Cedric and Harry left the courtroom amid the stream of various witches and wizards even as Arthur Weasley was pushing his way in. "Harry?" he asked, shooting Cedric a curious glance but then refocusing on the boy. "Dumbledore didn't say."

"Cleared," Harry replied, "of all charges!"

And the shadow of fear fled Mr. Weasley's face. Gripping Harry by the shoulders, he spoke earnestly. "Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't -- " he broke off and glanced around him as witches and wizards continued filing out. "Merlin's beard, you were tried by the full court?"

"I think so," Harry said.

"He was," Cedric agreed. "This was no hearing. Fudge." Cedric didn't need to say more than the name.

At that very moment, Percy Weasley passed them. He was carrying an armload of parchment and looking straight ahead as if too busy to see his own father. What in blue blazes was that about? "Percy," Cedric said politely to force Percy's attention to them.

Percy ignored him too.

And Cedric did a very bad thing. He stuck out his crutch just a little -- just enough. Percy tripped over it, spilling the parchment and going down on his knees. Harry was gaping at Cedric and Mr. Weasley obviously wasn't sure if he should. "Greet your father properly, Percy," Cedric said to the figure on the floor. "I know you weren't raised in a barn, even if you insist on acting like it."

Jerking himself to his feet, Percy spun on Cedric -- who even on crutches remained taller. Percy's eyes dropped to the prefect's badge on Cedric's robes, as if to check whether it was still there. "You don't give me orders, Diggory. I gave you orders."

"And enjoyed it a little too much, as I recall." Percy had been Head Boy when Cedric had first been appointed prefect.

"Well, you should probably take off that badge, now. You won't be needing it anymore."

Cedric just smiled, though he doubted it reached his eyes. "Show a little filial respect, Weasley -- greet your father."

Percy shot Mr. Weasley a poisonous glance -- and Cedric suddenly understood he'd managed really to put his foot in it this time. The chill in the air would have suited December -- far, far worse than could have been explained by Percy merely adopting his usual self-important snooty attitude. But father and son did nod before Percy stomped away. When he was out of earshot, Cedric -- face flaming -- blurted, "Sorry. That was really out of line of me. I didn't, ah --"

"It's all right, Cedric," Mr. Weasely said. "Percy and I had a . . . falling out over political views."

Cedric just nodded and Mr. Weasley changed the subject, returning his attention to Harry. "I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news. I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green." He glanced up at Cedric, half inquiringly. "Diggory, you -- ?"

"I'm headed back to my dad's office." He held out a hand to Harry. "See you first of September, eh, mate?"

Harry gripped Cedric's wrist in a Quidditch-players' handgrip. "You, too, Ced. Thanks again. This meant a lot, today."

"Right. Go on, now. I'll slow you both up."

The two headed off, Arthur clearly in a hurry and Harry trotting along at his heels. Cedric suppressed momentary resentment over their speed as he made his own way down the hall. And because he was much slower, he was only halfway up the stairs when he heard the drifting echo of a cold voice he recognized all too well, speaking viciously to Harry.

Lucius Malfoy.

His own anger flooded back, bright and hot, and he increased the speed of his climb as best he could. Malfoy was up there, and Cedric wanted to come face to face with the wizard who'd ruined his life. He wanted just one good swing at the man.

Yet Malfoy and Fudge's voices appeared to be receding now, and because Cedric was in too big of a hurry, he missed a step and came down hard on his weak leg, which gave under him, sending him crashing to his knees and then sliding down a few steps while he tried to grab for purchase on anything --

-- until he was frozen in place. Fast steps approached from behind, and a strong woman's hand appeared over his shoulder. "Careful there, Mr. Diggory. Need a hand up?" It was matter-of-fact, not pitying, something she might have offered to anybody, not just a cripple.

He took the hand and let Amelia Bones pull him back to his feet. She was stronger than she looked -- which was saying something as she looked capable of hefting a goodly sized cauldron. Back up (legs shaking a bit from how close he'd come to going all the way down the stairs), he knew he was blushing. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She studied his face a moment. "Susan speaks highly of you."

"I think highly of her."

The corners of her mouth curled. "Maybe not quite the same." And Cedric wondered if he should interpret that the way he thought she might have meant it. Then her expression sobered. "You're certain the person you saw in that graveyard and thought was You Know Who, really was?"

"Yes, Madam Bones."

"How can you be sure? Fudge had a valid question."

"I just . . . am. At first, I thought one of his Death Eaters was him, but when I saw him finally -- the real Voldemort" -- she winced -- "I knew. Have you . . . " he trailed off, searching for the right words. "Have you ever seen someone, or something, you knew -- absolutely -- was evil? Beyond-hope-of-redemption evil? He didn't even look human anymore, and I don't just mean in feature, though there was that. It was Voldemort."

She winced a bit less that time, perhaps because she was considering him with great interest. "I'm inclined to believe you, Mr. Diggory. I trust Dumbledore in the first place, but even if I didn't -- " She tilted her head and then motioned up the stairs. They were the only ones still in the dungeon. "Come on." And she accompanied him the rest of the way up, making it seem like a matter of manners instead of being sure he reached the top safely.

When they were headed down the Level 9 hallway, she said, "A word of advice, if I may, Cedric?"

"Of course."

