Harry and Ron were both dragging their feet, and Hermione turned to glare at them. "Hurry up! The Feast will start soon, and I doubt we'll be allowed in to visit afterwards."

So, the three of them mounted the last stairs onto the landing in front of the hospital ward. The summer sun on the horizon shot light through a window and scattered gold across the hardwood floor making Hermione squint against the glare. Opening the ward door, she peered in, just to be sure no one was there -- or at least, not Cedric's parents. Weighed down by guilt, Harry had refused to go up if the Diggorys were present, despite the fact Mrs. Diggory had made a point of seeking him out earlier to tell him she didn't blame him for what had happened. But that was Harry for you -- he was inclined to take on the weight of the whole world like Atlas. Hermione knew that he'd been equally reluctant to see Cedric, but unlike Harry, Hermione had done her research, catching Cho in a hallway to find out how Cedric was, and whether he might want a visit. Cho had seemed to think it an excellent idea. According to her -- having had it straight from Cedric's mother -- the first question Cedric had asked upon waking was, 'How's Harry?'

So Hermione had poked and prodded and nagged until Harry had agreed to go and visit Cedric -- as long as Cedric's parents weren't around. Then she'd turned her guilt trip on Ron until he agreed to come, too, and apologize for belting Cedric on the field after the Third Task. Keeping a lookout all afternoon, Hermione had noted when the Diggorys went down to the Hufflepuff Basement to pack up Cedric's belongings, leaving no one in the ward except Cedric, and Madam Pomfrey -- she'd hoped. "Now," she'd said, herding the boys out of the Gryffindor common room.

And here they were -- the coast was still clear. Holding open the door, she let Harry and Ron precede her inside, but they fell behind again as they passed empty beds towards the back where a screen sectioned off the only occupied area. She was about to clear her throat (to be sure Cedric was decent), when she heard him laugh at something. A ball of fur skittled across the floor in a strange lurching motion, half on its backside, nails clicking and sliding as it tried to fetch a . . . sweet?

Startled, Hermione let out a little squawk, then gaped as the creature sat up on hind legs, sweet in hand, nibbling. It had a bushy, banded tail and a black face mask. "That is not a cat!" she said as the boys blundered to a stop behind her.

"Most definitely not," replied a voice from behind the screen. "He'd be very insulted to be compared to a cat."

"I like cats!" Hermione protested.

"So do I," said the unseen Cedric, "but Esiban isn't very fond of them." Then he made a clicking sound and the raccoon -- for that's what it was -- made a few bounds to leap back on the bed out of sight. "Come in," he called.

She peered around the screen, finding him propped up against a mountain of white pillows, dressed in a simple blue shirt. There was, she noted with approval, a stack of books on his bedside table, along with cards and chocolates. The raccoon went to curl up beside him. "Meet Esiban," he said, smiling at her. "Granger, right?" Then he bent and seemed to be whispering to the animal, handing it another sweet -- apparently a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. Much to her surprise, the raccoon waddled to the bed end and sat up on his hind legs once more, sweet in hand. "He's offering to share," Cedric explained.

"I . . . don't know that I want to eat after a raccoon."

Cedric laughed. "Just take it. I'm trying to teach him a new trick. It's really hard to get a raccoon to give up food, so don't break my consistency, right? You don't have to eat it. In fact, just give it back as a reward." Then he added, "Hi, Harry, Ron. I'm glad to see you don't look too much the worse for wear, Potter."

"I'm doing all right. You?"

"I think I'll live."

It was, Hermione thought, a completely inane exchange, as Harry was certainly the worse for wear, covered in scratches and the cut on his arm, and Cedric was still sitting in a hospital bed after four days -- hardly 'all right.' But boys never could say important things until they'd edged around each other like new dogs in a yard, sniffing each other's privates.

"Move slowly," Cedric instructed her, watching carefully as she approached the raccoon. "Hold your hand out, palm up. Let him give it to you. That's right."

Hermione accepted the sweet and muttered, 'Thank you' -- then handed it back. The raccoon snatched it (startling her), and scuttled over to Cedric, then sat nibbling contentedly. "That's amazing," she said. "He's extremely well-trained."

