't convinced him yet, though,"

"But how's she getting to London? Last I remember, his shop's still on Diagon Alley,"

Cedric tapped a finger against his lips, "Good thing she got her Apparition license then,"

"And, that we're out of the castle's wards," Harry said, in quick realization. Cedric grinned wider.

"Always wished that she'd put more of her cunning into school rather than escaping it, but..." Cedric shrugged. "So, where are your friends?"

"Oh, they're—" Harry turned back and spotted Ron and Hermione stood the middle of street, pointing them out.

"Why's Ron look like that?" Cedric asked.

"He just found out that Ginny got her first boyfriend,"

"Oh. Oh, right! Corner,"

"You know about him?"

"Ginny briefly mentioned meeting him in the Yule Ball, yeah... he's in your year, isn't he?"

Cedric burst into laughter when Harry gave a blank look.

"You ought to know that kind of stuff, you know! Especially since we'll be seeing him in the future,"

"Well, not all of us are as popular as you,"

"It's not about popularity... besides, you'd be surprised," Cedric said, his smile turned stiff. Harry's brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

"Well," Cedric said awkwardly, "well. You mustn't keep them waiting,"

"Where are you going?"

Cedric pointed behind his shoulder. "Back up the castle. I think I'm entitled to a bit of a rest,"

Harry nodded. He glanced back to his friends, who waved at him from a distance and he turned back.

"Can I come with?" he asked.

"Oh, yea—... really?" Cedric swung his arms forward and held them behind his back, "You don't, er, have any shopping with Ron and Hermione to do?"

Harry waved back to his friends, and then he pointed toward Cedric. "I'm sure they'll be fine without me,"

In the middle of the crowded street, Hermione and Ron waved heartily at Cedric. He gave a small laugh and waved back.

"Then, shall we?" he asked. Harry nodded, and they set off down the main road, navigating through the the village's bursting energy.

"I got your brew by the way," Cedric said. He and Harry snaked through the crowd, trying to avoid getting pulled into the stream of students shooting straight toward Honeydukes. "Strained and pickled murtlap?"

"Hermione's recipe. She'd made it for me a couple of times, so I thought..."

"Clever as always. Even Hidiyah was impressed," Cedric smiled at him. "Thanks,"

Breaking into the quieter fringes of the village, they crossed the threshold of cobblestoned walkways and tall lamplights back to a wide and well-trodden trail that led through the hills. Harry kicked a pebble that rolled to his feet, and it hit the metal of a hand-painted signpost pointing them the right way. The wind whistled.
They were the lone travellers on this dirt path; you could still hear the din of Hogsmeade bustling, there was a chorus of aged leaves scuttling down long-grassed slopes—flashing in the sunlight before they eventually plummeted into the shallow pools of the lowlands—but Cedric and Harry walked on, otherwise alone, staring to the distant outline of the castle against the horizon. Together, they clambered up the hill with a fresh breeze filling their lungs, and they strolled under a bright and cloudless sky.

"I didn't know that murtlap tentacles smelt like lavendar," Cedric said, offhandedly.

"They don't." Harry looked away, a little embarrassed.

He had mixed the lavender in.

Cedric's hand swung wide into the daylight. They were unbandaged, and while Harry thought he could make out the words engraved there, he could barely convince himself of the fact as up to the tips of his fingers, Cedric's arm was mostly hidden by the length of his sleeve.

Harry tripped over himself, loose dirt and shoelaces, trying to catch sight; deeply, he wanted to ask to see it, but could not help that acute twinge of guilt pricking at him in warning.

"Was it the last one?" he asked instead, it came out slightly warbled in air but if Cedric noticed, he did not say anything.

"It should be, for now," he nodded. "I suppose we should still be careful though,"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm sorry," Harry said, suddenly, "about your hand,"

"It isn't yo—"

"I know." Harry interrupted, before Cedric could finish, "I know. It wasn't my fault."

"Then, why apologise?"

Harry shrugged.

"I know how harsh the Black Quill is," his shoes scuffed to a halt, and he took out something wrapped in metallic purple and gold from his pocket. "And you don't deserve something so cruel. It was for my sake too, so... I'm sorry, and, erm, thanks,"

He dropped it against Cedric's palm and pushed his hands inside his pockets again, waiting; Cedric glanced at the small gift that he had been given.