"Be careful what you say, and to whom. I don't mean lie. I mean exercise caution. Your House will support you unquestionably. According to Susan, they think you put the sun and stars up there." He blushed a little at that -- though he was also honest enough to recognize it for true. "But there will be others at Hogwarts who aren't so sympathetic to you, Triwizard Champion or not. I won't delude you -- you made enemies today, and not just Fudge. They were inclined to ignore you before, but lines are being drawn in the sand, and you made it clear which side of those lines you stand on."

Halting at the first set of lifts, she pushed the button. "Watch your back, young man. I'd hate to see the first Head Boy from my house in fifteen years wind up on Fudge's chopping block."

He gaped at her, and she smiled back, watching him out of the corner of her eye. It was almost playful -- if anyone could ever see Amelia Bones as playful. "Oh, I know. And I know you know, too. And I suspect Hogwarts is about to learn what it means to tangle with a den of badgers. Most of them really have no idea about Hufflepuff, do they, Mr. Diggory?"

He found himself grinning -- really and truly grinning for the first time all day. "None at all."

Hermione had no nails left by the time Harry returned with Mr. Weasley to give the news that he'd been cleared. Worry was second nature to her, but she couldn't remember a morning she'd spent in such a terrible state. Well, perhaps the morning before Harry had faced the dragon, but whatever she'd said about there being no case against him here, she knew all too well that the legal system and fairness weren't necessarily synonyms. Now, relieved, she sank into a chair at the long kitchen table, only half aware of the discussion going on around her about Lucius Malfoy or of the odd little war dance being performed by Ginny and the twins.

Ron had settled in beside her, and Mrs. Weasley called Harry over to the table for lunch. "'Course," Ron was saying, "once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you." He was plopping mashed potatoes onto her plate, his, and Harry's, but she wasn't sure her stomach would take food just now.

"Yeah, he swung it for me," Harry was saying, then abruptly clapped his hand to his forehead.

"What's up?" she asked, worried all over again.

"Scar," he said, perhaps predictably, "But it's nothing . . . It happens all the time now . . . "

Hermione didn't like the sound of that, but before she could say anything else, Harry went on, "Cedric was there."

Hermione fumbled her fork. She hadn't meant to do it; it just happened -- and Harry was quick to notice. "Cedric?" she managed to get out. It even sounded almost natural.

"He came with Dumbledore, and Mrs. Figg. Well, actually, I think he came in with his father, but he came to the trial with Dumbledore, and spoke for me."

"Good of him," Ron was saying around a mouthful of potato. But Harry was watching Hermione, not Ron, who was still talking, "I bet Dumbledore turns up tonight to celebrate with us, you know."

"I don't think he'll be able to, Ron," Mrs. Weasley warned. "He's really very busy at the moment."

"HE GOT OFF; HE GOT OFF; HE GOT OFF -- " sang Ginny, Fred and George.

"SHUT UP!" Mrs. Weasley roared.

Harry was still watching Hermione, who was finding it difficult to eat. "He's permanently crippled," Harry said abruptly. "He's on crutches for the rest of his life. Cedric, I mean."

The table grew silent, ebullition ebbing. Faces were turned down to plates. Harry, Hermione noticed was looking around at them. "But you all knew that already, didn't you?" He rammed his fork into the lump of mashed potatoes on his plate, which belied the casual words, "It might've been nice if somebody had told me."

"You had enough to worry about, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "It was very good of Cedric to show up for you today, but then, he's a good boy."

Hermione could see the high color in Harry's cheeks that signaled the advance of an outburst of temper.

"A very good boy," George was saying as he sat down, voice somewhere between amused and a bit vicious. "Of course, with all the sawdust upstairs, he hasn't got enough brains to be anything else."

Harry slammed his fork down. "Don't talk about him like that!" He glared at George, who'd provided a clear target for his anger.

"Whoa! Just a joke, mate. He's not a bad bloke, Diggory."

"Not a joke. Ced stuck his neck out for me today in a major way. And he was crippled saving my life. I don't ever want to hear any of you say anything bad about him again. And -- Mrs. Weasley, if it's all right -- could Ced come tonight and celebrate with us? Mr. Weasley told me on the way home that Cedric knows about the Order, that his parents are in it."

Mrs. Weasley was nodding. "I see no reason why not. I'll speak with Remus about picking him up."

Hermione felt her stomach drop away and she suddenly couldn't bring herself to eat another bite. But she waited a minute or two for the conversation to veer in another direction before setting down her fork and saying, "I'm not feeling well. Too much stress, I suppose. If you'll excuse me -- " And getting up, she left the kitchen. None of the others seemed to think it odd except Harry.

Fifteen minutes later, she heard a knock on the door of the room she shared with Ginny. She'd gone straight to lie down, digging out one of her special books about living with disabilities and glancing through it although she'd already read it. Twice. At the knock, she sat up and shoved it under her pillow. "Come in."

Harry entered, shut the door, and sat down on the end of her bed. "Ron's mum'd probably kill me if she found me in the girls' room."

"Probably." But Harry had always felt more to her like a brother than anything romantic. The idea of kissing him was vaguely funny -- not repulsive, just amusing in the way of things one can't really imagine doing.

"Why didn't you tell me about Ced?" he asked.

She pulled up her knees to rest her chin on them, arms hugging them loosely. "I saw him in hospital, this summer. I went to visit my parents for a week and dropped in on him at St. Mungo's." With Harry -- unlike Ginny, Ron or the others -- she felt free to tell the whole truth. "I wanted to see how he really was, so I could warn you."

"Why didn't you then?" The anger was back in that.