"He's very clever. A total nuisance, but very clever." Cedric was looking down at his pet with a fondness she didn't think she'd seen him bestow on anybody else, even Cho. "There's nothing he can't get into -- or out of -- unless I spell it shut. That was my incentive for Charms class, you know -- to keep Esiban out of trouble before someone in my House decided to have raccoon on a spit for supper."

Harry and Ron chuckled, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever heard Cedric string that many sentences together in a row -- although to be fair, she'd barely exchanged more than a casual greeting with him, and that mostly since Harry had been involved in the Tournament. She really didn't know what he was like outside large crowds, where he tended to be friendly enough, but quiet. Cedric was . . . a bit intimidating (maybe more than a bit) -- for his age, his intelligence, his beauty, even his height. Since Viktor, however, she'd learned that the apparent wasn't always the actual, and Cedric had never been anything but nice to her when she'd been around during the Tournament. Now, she suspected he was yattering about his raccoon less for pride than to put Harry (and her and Ron) at ease.

So she found herself saying (because the boys had their mouths glued shut, apparently), "I can't believe they let you bring a raccoon to Hogwarts -- and how did you get it, in the first place? We don't have raccoons in England, do we?" She realized that she wasn't entirely sure. She'd grown up in London, a city girl, and a trip to the shore for holiday was the extent of her experiences with nature.

"Esiban comes from Canada," Cedric explained. "I spent a month there when I was 12. This little fellow -- well, he was little then -- kept sneaking into the house, and I'd find him curled up asleep on my bed. They're nocturnal, so they sleep during the day. I suppose he felt the house was safe. We think . . . well, Leonard -- the person I was visiting -- thought his mother was dead, and he was the last of his litter. The babies must've been old enough to find food, but not really old enough to be on their own, so a fox or snake or something got the rest. I thought he'd adopted me, and felt sorry for him and -- stupidly -- hid him in one of my bags when I went home. It was by portkey -- so he didn't suffocate. I thought my father was going to kill me when I showed up at the Ministry with a baby raccoon!" Hermione grinned, as did Harry and even Ron, imagining the excitable Amos Diggory in a fit over the stowaway. "But there are some advantages -- and disadvantages -- to having a father who works with magical creatures. He made me take Esiban with me to Hogwarts -- he was my responsibility, Dad said. Now, I can't imagine not having him. My life might be a lot calmer, but it'd be a lot duller, too."

"But raccoons aren't magic, are they?" Harry asked, relaxing enough around Cedric finally to come forward and try to pet the creature.

Cedric smoothly moved the raccoon to his other side. "Careful, Harry. Let him come to you. Lean over like Hermione was, so you're not putting your hand over his head -- that'd be interpreted as a threat, a dominance move. Hold out your hand palm up; he'll come and check you out, then you can pet him. He's not really dangerous, but any wild animal'll bite if he feels cornered. I try to be a little careful." He smiled to take any sting out of the correction, and Hermione was strangely reminded of Hagrid instructing class.

Harry followed Cedric's advice, kneeling down by the bed and letting the raccoon approach him over the top of Cedric's body. Ron, Hermione noticed, was keeping his distance, arms crossed over his chest, looking skeptical but not unfriendly. Cedric went on, "And no, raccoons aren't magic -- well, not by European Wizarding convention." Hermione wondered what he meant by that. "But Esiban's been around magic so long now, and from such a young age, he's sort of . . . absorbed it, like anything will. It's a property of long-term exposure to magic."

"Yes!" Hermione said excitedly, "Magical Seepage -- I've been reading about that --"

"A bit of 'light reading,' I'm sure," Ron interrupted, mocking her with her own descriptions.

"Shut up, Ron." She was blushing. "Anyway, I was reading about that very thing. It's extremely interesting how even the most mundane Muggle object can take on certain magical properties when placed in constant proximity of magic. Although I confess, I can't remember the exact formula that determines how long it takes --"

"It's a division of the object's weight by the duration of exposure," Cedric replied, "then multiplied by actual proximity. That is, has the object just been in the neighbourhood, or has it been handled regularly? Etcetera."

Hermione blinked. So did Ron and Harry, who looked from her to Cedric as if gobsmacked.