"Is this chocolate?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Lupin used to do this... give me chocolate, I mean, whenever anything bad happened..." he scratched his neck and sighed. "I'm sorry that it's not much,"

"No!" said Cedric, immediately, "I'm not—... that kind of thing doesn't worry in the slightest; thank you, Harry."

He closed his hand into a fist and placed the piece of chocolate inside his own pocket like it was something innumerably precious.

"Oh! And I suppose... you're welcome," he added, quickly, "right?"

Harry let out a relieved sigh.

"Yes," he grinned, "thank you,"

"You're welcome," Cedric beamed. "You know, I've been feeling much better, now that we've got this... this rebellion to enact against her,"

"Right... our rebellious study group,"

"It still counts! Besides, who would've known?" Cedric laughed, and despite himself, Harry cracked a smile too. He put his hand out and skimmed through the bushes and thrush that lined their path, as they continued to walk along.

They quickly caught up with each other as they strode around the hill, it was peaceful sense of basking in sunlight: light voices, light laughter at the mercy of the element as the wind grew cold. Eventually, they rounded closer and closer to the bridge, an antiquated stone structure that looked like it been pulled from the very earth itself, wettened dark by yesterday's rain. Ivy, moss and maidenhair grew long and plentiful around its base, winking from its cracks and edges, and as they neared the foot of the bridge, the faint sounds of running water could be heard: a shallow stream coursing as blue as the sky above, from underneath.

"I see that you've made up with Ron," said Cedric. The wind blew a little harsher and they braced for it; Harry blew warmth once more into his gloved hands.

"Yeah! Er, we did... it was after the first time we came to see you, actually,"

Cedric nodded approvingly, he wound his coat tighter, "I figured you know, back in the Hog's Head, but I thought I'd at least ask..."

"Right; did you know that Hermione had gathered that many people there?" Harry asked, struck by the thought. When Cedric shook his head, he groaned, "Oh, I can't believe she didn't tell us,"

"It worked out well though, didn't it?" Cedric bent toward the ground, picking up a smooth but dusty pebble. "They all ended up wanting to sign,"

"It could've just as easily gone to dung, if you weren't there."

Cedric scoffed. He hopped onto the bridge, strode to its peak and leaning over the side, he let the pebble drop.

Kchk—plop!

"I mean it. You're remarkable, you know that?" Harry called. He walked beside Cedric, looking over the bridge wall as the stream spilled through a scatter of eroded, mossy rocks.

"What? Oh, with Zacharias? That's nothing, he's usually fine when—"

"No. I mean all the time, with everything," Harry turned, sitting on the wall; the village of Hogsmeade lay far behind him, its chimneys billowing with smoke and sunlight glinting off its various shingled rooftops, "You're remarkable. That's why I've decided to go through with it, that's why I had asked... It was all Hermione's idea, but, the only reason I stayed sitting there... it was because I trusted you,"

Footsteps echoed against the stone. That soft sound of running water felt just as cool in Harry's ear as the wind did, blowing gently through his clothes, against his cheeks. The stone was rough and solid beneath him, Cedric was by his side, smelling like lavender, and then it happened—

Cedric leaned in.

Harry stopped as he felt Cedric's arm glance behind him; he felt a hand touch his cheek, glide from up his neck to his ear, thread through his hair and stroke his temple and breath was drawn—he could not tell who—as Cedric leaned in, the most tender brush of a kiss pressed to the left of Harry's lightening scar.

Warmth filled, flooding, drowning.
And his chest pounded, drowning.

Cedric pulled back, still holding his face; his hand had cupped Harry's cheek and they looked at each other.
Cedric's eyes careful, while Harry was caught in a wide-eyed stare.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" whispered Harry, first breaking the silence.

A moment.

Had he not heard?

"Like what?" Cedric whispered as well. He thumbed Harry's cheek.

"Like that."

"Like what?" Cedric said again, and as he brought his face closer and closer; Harry did not move, gazing at him.

"... like that," he said a second time, almost unable to get it out, his mouth dry. Cedric smiled slightly. He pressed his head against Harry's, before he dropped his hands and leaned backward.

His eyes were so incredibly warm.

"I think you already know," he murmured, holding his own hands together.

"Then, tell me."