"Dumbledore told me --"

"To hell with Dumbledore!"

Hermione started, as much because Harry rarely swore as at what he said. "Dumbledore told me," she repeated, "not to tell you, until the trial. He said it was fine to tell you after. I think he just didn't want you doubly upset, Harry. None of us expected Cedric to be there; I never heard that Dumbledore asked him to come, though he did ask Mrs. Figg. Cedric just did it . . . because he's Cedric." She found herself smiling softly. "If I'd known he was coming, Harry, I'd have warned you, whatever Dumbledore told me. I'm in trouble already, so I suppose a bit more of it wouldn't make any difference."

"You? In trouble?" Harry looked amused.

She blushed. "I wasn't supposed to leave this house to visit anyone, but my mother had said she missed me and, um, I needed to see Cedric."

"You needed to see him?" And now, Harry was almost laughing.

"Not like that!" she snapped. "I mean I needed to see how he was, so I could tell you. I didn't really expect to keep going back."

"How many times did you go back?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Twice. Well, twice more after the first. He just seemed lonely. And he's rather funny. And clever. And such a lovely person."

"You fancy him," Harry said, face alight with something like amusement, but also a bit of surprise.

"I don't fancy him!"

He just stared at her, head cocked.

"All right, I do." And she suddenly found herself grinning as hard as she was blushing. Only Harry could make her admit to such a thing so bluntly. "But it doesn't matter. He's going out with Cho."

And Harry's face fell. "Yeah, he is, isn't he?"

"Oh, Harry -- I'm sorry." Reaching out, she squeezed his knee. "I forgot for a moment."

His laugh was bitter. "Think we could break them up? You could have Ced and I'd take Cho?"

Despite the somersault in her stomach caused by that idea, and the memory of their moment in the lift, she shook her head almost violently. "It'd be wrong, Harry. It'd just be wrong. And he wouldn't be interested in me anyway -- not Cedric Diggory and Brainy Granger."

Harry eyed her thoughtfully, as if he'd suddenly had an idea. She didn't like that look. "I don't know, Hermione," he said. "Krum looked at you twice, and Ced's at least twice as smart as Krum."

She snorted. "I'll have you know that Viktor is very intelligent." Then she reiterated, "And it'd still be wrong."

Cedric returned home at noon to find a new letter from Cho, nice and long and chatty, and for once, he sat down immediately to write back to her while he ate lunch, telling her all about Harry's trial.

The morning's adventures had put him in a splendid mood. He'd discovered he could still Apparate. He'd faced the public on crutches and got through it. And he'd helped -- however minor the assistance -- in getting Harry off the absurd charges laid against him. It had left him feeling a bit hex-proof.

So after lunch, he did the one thing he'd been unable to bring himself to do ever since coming home. He put on his Quidditch robes and fetched his broom. A Nimbus 2002, it had been a gift from his parents the year he was made prefect and Quidditch captain, and had cost what one of his mother's portraits -- months of work -- usually sold for. He was sure she'd been the one to buy it for him, though she was no fan of Quidditch and feared he'd crack his head open someday. But she understood his chief interest in the game was to fly. That's why he'd tried out for Seeker despite the fact he'd been far too tall for the position even then, never mind now. He'd planned to change to Keeper last year because it was what the team needed, and as captain, he had to think about that. The Tournament had put paid to Quidditch, but he'd have to make that change in the team this year.

Assuming he could still fly at all.

The day was sunny but not too warm, the terrible July heatwave having passed. Cedric could smell the hint of coming autumn in the air. There was no wind. His mother was upstairs, at work, his father out tracking down illegal crup breeders, and so there was no one to see if this turned into a disaster.

He made his way out past the barn. The crups barked at the sound of his approach, thinking someone was coming to play with them. "Not today," he told the air. A fence separated their yard from the field beyond, and he opened the gate to let himself through.

The main question was whether he could keep from falling off the broom. He might not need his legs to support his weight, but riding a broom was like riding a horse, requiring thigh strength both to stay on and to signal directional changes. Despite his size, it was what he'd been best at -- fast, hairpin turns. He was strong, and could grip the broom well. His arms were, in fact, stronger now -- but his legs were another matter.

There was also the small hurdle of actually getting on it.

Calling the broom to hover low to the ground, he held himself up on one crutch and manually lifted his leg over the handle. (His leg muscles were too weak for him to raise his foot more than a few inches unassisted, which was why his feet dragged when he walked.) Still balanced on the crutch, he called the broom higher, hand extended to protect his crotch. (The last thing he needed was to have it slam into him there.) The broom settled obediently into his grip and he lowered his weight onto it.

So far, so good. Slow and steady wins the race.

Now-- the moment of truth. He collapsed his remaining crutch.

He held his seat for five seconds before his thighs gave out and dumped him, unceremoniously, onto the ground.

"Shit," he muttered, but got back up again. He'd had it there for a moment -- he'd had it. If he could just get his balance right, his arms might be enough to hold him.

An hour later, he was forced to admit defeat. The broom simply required a lower-body strength and control he no longer had. Sitting in the dirt of the field, panting from the continual effort, sun hot on his back and broom handle gripped in both hands, he bent his head.

He was never going to fly again.

Grounded permanently.