Well, the Goblet had chosen him as a Triwizard Champion. She supposed she shouldn't be so surprised that he not only knew what she was talking about, but knew more about it than she did.

"What?" Ron was saying now, "Do you correct your housemates' essays for them, too?"

Eyes on the raccoon, who seemed to have taken to Harry, Cedric nodded. "It's been known to happen." Then his lips tipped up a bit. "It's been known for me to write a few, too." Raising his eyes, he winked at Ron.

"But you're a prefect!" Hermione said. Correcting was one thing, writing quite another.

"I didn't say I'd done it recently," he defended -- although she suspected him of lying.

Now dropping his arms, Ron shuffled his feet and said, "Listen -- uh. About what happened on the field the other night --"

"Forget it," Cedric cut him off.

Harry looked up from the raccoon. "What happened on the field?"

Ron hadn't told him? "Ronald punched Cedric when Cedric came back without you," Hermione explained -- earning her a glare from Ron.

"You hit him?" Harry asked, astonished. "He saved my life!"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Cedric was saying. "Everyone was upset and scared --"

"I told him to go back," Harry went on to Ron, ignoring Cedric's attempt to be diplomatic.

"Well, I didn't know that!" Ron protested, hands shoved in pockets, head down mulishly.

"What did you think he was going to do? One of us had to go back to get Dumbledore --"

"I didn't know that!" Ron insisted.

A shrill whistled interrupted them, and Cedric pulled fingers from his mouth to call, "Time out!" like the Quidditch captain he was. But his voice edged on laughter. "I'm not mad at Ron, Harry. If I'd been in his shoes, I'd probably have done the same thing." He paused, then added, "I'm not mad at you, either."

Harry immediately blushed, looking down in guilty embarrassment.

Well, Hermione thought, it seemed that sniffing at privates had been accomplished. Now they could get down to business. She moved back a little, to the very edge of the screen, granting Harry, and Ron, a bit of privacy with Cedric. "So how are you -- really?" Harry asked, pulling up a chair. Ron had moved around to stand behind Harry.

"I'll be okay," Cedric said, but there was something . . . a sliding away of eyes. Hermione wasn't sure if Harry caught it, as Cedric pretended interest in his raccoon, feeding him slices of apple, now. "They're sending me to St. Mungo's in the morning. I'll probably be there a few more days, then go home. They've got to figure out some way to reverse the curse. Madam Pomfrey seemed pretty confident they can do it, though. It's just a bit rare, so it'll take a specialist healer."

Harry appeared relieved, and Hermione -- still standing at the edge of the screen -- wanted to be, but found she couldn't, quite. Cedric was downplaying something, she was virtually certain.

"What'd the curse do?" Harry was asking.

Cedric shrugged, and frowned. "I'm not sure they're sure, exactly. They sort of know what it did, but not what it was. And I only felt it hit -- I didn't hear the command. I don't even know who hit me."

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry said instantly. "I was facing that direction after you grabbed me. I thought he was aiming at me, but then I realized he wasn't. He was aiming at you." Harry's tone was indignant. Even after all that had happened to him, he still found acts of pure maliciousness incomprehensible. Hermione hoped he never came to understand evil.

The expression on Cedric's face, however . . . was interesting -- part astonishment, part recognition, and part pure rage. It was as if he both believed and couldn't believe that Malfoy senior would have done such a thing. Then again, being two years ahead, maybe he didn't know Draco very well -- nor have realized that Lucius was a Death Eater. Or maybe he was just like Harry, and couldn't fathom cruelty.

"That bastard," Cedric muttered, which startled her and the boys a bit, as much at the coldness in his voice as to hear him swear. (Lord knew, Fred and George swore enough, but it was less . . . bitter and blunt.) "You're sure it was Lucius?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied.