Perhaps it was the proximity that threw him off. He had seen Cedric so many times, he could admit to admiring his looks—the way his eyes stared straight at you, the soft lay of his mouth—but this was different. This was...

"I'm sorry," Cedric shook his head. Then, he laughed, incredulous, "Merlin, I'm sorry."

He could say nothing else, it was so small. It had been so small and already, there was an unimaginable pressure bursting from inside his chest that barely let him make another sound.

Harry said nothing as well. Instead, he watched Cedric's lips quirk into a small and sad smile as he looked out behind them, into the vast; into the empty but abundant heath around them, all the while he slowly grew more solemn.

"I lied," he looked toward Harry; they were less than an arm's reach away. "I lied to you, I'm sorry,"

"What about?" asked Harry.

"Cho."

Harry's eyes grew wider, still.

"Cho?"

"It was you," Cedric said, as gently as he could, "it was always... I lied, it didn't matter about a mate and Cho, what mattered was whether you wanted to chase after her, it was always just..." he stopped, mouth drier than ever, and then—as if he didn't want the stones under the bridge to hear—

"It was always just you,"

The wind whistled. Harry felt the breath knock outside his chest and was barely able to mouth an "Oh," which bode strangely well, as he would not have been heard what came so softly next.

Cedric leaned in, again.

"I care about you," he whispered, eyes creased in fondness, "that's all I'm saying. I care about you, and... I care what you think about me, a lot."

Time stopped. Sound, the air, the sun became swallowed up in one moment—in one, single breath.
Cedric laughed, nervously again. He looked to Harry.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. Harry took a breath.

He took another just in case the first hadn't been real and he gazed—heart pounding so rapidly—in full realization of everything about the boy sitting beside him: how breathless, how flushed his cheeks were from battling winds, how his grey eyes sparked with so much warmth that it came as a surprise that none of the stone around them melted when they flashed like silver sunlight, and that smile—

"Do you take my meaning?" Cedric asked, tilting his head, his lips were curled into a dare. Merlin.

Merlin.

That smile.

Harry nodded. He sat still on the bridge wall and he could feel the chill of the wind start to bite into his clothes, yet his body did not shiver; heat shot to his cheeks fast and quick.

He nodded.

"Good, good," Cedric got to his feet, touching the nape of neck. "You can just... let me know then, whenever—" he seemed unable to look directly anywhere as Harry bore into him, unblinking— "whether I have a shot or not, I would... I would really like to know,"

Fingers pressed against his neck. Nails digging.
His voice trembled.

The world restarted again.

"Give me time." Harry said, immediately, (and the world stopped.)

He took his hands out of his pocket and stood, stepping toward Cedric, full of something so immeasurably large that he couldn't yet hope to name it.

"Let me... let me think, first,"

Oh.

"I-I want to think, seriously, about it, you see... because I—I care as well. About you, I mean—"

Oh, Cedric thought.

"Right,"

"—you're my friend, of course, I care about you, obviously—but—but that's not, erm... it's different..."

"Yeah,"

"... it's a different kind of care that you're asking, and, and!"

How much can I…

"Harry—"

How much can I touch him?

"So... so..." Harry breathed hard, gulping down air. "W-Would you say something else! I... I don't know what to..."

Cedric moved forward, hand reaching for Harry's own; his fingers slipped inside his grey woollen glove and pulled it off so easily, until it was only the barest skin of their fingers and scarred hands touching; pressed against the cold.

"I understand," Cedric said, softly, and he shook his head, "Take as long as you need,"
He felt his heart hammer loud, thick— "as long as you need," and he closed his eyes and let their fingers intertwine, "I'll wait."

The way he whispered cleared the dark pool of Harry's mind, it just let everything fade away; nothing else but the sun that warmed his back, the running of water below, music that played from the village in the distance, and their hands entwined with each other.

Harry gazed at Cedric with the same dense heartbeat inside his chest,

"Well... shall we?" Cedric said. He eventually let go, picking Harry's glove up from the ground and offering it forward.
They stood on the bridge, less than an arm's reach apart, staring at everything else but the large and long-grassed valley around them.

Harry took the glove.

"Right. Onward, I suppose," he said, shoving it inside his pocket. Cedric smiled.
Harry's heart pounded.

They continued walking along their path.