That was where his former teacher, Remus Lupin, found him a little while later. Seeing Lupin come through the open gate, Cedric dropped his broom and tried to struggle to his feet, feeling foolish and hoping his face showed no signs of his devastation. But Lupin just raised a hand and motioned for him to stay seated. He felt too wrung to protest, and settled back. Coming up beside him, Lupin dropped down, too, stretching out his legs and resting his weight on his hands, face turned up. His robes spread out around him on the grass. "Your mum said you were out here; I came to deliver an invitation."

Head still slightly bent, Cedric twisted his neck so he could see Lupin. "An invitation? Does Professor Dumbledore have a mission for me?" He tried to keep the hope out of his voice. Maybe, if he couldn't fly, he could still do something useful against Voldemort.

Lupin dropped his chin. "Not that kind of invitation." His eyes swept over the broom lying discarded at Cedric's side. "Harry wants you to come to his celebration dinner tonight. You've not actually been to headquarters yet, and we thought this might be a good time. I came to escort you. You still remember the admission note?"

Cedric closed his eyes and brought it sharply to mind -- the parchment Dumbledore had given to him over a month ago now when he'd been in St. Mungo's. The headmaster had written it for him, had him memorize it, then burned it. "Yes," he said now.

"Good. We've got about an hour before Molly'll have supper ready. She's making meatballs, and her meatballs aren't to be missed."

But Cedric wasn't sure he was in any sort of mood for a party. "Who will be there?"

"Whoever is off tonight and isn't already busy. Myself, Kingsley, Tonks, Molly Weasley -- Arthur has to work -- Bill Weasley, and Sirius, of course. He hasn't seen you since you were a toddler, says he won't believe you're taller than he is now until he sees it with his own eyes."

Cedric smiled, although he had no memory of his cousin. "I meant, er, what students -- besides Harry?"

If Lupin's eyes narrowed just a bit, Cedric couldn't be entirely sure. "The Weasley kids. Last I saw, Fred and George were cooking up some manner of firework show their mother doesn't know about. And Hermione Granger." He bent his head to see Cedric's face more clearly. "I think you know all of them."

"Yes."

Lupin slapped Cedric on the knee. "So, go and get yourself ready."

Cedric frowned. "I'm not really sure I should go. I mean, everyone knows Harry better than I do."

And Hermione would be there. But he didn't say that.

Frowning, Lupin said, "Harry tells me you called him your friend."

"Well, yes, but not . . . I'm not a friend like the others."

Lupin's frown deepened. "What you did today for Harry meant a great deal to him. He's like his father in that he sets great store by loyalty. Plus, you're you -- the older, popular boy. He hasn't quite been boasting all afternoon, but close -- keeps calling you 'Ced' to be sure we know you're on nickname terms." Cedric blushed a little at that, and Lupin grinned briefly, then sobered. "I'm assuming you weren't lying to him when you called him a friend."

"What? No, of course not!" Now it was Cedric's turn to frown. "After everything . . . " But he trailed off. He didn't quite know how to express what felt like a blood-tie despite the brief time they'd actually spent in each other's company. "Harry is a friend. I just . . . George and Fred don't exactly like me." That was putting it mildly. They thought he was some sort of nancy boy. "I barely know Ron, or Ginny." He didn't mention Granger.

Lupin did. "You know Hermione." He bent again to see Cedric's face, which Cedric hoped wasn't flaming.

"Well, yes."

Lupin just nodded. "Then come tonight. Harry'd be terribly let down, if you didn't."

And put that way, Cedric had a hard time refusing. It sounded as if a lot of people would be there, too, so Hermione didn't have to talk to him if she didn't want to. (And did he want her to? Well, yes, he did -- very much. That alarmed him.) "All right," he said. "I should go back to the house and change, then. It'll take me at least fifteen minutes just to get there."

"You could Apparate," Lupin pointed out.

Cedric's eyebrows went up. "I suppose I could." Then he smiled as he pushed himself to his feet. "I spent sixteen years not being able to Apparate, it'll take a while before I remember I can now."

Without being asked, Lupin reached over to pick up Cedric's broom, then stood, too, and looked at the handle. "A Nimbus! Very nice. Good broom for a Seeker."

"Fat lot of good it does me in this state," Cedric said before he could bite his tongue.

Glance sharp, Lupin asked, "What do you mean?"

Balanced on crutches, Cedric just glared down at the grass about his feet. "I can't fly. Not anymore."

"Cedric -- " Lupin shook his head. "That's awful. I'm truly sorry. You're a magnificent flyer."

"Was," Cedric corrected. And while half of him appreciated the words, the other half hated the pity. He ripped his Quidditch overrobe off and threw it to the ground in a fit of pique, then immediately regretted showing his temper that way. "Sorry," he said. "And thanks."

Lupin was studying his face. "Being angry is perfectly normal. You've a lot to be angry about. It's an honest emotion. Don't apologize for it."

"I didn't mean to burden you with it."

Smiling, Lupin said, "You've got to 'burden' someone. Something like that's too heavy to carry alone." Bending down, he picked up Cedric's robe, too, and folded it neatly, asking, "How are you? And I want to hear the real truth."

With anyone else, Cedric might have dodged, but there was something about how Remus Lupin asked things that told a person he cared. So Cedric said, "I have good and bad days. This morning was hard, but I felt as if I'd accomplished something. Then --" He gestured to the broom and robe in Lupin's hands, his crutch hanging loosely from his wrist. "It feels like it's never going to stop -- finding out what I can't do, I mean. I know the nerve damage isn't going away. But the rest -- I peel myself like an onion, but I'm afraid when I get to the middle, there won't be anything there." His throat closed on the last word, choking him, and he looked away to hide the sudden sting in his eyes.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder. "That's the hardest part. The things you can't do any longer, or can't try in the first place. I'd like to tell you it gets easier -- but I'd be lying."