Cedric glanced sideways, one hand petting the raccoon with deceptive gentleness, the other gripping the sheets till his knuckles were as white as his pursed lips. "I'll tell my father, who'll go to Fudge -- although I doubt anything will come of it, not officially. Fudge is in Malfoy's pocket so deep he'll never crawl out. But at least I know -- and I'll tell my mother." The tight lips relaxed and curled slightly, as if he were amused by the thought of something. Hermione remembered meeting Cedric's mother earlier when she'd come to talk to Harry. A tall, regal, blonde woman, calm and gracious, she'd struck Hermione as a true lady -- but not gentle or soft. Cedric must have inherited his gentleness from his father, even if Hermione had wondered before how Cedric could be Amos Diggory's son. They'd seemed so different. After meeting Lucy Diggory, however, Hermione had realized that Cedric was a younger, male version of his mother. Yet Cedric was kind. His mother -- well, Hermione decided that she wouldn't want to be Lucius Malfoy when Lucy Diggory caught up with him.

Abruptly, Cedric seemed to shake off his sour, angry mood, and smiled again. The smile was genuine, but it was clear to Hermione that he'd just buried something hurtful in order to play the gracious host. It was so very Hufflepuffian of him, she thought. "Tell me -- what else have I missed? Was Moody arrested?"

"It wasn't Moody, actually," Harry said.

"Not Moody? But I saw --"

"It was Barty Crouch's son."

"What? Impossible -- he's in Azkaban!" Cedric protested.

"Was in Azkaban. He escaped, caught Moody by surprise, and used Polyjuice Potion to pretend to be him . . . " And Harry launched into the follow-up tale of how Crouch junior had been working for Voldemort in order to secure Harry's presence in the graveyard for an ancient spell of resurrection. Cedric asked a few questions, but mostly listened with careful interest. He had, Hermione thought, a rather piercing gaze when he wasn't laughing, and he and Harry seemed wrapped up in their own private recall of the night they'd almost died. Hermione felt as if she were intruding, and even Ron had stepped away, come over to join her where she stood near the screen.

"It's getting dark," he muttered. "Feast'll start soon."

"Think we should go and let them talk?" she asked.

Ron frowned; he could be such a silly, jealous prat sometimes. But then his forehead smoothed, and he said, "Yeah, maybe so." More loudly, he called out, "We're going downstairs." Both Harry and Cedric looked around, and Harry started to rise but Ron held up a hand. "You finish filling in Ced. We'll hold you a seat." Harry sat back down, and Ron asked Cedric, "Anything in particular you want from the Feast?"

"Candied-violet pudding if they've got any. Otherwise, I don't much care."

"Sure," Ron replied, guiding Hermione out. She was grinning. Ron and Cedric had made their peace, thank heavens. Boys could be so stupid sometimes.

When Weasley and the Granger girl were gone, Cedric returned his attention to Harry, who looked awful, whatever he'd said. His face was all scratched (rather like Cedric's own), he had bruises, and there was a long, deep cut on his arm. His eyes, though, were the worst; they looked haunted. Reaching out, Cedric took Harry's wrist and turned his arm so the long cut showed. "What happened in the graveyard after I left? I heard you screaming as I 'ported out. I shouldn't have left you behind."

Harry pulled his wrist free and rubbed the wound. "Don't be stupid. One of us had to go, and it was me who Voldemort wanted. If I'd left you, they'd just have killed you. Besides, you've got longer legs to run faster."

Cedric snorted. He didn't know how soon he'd be running again, but didn't intend to tell Harry that. The kid had enough on his mind. "There is that. And I know it made sense, I just feel badly --"

"Stop. Just stop, okay? You saved my life back there, and now you're still stuck in hospital for it."

"You saved mine before that, when you shouted."

"Okay, so we're even."

"We're even." Cedric smiled, but feared it looked thin. "So tell me what happened in the graveyard. That first chap -- the one who tried to kill me -- that wasn't Voldemort, was it?"

Harry peered at him. "You just said the name -- Voldemort. And no, that was Wormtail -- Peter Pettigrew."

Cedric shrugged. "The whole 'You-Know-Who' thing seems a bit daft now -- like avoiding his name can make him not notice you? And I thought Pettigrew was dead?"

Harry continued to eye Cedric. "Okay, Dumbledore said I could tell you this, but you can't tell anybody else yet, not even your parents. Well, Ron and Hermione know, and a few other people. But -- you promise?"

Cedric nodded.

"Peter Pettigrew was the one who betrayed my parents to Voldemort -- not Sirius Black. Pettigrew framed Sirius."