And Cedric suddenly realized that Lupin knew. He wasn't just saying that, he knew. All the things he must be barred from now, as a werewolf . . . "How do you bear it?" he blurted out, then blushed. "Sorry. You don't have to --"

"I have friends, Cedric. That's how I bear it. I have friends. I had friends at Hogwarts who taught themselves to become Animagi just to keep me company. Even after all that happened later, I never forgot that devotion."

Cedric couldn't help contrasting Professor Lupin's experience with the fact he'd not had one person visit him at St. Mungo's that summer -- besides Hermione, and she hadn't been his friend before. "No one would do that for me," he said finally, the confession driven out of him by a need to tell somebody, confide in somebody. He felt inexpressibly alone, ironic though that seemed for the 'popular boy,' as Lupin had named him.

"You might be surprised," Lupin said now, then shoved his hands in his pockets beneath his robes. "Want an honest observation from an old teacher?"

From the phrasing, Cedric had a feeling it wasn't going to be complimentary. "Maybe. Yes."

"You push people away, Ced."

He jerked his head up, surprised -- and a bit offended.

"Oh, you're friendly to everyone. It's one of your great virtues, but past a certain point, you don't let people in. I remember how you tended to show up for class alone, and you left alone, too, unless somebody trailed you out. I saw you in the library -- alone -- as much as I saw you with the rest of your House."

"I had OWLs . . . !"

"Of course you did. And there's nothing wrong with spending time alone. But the Cedric I remember was either surrounded by a crowd, or off by himself and the proverbial door was shut. I'm not sure I could name a single person I could say was Cedric Diggory's friend. You have to let people past the front porch to have a friend, Ced."

Cedric didn't know how to reply. Lupin was right, but he hadn't really expected something quite so . . . blunt. He wanted to cross his arms over his chest in defense, but of course, he couldn't, and that angered him almost as much as Lupin's words. "It's hard to find somebody to talk to," he said finally. "I mean really talk to -- not just sort of bullshit to."

Lupin nodded again. "You tend to converse at a higher level than most of your classmates. You think deeper. That makes you different. It's why the Goblet chose you, I think. But being different isn't always an easy thing. You get along well with everyone, but you'll probably always have a smaller circle to choose from for a close friend. That doesn't mean they're not there to be found. It just means you have to look harder. You will need them. And I think one of them is going to be at dinner tonight."

Cedric breathed out. "Harry could be a friend -- is a friend," he agreed. "But he's a little young --"

"I'm not talking about Harry."

And Cedric felt blood scald his neck and ears. "I thought so," Lupin said softly. "A boy and girl don't spend several hours talking for three days in a row if they've nothing to talk about."

"How did you know -- ?"

"Because I spoke with your mother -- who's quite impressed by Hermione, I might add. And if there's a person at Hogwarts who can keep up with you intellectually, Cedric, it's Hermione."

"More like can I keep up with her?" The question just burst out, and he blushed again. "But I have a girlfriend."

Lupin grinned, the expression a bit sly. "Who said anything about girlfriends? I said a friend, Mr. Diggory. Friends can be found in the opposite sex, you know. Now come on. Molly doesn't like people to be late for supper."

After lunch, Hermione hid in her room.

Of course, that wasn't what she'd admit she was doing, but it's what she was doing. Ginny, Harry and Ron had all been up to try to lure her downstairs. "You've got to come to dinner, at least!" Harry said on his third trip.

"I'll be at dinner," Hermione promised. There would be a table. And lots of people. And she could sit between Ginny and Tonks and not have to look at Cedric. (Well, not when he knew she was looking.)

Rolling his eyes behind his glasses, Harry went away again. Hermione went back to her books, although she really wasn't retaining anything she read. And when no one was there, she kept going over to the mirror to check her appearance. She'd put on a new blouse in a pink-and-brown print that fit just a bit tight, and she'd twisted her hair up to keep it from looking so bushy. There was, annoyingly, a spot on her chin, and it sent her diving for her bags to find her makeup . . . except she couldn't find it. She turned out the contents of her trunk and bag both on her bed, digging with increasing frustration. She almost never bothered with makeup. It simply wasn't worth the effort, but this was a special dinner. She should look her best for Harry.

Fortunately, Ginny picked that moment to walk in the door. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

"My makeup bag."

Ginny fetched her own and handed it over, watching while Hermione turned to the mirror and applied powder. It didn't much help the spot, which practically glowed. (And why was it that some people had such perfect complexions? Or that skin had to cover so much of the body for those who didn't?) Sighing in defeat, Hermione dug back into Ginny's bag. A little mascara, perhaps, to draw attention to her eyes instead of the Mount Olympus on her chin. But Ginny didn't have mascara. Why didn't Ginny have mascara? Ginny was the makeup queen when she wanted to be. "Where's your mascara?"

"What's mascara?"

Hermione sighed. "It's this . . . stuff . . . you put on your eyelashes. To make them thicker."

"Oh!" Ginny hurried over to take the makeup bag from Hermione and pick out a tiny brush. "Close your eyes." Hermione did so and felt Ginny brush the lashes. "There. It's an engorging brush. Lasts a couple of hours."

Hermione opened her eyes to see the results. Very nice -- and no lash clumping. Magic had some advantages.

"Want my lipstick?" Ginny asked, holding that out.

Hermione considered. She rarely wore lipstick. But if she were putting an engorging charm on her lashes, why not lipstick? "What color is it?" she asked.

"Oh, it'll change to match your clothes. Pink, probably, for that, or brownish -- whatever's appropriate. Won't rub off when you eat, either."

Magic definitely had advantages. Hermione took the tube from Ginny and put it on. "You look very nice," Ginny remarked.

"Thank you. It seemed proper to dress up a bit for him tonight."

Ginny's lips tipped. "For Harry -- or Cedric?"

Frowning, Hermione turned away. "Harry, of course. Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, I came to tell you that Professor Lupin and Cedric just arrived. Fortunately, they got in the door without Mrs. Black screeching her head off."

It was funny how they all still called Lupin 'professor' even though he hadn't been one for over a year. But Hermione's chief reaction to that announcement was a wild, giddy bubble rising in her chest. Ginny seemed to guess as much, even without Hermione saying a word. "Come down. You look stunning."

"I'm not trying to look stunning."

"Oh, pull the other one, Hermione! I'll make sure mum seats you next to Cedric --"

"No!" Hermione clutched at Ginny in a panic. "Please, no!"

"All right, all right." Ginny patted her hand. "You can sit beside me then. Across from Cedric."

"No! Not that, either." Hermione found herself glancing wildly around the room, as if she might spy a bolt hole. She couldn't do this. "I don't want to sit anywhere near him."

"Hermione, we want him to see you."

"We? What is this, a conspiracy?"

"Of course it is. Harry's helping me." Ginny was grinning and suddenly grabbed Hermione to hug her. "Stop being silly." Then Ginny let her go and fussed with her hair a bit.

"He's got a girlfriend," Hermione pointed out, though she submitted to Ginny's ministrations. Ginny had always been able to make Hermione's hair behave. It was Ginny who'd done it up for the Yule Ball.

"Cho Chang," Ginny agreed now. "Yes. A complete bit of fluff if ever there was one. He needs a real girl."

"Ginny!"

"Well, she is. And he does."

Hermione thought Ginny's opinion of Cho had more to do with Harry's fascination with the other girl than anything else. "Cho's very nice, and very bright. And she's been loyal to Cedric, too, writing him all summer despite everything. She's not an empty-headed powderpuff."

"She didn't visit him in St. Mungo's."

"She lives in Scotland, Ginny. That's a bit far from London."

Ginny didn't reply, just finished with Hermione's hair. "There, better. Now, come downstairs."

Feeling numb, Hermione let Ginny take her by the hand and lead her out. "Harry," Hermione said, "has a big mouth. He wasn't supposed to say anything."

"He didn't. Well, he did, sort of, by accident. I bullied the rest out of him." Ginny threw Hermione a stern glance over her shoulder that looked so much like one of her mother's that Hermione had to struggle not to laugh. "You're not exactly subtle. All those books under your bed table about living with disabilities --"

"You looked!" Hermione drew in breath sharply.

"Hermione, please. I'm not dimwitted. Muggle books? Of course I had to take a peek. And you were hiding them. Why hide them unless you were feeling self-conscious?"

Ginny might not be the top student in her year, but that wasn't from a lack of cleverness.

Then they were downstairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen, and Cedric was standing there, talking to Sirius and Harry and Professor Lupin. Even on crutches, he was the tallest, and glanced over when she entered, gave her a smile, then returned his attention to whatever Sirius was saying.

And that was it. After all the anxious anticipation, the actual moment proved anticlimactic. There was no magical meeting of eyes, no swelling violin music, no bolt of lightning. He'd just smiled and turned back to his previous conversation. Hands shaking a bit from the adrenaline rush, she went with Ginny to help Mrs. Weasley finish supper.

What had she expected? It wasn't as if Cedric Diggory needed her attention.

Except it wasn't so simple. True to her word, Ginny made sure Hermione wasn't sitting beside Cedric, but she did place Hermione's plate across and three places down from his so that all of dinner became torture as Hermione tried to steal glances at him without him catching her. Yet he seemed to be doing the same -- she caught him three times. By pudding, she was so self-conscious she couldn't eat, while he seemed to be shoveling whatever was on his plate into his mouth mechanically. He didn't talk much, just listened. Then again, with the Weasleys, and Sirius, and Tonks, the conversation didn't need much help. Normally, she'd have leapt in, too, but her voice seemed to have disappeared and there was a steady flutter in her chest like the beating wings of a fledgling bird. If she opened her lips, she was terrified some silly giggle might erupt, and for no reason at all except that he was here.

It was a wonder the rest of the table hadn't noticed how they were acting. But they hadn't. Or if they had, they were pretending not to, but she honestly didn't think anyone had (Ginny and Harry aside). Subtlety wasn't a feature of most Weasley interaction, and Tonks, bless her, had all the finesse of a brick. After years in Azkaban, Sirius wasn't much better. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Lupin were at the other end of the table.

When supper was over, Mrs. Weasley spelled plates over to the sink before Tonks could offer to help (and break half of them). Polite as always, Cedric made a point of saying, "Dinner was excellent. You're an amazing cook, Mrs. Weasley. I appreciate you -- all of you -- having me."

Mrs. Weasley blushed prettily; Hermione knew that complimenting her cooking was the quickest way to her heart. "Thank you, dear. You come back for supper any time you like."