"But Black was here, hunting you --"

"No, he wasn't. He was here to hunt Pettigrew . . . " And Harry told Cedric what had happened the year before.

When the boy was done, Cedric just sat there, a bit stunned. "Wow," was all he could think of to say, then, "You conjured up a Patronus? That's . . . amazing. I'm not sure I could do that yet."

"I think you could," Harry said. "The Goblet of Fire chose you, after all -- not me, really. It was just tricked into choosing me. You'd have to be a powerful wizard for the Goblet to've picked you, Cedric. I'm sure you could do a Patronus if you tried."

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "You're underselling yourself. I saw you in that graveyard, standing up to Voldemort. You've got more plain courage than I do, Harry. And I'm not so sure that, if your name had been in for Hogwarts, it wouldn't have been you the Goblet chose instead of me. I'd say you're going to be somebody someday -- but I think you already are."

Harry was blushing terribly, and looked, here, now, no more than the fourteen years old he was. Before he could say anything, though, the ward doors opened and they heard a bunch of people entering, making a lot of noise, including clapping and shouting of Cedric's name: "Dig-go-ry!" and "Eh, Cedric!" and "You in there, mate?"

Harry jumped in his seat beside Cedric's bed and Esiban lifted his head, whiskered nose twitching. Cedric sat up a bit straighter, running a hand through his hair. "I'm back here!" he called, then glanced at his watch and said to Harry, "I think you missed the Feast, talking to me. Sorry about that."

"Don't be."

Harry stood as if to move away -- or maybe flee, but Cedric gripped his wrist again briefly to hold him there. "Don't go yet." Then Cedric released him as a small crowd of people poured around the edge of the screen -- mostly fellow Hufflepuffs including his denmates, but a few from other Houses, such as Cho. They were bearing a tray loaded with food from the Feast, and carrying some of the banners that had been hanging up in the stands, before the Third Task, with his name in House colors. There was a new banner, too, with the Triwizard Cup and 'Diggory' splashed across it. He frowned. If he never saw that cup again, it would be too soon.

The noise faltered a bit when the new arrivals spotted Harry, as if they weren't sure what to make of the presence of Cedric's former Tournament rival. "What's he doing here?" Peter Adamson asked, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"What does it look like he's doing?" Cedric asked -- perhaps a bit more sharply than he should have. "He came to visit." Then he pointed to some of the chairs that were nearby. "Sit down. And bring me my dinner!" He reached out for the tray that Peter was carrying -- to deflect interest from Harry . . . who he absolutely did not want to leave yet. This whole House rivalry thing needed to stop. Now. While he appreciated the loyalty of his housemates, it wasn't fair to Harry. He'd set them straight later. For now, he just wanted to make it very public that Harry was -- well, not his friend, exactly. Cedric didn't know Harry all that well. But they'd shared something that bound them beyond anything as casual as friendship; as far as Cedric was concerned, Harry had a permanent welcome. He picked up a roll and some chicken and passed it to Harry, who hadn't eaten either.

At least Cho knew the truth of what had happened in the Maze and after, and she came around the bed to give Harry a kiss on the cheek, making him blush. Cedric didn't miss that, and took a bite of pudding (always eat dessert first) to hide his grin. He'd gathered from a few things she'd said that the kid had a crush on her. It didn't bother him; he wasn't the jealous type and Cho wasn't going anywhere, however 'cute' she'd declared Harry to be. She'd said 'cute' in the same tone of voice that she used to describe Esiban. She'd set her sights on Cedric. (She was perhaps a bit more attached to him than he to her, truth be told. He wondered if that should bother him, though he certainly wasn't uninterested in her. After all, pretty, smart Chinese girls with big black eyes and some wicked Mandarin hexes didn't come along every day.)

His visitors hung about another ten or fifteen minutes, filling him in on all manner of House gossip (much of which he really didn't care about, but he enjoyed the company). Everyone seemed bent on being cheerful and positive, harassing him about being a lazy git still lying around in bed, and speculating on his chances of being made Head Boy next year. "First time Hufflepuff's had a Head Boy in fifteen years!" Susan Bones said.

"I'm not Head Boy yet, so don't count chickens," he warned her.