People were getting up and the twins urged everyone into the drawing room 'for a show.' They planned to set off fireworks inside? Were they mad? Cedric, she noticed, had to wait for people to clear out on either side of him before expanding his crutches and moving the chair next to him out of the way in order to get to his feet. "I should probably be going," he said softly, and Hermione wasn't sure if she were more disappointed or more relieved to hear that.

But Harry, who'd waited for him, said, "No, no -- you can't leave yet. Fred and George have been working on this all afternoon. They'll never forgive you if you leave now."

"Actually, I doubt they'd notice. And I suspect my life and limbs might be safer."

That comment made Harry and Ginny laugh as Ron muttered, "Your life and limbs? How about the rest of us when mum realizes what they're really up to. They've been telling her it's a puppet show."

"What?" Hermione asked, bursting out in startled laughter because she just couldn't keep her nerves under control anymore.

Cedric glanced over at her, eyes warm. He was grinning, too and --

-- there it was. The same gut-drop sensation as in the lift. She'd been able to control it when she'd first arrived downstairs in the kitchen, but it had built up all through supper and now burst out again, stealing her breath and making her tummy shake. He had, she thought, the most beautiful smile on earth. And the prettiest eyes, such a dark gray they appeared almost black at a distance. She'd forgotten to breathe, and maybe he had, too, because he looked away abruptly and took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said. "I . . . maybe -- "

"You're not going anywhere," Harry interrupted firmly. "Come on, Ced."

Cedric appeared startled by that, but then -- obediently -- followed Harry, who was the man (so to speak) of the evening. Yet Hermione had eyes only for Cedric.

Cedric suffered under an agony of self-reproach. He'd never in his life wanted a girl's attention more -- or less. Why was this happening? He had a girlfriend. She was lovely, and sweet, and clever, and loyal. And he'd never sought out this near-obsession he harbored now for Hermione Granger.

He felt like an absolute lout.

Yet if not for that, the evening had proved delightful. He'd forgotten how much fun it was to be part of a large family group. If Lupin had been right that Cedric had no close friends in his House, Hufflepuff acted more like a great, sprawling family -- right down to the squabbles. Never having had siblings (but desperately having wanted them), he'd basked in that, taking his role as 'elder brother' very seriously.

Here, tonight, it had been much the same -- except he wasn't the eldest, and had no expectations to fill. He got to sit in the midst of them and listen, and eat excellent food. He barely knew these people, had only come into their orbit by way of events that he could have wished had never happened. Yet he felt as if he belonged -- thoroughly adopted. Nor had anybody made much of the crutches. They hadn't ignored them, just hadn't made anything of them, and so he'd been able to forget them, or forget them as much as he ever could. When he'd first arrived at the house, Lupin had shadowed him up the front steps without saying anything, opening the door for him because he'd reached it first. Then when Cedric had arrived at the long dinner table, Tonks had pulled out the chairs for him to get in -- but matter-of-factly, just as she'd proceeded to dump food on his plate once he was seated (even if she had spilled tomato sauce on his robes, apologizing profusely for it). Later, when he'd been unable to reach the butter because he couldn't stand easily, Sirius -- seated across from him -- had waved a wand to float it nearer. "Thanks," he'd said.

"No problem," Sirius had replied. "Around here, it's every man for himself -- at dinner anyway. Yell loudly if you want something and somebody might hear you."

"Sirius!" Mrs. Weasley had rebuked, but Cedric had just laughed, putting butter on his bread and then sending the butter back out into the table's center with a wave of his own wand.

If Hermione hadn't been there, he'd have been content.

But she was there, and he couldn't stop himself from glancing her way every five minutes (or less). After the meal, when their eyes had met, she'd completely stolen his wits by just the glory of her laughter. He'd have run right then, but Harry hadn't let him, herding him into the drawing room on the ground floor for the festivities, whatever that might entail. His discomfort grew worse when he found himself steered to a sofa by Harry, only to have Hermione steered to the same sofa a few moments later by Ginny. He couldn't tell if that had been intentional or not -- but how could they possibly know the battle going on inside his head? She'd had no choice but to sit beside him, or appear unconscionably rude by turning away. Of course she sat, sticking (thankfully) to her side of the cushions -- even if that wasn't terribly helpful. Rather small, the sofa fit only two.

There was much milling about and settling in, but Cedric felt frozen in place, afraid to look at Hermione, afraid to speak. Nervously, he picked at the forearm cuff on one of his crutches. He could have collapsed them, but hadn't; he'd put them down like a barrier between himself and Granger.

She wasn't looking at him either, he knew from his peripheral vision. But he no longer felt unsure about whether she were interested. Her behavior all night -- not to mention that moment in the kitchen -- had been oddly reassuring. He tried not to be vain, but he wasn't quite so naive as not to recognize when a girl fancied him.

He just wasn't used to being so completely besotted in return.

And he still felt like a lout.

More to the point, this whole comedy of errors was terribly frustrating because they'd gone from having everything to say to each other to being unable to utter a word. And that annoyed him almost as much as his fascination with her upset him. Perhaps Lupin had had a point, earlier. Why couldn't he have a friend who happened to be female? He got on very well with a number of girls in his House, and that wasn't romantic. Maybe Granger excited him so because he could talk to her, have a real conversation, and he wasn't used to that -- with anyone, really. So perhaps it had been natural for him to assume their connection something more, but who said it had to be? She was friends with Potter, and Weasley, too. Why couldn't she be his friend? And just a friend?

He wanted his friend back.

And he realized quite abruptly that she had indeed -- in just three days -- become his friend. So maybe his best mate would turn out to be a girl. That was . . . okay. It was really okay.

Grinning because he felt suddenly light-hearted, he used the cover of people still settling in to lean towards her and whisper, "The lift didn't happen." Startled, she jerked her head about to look at him, her little pink mouth open. He just grinned. "Didn't happen, Granger. Right?"

But that wasn't relief in her eyes. It was hurt.

She thought he was rejecting her. How he knew that so positively, he wasn't sure, but he did. He could read it in her pinched brows and the perfect O of surprise that her mouth made.

Botched. He could have kicked himself.

"I want my friend back," he blurted, because he didn't know how else to take that hurt away. "This is all screwed up. I just want my friend back. So it didn't happen."

Her eyes lightened and her brow smoothed. "What, you wave your wand and it goes away?"

"If that'll work." He pulled his wand out and waved it between them. "Whatever it takes."

And she laughed. It was music. She laughed and the whole world went back to spinning correctly on its axis. "All right -- fine." She held out a hand to him. "The lift didn't happen."

He took her hand and shook it. It was small in his. Then they settled back to see whatever Fred and George had cooked up, and laughed together at the look of consternation on Mrs. Weasley's face when she realized the 'puppet show' was a mad unleashing of magical fireworks -- inside, no less. It was a wonder nothing more caught on fire than a corner of the curtains.

After, they sat on the sofa, each propped against an arm, discussing Harry's trial, recent articles in The Daily Prophet, what the Death Eaters were up to, new import taxes on French trade goods, and whether or not Hagrid still had the blast-ended skrewts. He told her about the crup mill his father was investigating, and she told him about their adventures cleaning the Black drawing room. Occasionally, others shot them bemused glances, but they didn't take any notice. They didn't even notice when everyone else trickled out in ones and twos. They were too busy talking.

"So how is Krum?" he asked her at one point -- fishing, he had to admit.

"Viktor's fine. Although he's been busy with matches all summer. He writes when he can."

"Do you have an address where I could contact him? I'd like to thank him for, well, what he did at the End-of-Year Feast. The standing ovation. That was very kind. He didn't have to do that."

"I'll fetch it before you leave. And I think he thought he did have to do it, after attacking you in the maze. He felt terribly about that."

"Not his fault -- he was compelled. I want to tell him that, too. I don't hold him responsible. Have you been to any of his matches?"

"Apart from going home -- and to visit you -- I haven't been allowed to leave the house. It wasn't, well, safe."

"That's got to be hard," he said. "To be apart. I'm sure he wishes you could come see him play."

She glanced down and pushed stray hair behind her ear. "I think maybe you've got the wrong idea." She glanced up quickly, then back down again and wet her pink lips. "We're just friends, Cedric -- Viktor and I. We write, but that's all. He lives in Bulgaria. It's a bit far for a romance."

"Oh." And his heart soared. Which was very bad of him indeed. But being so cheered, he felt gracious. "Krum's a good chap. Karkaroff not so much maybe, but Krum is. When we met in the library, he was never rude. Sometimes I helped him find things."

She smiled. "That was decent of you."

"Host school and all." He grinned, because she'd called him decent -- even if he wasn't feeling very decent at the moment.

It was Remus Lupin, leaning over the back of the sofa between them, who brought them back to reality. "It's midnight," he said, grinning at them both. "I think it's time to take Cedric home."

"What!" Hermione sat up in surprise, glancing at her watch as Cedric looked across at the grandfather clock in a corner. It was midnight, and they were the only ones still in the room, and he realized quite suddenly that he was tired. He'd got up before sunrise.

Yawning, he said, "I do need to get to sleep." Grabbing his crutches, he pushed himself to his feet, almost wobbling as exhaustion hit him with full force. He hoped he could still manage to Apparate. "Do we have to go all the way outside," he asked, "or can we leave from here?"

Lupin laughed at him, but kindly. "I'm not sure you could get outside without falling over. What time did you get up this morning?"

"About five."

Coming around the sofa, Lupin chuckled and gripped his arm. "Let's go, nightowl."

Cedric glanced down at Hermione, who looked as sleepy as he felt. But she was smiling at him, and all was right with Cedric's world. He could even forget not being able to fly, at least for the moment. "Write to me," he said, adding, "It's not taking up my time."

She blushed, but didn't look away from his eyes. "Come back. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will find something for you to clean."

"Who, me? I'm a lazy git, Granger. I come for food, not work."

She tossed a pillow at him and he ducked, laughing, then set his crutches and made a step and turn -- and he was in his own bedroom. Professor Lupin popped out beside him. "All right," Lupin said checking him over. "You're in one piece. I was a bit worried there, as tired as you were."

"I'm fine."

"Good." Lupin nodded at him, then was gone again with a crack.

Cedric took the few steps to his bed, where he just collapsed on the sheets, still fully clothed. He dropped his crutches on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and hauled his legs up. Rolling on his side, he buried his face in his bedspread -- laughing for absolutely no reason at all. Despite his extreme fatigue, he didn't know if he'd be able to sleep any time soon. His mind (and heart) were racing.

Naturally, he was asleep almost before he finished that thought. He dreamed of brown, bushy hair.

Notes: I should also add a reminder that sometimes I lift entire sections of dialogue straight from the book, but rarely lift the narrative that goes with it (largely because it's being seen from a different POV).