"You were Triwizard Champion! Of course you'll be Head Boy," said Ed Carpenter, one of his denmates.

"Harry and I won together," Cedric pointed out, covering his irritation with a bite of roast beef.

"They're right, though," Harry said from where he still hovered uncertainly near the head of Cedric's bed, gratefully accepting another roll and some cheese that Cedric passed him. There wasn't really enough finger food. "You'll be Head Boy."

"See? Even Potter thinks so!" Ernie MacMillan cried. "Our Ced for Head Boy, Triwizard Champ -- all we'll need to do is take the House Cup and it'll be a great year for Hufflepuff!"

Cedric shook his head, keeping quiet, embarrassed by the attention. Rather to his surprise, Harry spoke up again -- less nervously now. "Well, if you want the House cup, you'll have to beat the Gryffindor Quidditch team to get it."

"Hey, we did it before," Ernie said. "And we've still got Ced."

"Yeah, well, Gryffindor's still got me." Harry was grinning; this sort of friendly rivalry was more familiar and Cedric suspected he didn't feel quite so overwhelmed. "You up for a rematch on the Quidditch Pitch, Diggory?"

Cedric found that his throat had closed; it took him almost ten seconds to manage, "Yeah -- sure." He couldn't make himself tell them that if the healers at St. Mungo's couldn't reverse the curse, he wasn't going to be flying as Seeker anymore. He'd be lucky if he could still fly at all.

Perhaps some of them had picked up on his sudden discomfort, including Harry, as conversation faltered. But Madam Pomfrey came out then and shooed everybody away, except Cho, who she let stay with Cedric till he was done eating. When Pomfrey had bustled away again, Cho leaned in, elbows on the mattress while she watched him finish supper. "Dumbledore talked about you tonight."

Surprised, Cedric glanced up. "What'd he say? That I was three kinds of idiot for going back there? I could've got one of the adults killed, trying to protect me."

Dark eyes solemn, she shook her head. "No, Ced. Nothing like that. He warned us that, well -- apparently, the Ministry didn't want him telling us what had happened to you, and Harry, too. But he said that he wants us to remember that one of our own was lying in hospital tonight because he'd tried to protect someone else, and that in the days to come, we may have to do what's right, not what's easy. You got a standing ovation, you know. You weren't there to see, but you did. You know who started it?"

Cedric shook his head, not sure if he were more shocked or more embarrassed by what she'd told him.

"Viktor Krum."

Cedric resisted boggling. "Really?"

"Really. We all started clapping and then Krum stood up, and after that, everybody stood."

Cedric recalled being attacked by Krum in the maze, and how he'd been prepared to do more than just blast the wand from the Bulgarian's hand before Potter had restrained him. He felt guilty for that now. Harry had been right; Krum had been bewitched, and maybe standing up for Cedric tonight had been Krum's way of apologizing indirectly.

Frowning, he pondered what Cho had told him while he finished eating. It was her report about the Ministry's attempts to suppress what had happened that disturbed him most -- more than having Dumbledore compliment him publicly or his classmates applaud him. (He still suspected that, privately, Dumbledore would have something rather different to say about impulsive attempts at heroics.)

"Summer's going to be terrible without you around," Cho said after the silence had stretched some minutes. She'd never been that comfortable just sitting without talking (unless they were studying). "You'll write, won't you?"

"Of course," he said, setting the tray aside so that Esiban -- who'd waited very patiently -- could clean up his plate. Then he turned to smile at her, take her hand in his and twine their fingers. "It's only a few months."

She just eyed him, and he realized he'd put his foot in it with that last remark. "Of course I'll miss you," he amended. Girls were complicated. "But it's the end of June now. We've only got to wait till September. And like I said -- I'll write. You'll write back, won't you?"

She had a pretty smile, and gave it to him now, looking up from beneath lowered lashes. Then she moved from the chair to the edge of his bed and bent forward, kissing him lightly, a feather-brush of soft lips on his. "I can't do that by letter."

"True." He grinned and pulled her closer, kissing her back rather more intently. She was quite a fantastic kisser, which wasn't the only reason he was still dating her six months after the Yule Ball, but it had more to do with it than it probably should. He wasn't demonstrative with her in public -- that would be vulgar -- but within five minutes of being alone, they'd usually dispensed with words in favor of lips and hands. She did something to his brain, shutting it down like a snuffing-out spell, and he loved the feel of her in his arms. But it wasn't just him. She was as likely to start things as he, and she'd been the first to slide a hand down his back and beyond, which had opened up entirely new vistas of exploration. Whatever the chemistry between them, it definitely went both ways; he wasn't taking advantage.

But if they weren't snogging, they didn't share much, it seemed -- not past the obvious things like being good students and Seekers for their respective teams. The few times they'd tried actually to talk -- because they'd both observed they really ought to -- they'd just seemed to talk past each other. Cho was neither a stupid nor silly girl -- which was why he'd asked her to the ball in the first place -- but that didn't mean they had similar interests. Cho wanted to work for Gringott's, or in some sort of business when she finished school . . . maybe even open her own shop someday. Cedric tried to be encouraging, and honestly did think she'd do very well at it. But he couldn't imagine much that interested him less, personally. He preferred the exchange of ideas, or learning about different people and cultures and languages, or even the theory of magic itself.

In fact, part of what had drawn him to Cho initially was her different ancestry -- only to learn that she had very little inclination to maintain Chinese traditions, spoke almost no Mandarin beyond what she needed for spells, and considered herself as thoroughly British as he was. After he'd met her parents for the first time on a Hogsmeade weekend, and had spent it all discussing magical traditions in China, she'd complained on their walk back that sometimes she thought he was only dating her because she wasn't English. He'd denied it vehemently -- because it was true. Well, that and the fact he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her in private.

At the moment she was twisted on the bed to lie half on him, mouth hard on his, urging one of his hands up to her breast beneath her robes. And he really ought to be getting off on this, but wasn't. He felt nothing below the waist -- because he couldn't. And he didn't want Cho to know that, so he pushed her away. "You need to go before either Madam Pomfrey comes back and catches us, or my mother does."

(And perhaps that last bit was cruel, as he knew how Cho found his mother intimidating.)

Sitting back, she caught her breath and smoothed her hair, such beautiful, sleek hair. "I'll be up in the morning to see you off."

"You needn't --"

"I'll be up." She bent to kiss his nose, then rose to leave even as he heard the ward door open, and his parents' voices. "Good night, Ced."

"'Night, Cho."

Cedric woke even before sunrise the next day, unsure what had roused him, then realized he wasn't alone. He might have expected his parents, or perhaps Cho, but found Dumbledore sitting quietly beside his bed, illumined by the gray and blue light of predawn.

Immediately, he tried to sit up, though his lower body wasn't cooperating. He hadn't seen the headmaster since the graveyard, and vividly recalled the angry tone of Dumbledore's voice when he'd ordered Cedric to stay hidden. Cedric hated to let people down -- especially the likes of Dumbledore. "I'm really sorry," he said now. "I know I shouldn't have grabbed the cup. I just -- I couldn't leave Harry there and not go back. I'm sorry, I --"

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him, then pointed wordlessly to the table a little behind Cedric's bed.

Twisting to look, Cedric found the Triwizard Cup sitting there. It still glowed softly blue, and Cedric realized that it must have been the cup's subtle light that had woken him. What it was doing there, though, he couldn't fathom.

Dumbledore must have guessed as much. "We've decided it is to be yours."

Cedric's slack-jawed expression was all he could manage, and Dumbledore actually smiled at him.

"I'm glad you realize that what you did five nights ago -- returning to Little Hangleton -- was a foolish choice. But it was a foolish choice made by a compassionate heart. There are worse sorts of errors, and in the end, it proved fateful. You were able to rescue Harry and stop the fight far sooner than it might otherwise have ended, and with only the one casualty. And if all death is to be regretted, I am not above pointing out that the death was not on our side. So your original action may have been ill-considered, but it was brave, and it seems to me that the true measure of a man's soul is revealed in the errors he makes rather than in what he gets right."

Too astonished to reply, Cedric just mulled over what Dumbledore had said.

"As I believe your mother explained to you yesterday," Dumbledore went on, "the Ministry has decided to split the Tournament winnings between you and Harry."

"I know, I don't want --"

"Harry also tried to refuse the prize money. Therefore, if it makes you feel better, imagine that you are accepting what Harry does not want, and he can accept what you don't." Dumbledore winked, and Cedric resisted laughing a little. "As for the cup --"

"I don't want that, either. I don't ever want to see it again."

"I understand -- but I think you should have it, and Harry was of the same mind when I spoke to him yesterday evening. He told me what you said to him -- that you believed he would have been chosen as the Hogwarts champion had he been allowed to enter. But Cedric, has it not occurred to you to ask yourself, this past year, why it was you who the cup chose? Why not someone from Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw, or Slytherin?"

In fact, the question had occurred to him, and Cedric had been unable to produce a satisfactory answer, so now, he just waited to see what Dumbledore thought.

"The Triwizard Champion does not just represent himself, or his House, but represents his entire school. Of all the Houses at Hogwarts, it is Hufflepuff who best embodies that sense of community responsibility. A champion from another House would not have stood for Hogwarts in quite such a fitting way. You were the Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory -- never doubt it. Wits aside, skill aside, courage aside -- the Goblet has reasons for its choices that reflect the sum total of a champion, and I am not at all convinced that, had Harry been old enough to enter, it would not still have been your name that came out of it."

Cedric felt himself blushing furiously, hot with a combination of pleasure, pride, and even relief, as well as plain embarrassment because it seemed vain to feel those other things. Almost as if he knew what Cedric were thinking, Dumbledore reached out to clap his shoulder. "You are an exceptional young man. And the cup is yours, to be held in trust until the next Tournament. So, I fear, you may be holding it rather a long time, given the outcome of this one."

Dumbledore said this with a dry amusement and it startled a grin out of Cedric, but then he frowned once more. "I'm not sure I can stand to look at it, sir."

"I know. And that is exactly why I think you should."

Cedric glanced up sharply; Dumbledore's face was quite serious. "A time of darkness is coming for all of us now, but for you on a personal level especially in these next few months. You should take the cup with you to St. Mungo's, in order to remember not only the choice you made that resulted in your being there -- but why. You put the welfare and life of another ahead of your own. You were willing to give everything you had. But it is sometimes easier to give than to take, is it not?"

Cedric had to nod, wondering where this was going.

"Yet being part of a community, Cedric, means not just to give selflessly, but to accept help and support from others when you need it. You have been a symbol for this school -- and I think you will continue to be one. Let your fellow students honor you. If I am not mistaken, the Ojibway have a saying about a community honoring, do they not?"

Cedric blinked, astonished that Dumbledore would know -- but perhaps he shouldn't have been. There wasn't much Dumbledore didn't seem to know; it was uncanny. "When an honoring comes to you, it comes to you," he replied. "You don't seek it out, but you don't turn it down. That'd be rude."

"Just so," Dumbledore said, the smile back. "An honoring has come to you, Cedric. Accept it. And let it be symbolic of what you may need in the year ahead. When you are closest to giving up, I want you to look at the cup, and remember. You may have competed alone, but you never stood alone. And you don't stand alone now. Let people do things for you -- at least sometimes."

The headmaster rose from his seat by the bed. "I will see you in September, Mr. Diggory. Be well."

Notes: With special thanks to Bren Kuebler, who checked my British, keeping me from making many embarrassing errors. :-) And also to Jocelyn, who helps me keep my HP details correct, et al. For those curious about the whole story behind Cedric acquiring Esiban, see the little short story on -- "The Badger Raccoon." It was written for a medium that required maintenence of canon (so there's the canon character death), but it's the same story.

Last, because there is some confusion -- including mine, when I first started researching this -- Cedric is in his sixth year during Goblet of Fire, even though he's 17. Like Hermione, he appears to have had a birthday early in fall term before October 31st. His exact year is given in Prisoner of Azkaban, where he's called the new Quidditch captain of Hufflepuff and a fifth year prefect. This makes his selection by the goblet all the more notable in that he beat out not only other sixth years like Angelina Johnson, but all seventh years as well. Dumbledore isn't exaggerating when he tells Cedric he's exceptional.