Cedric had a letter from Hermione waiting the next morning when he woke.
Dear Cedric,
I forgot to give you Viktor's address before you left last night. You'll find it included below. I hope you slept late.
Fondly,
Granger
The address was there, as promised, but he set it aside. He'd write to Krum later. Instead, he wrote back to Hermione -- though he stared at the 'fondly' for a long time first, trying to figure out exactly how to take that. Was it how she always signed off, or did it mean something? Finally shaking his head, he sat down at his desk and picked up his quill, scribbling on a scrap of parchment:
Granger,
I slept till eleven. Your letter was already here. What time did you wake up? Somehow, I doubt you had much more sleep yesterday than I. Did Mrs. Weasley pry you out of bed this morning to wage war on the mad doxies?
--Ced
A reply came by late afternoon.
Dear Cedric,
No doxies today, I fear. We were cleaning out an upper room that had a rather disturbing cabinet full of skulls and shrunken heads, plus a few horns from things I'm afraid to ask about. I'd rather have the doxies, I think.
You could come and help, you know.
Fondly,
Granger
He wrote back after supper.
Granger,
I told you, I'm a lazy git. I show up for food, not work.
Don't let anything with teeth bite,
Ced
P.S. You can call me "Ced," you know.
The next morning, he had another reply.
Dear Cedric,
I am being quite careful of things with teeth.
And I know I can call you Ced, but don't think I shall. Not any more than you call me Hermione.
Sincerely,
Hermione
Laughing and annoyed at once, he replied to that immediately.
Dear Stubborn,
Is that any better?
--Ced
When he sent his reply, his mother -- who was in the gallery where he was writing -- observed, "You're going to wear out the owl, Cedric. Why don't you just visit her again?"
But that wasn't as much fun. Letter writing permitted the intellectual side of their friendship without the agitation of inconvenient physical reactions. (And if he got a thrill every time he saw her handwriting on the cover of a letter instead of that of another friend, he chalked it up to delight at her wit.)
Her reply came after lunch.
My oh-so-annoying Cedric,
Are you always this maddening?
How is Esiban, by the by? And what are you doing right now?
Your Stubborn Hermione
Grinning, he wrote back.
My Stubborn Granger,
Being maddening is an art form, you know. One must practice diligently, or lose one's edge.
Esiban is quite well. Rather fat, actually. He hunts a good deal more here. I think I may need to put him on a diet when we return to Hogwarts.
As for what I'm doing right now, I seem to be writing you a letter. You write to me, and I have to answer so you know you're not taking up my time. Or rather, so you know I don't mind.
What are you doing today? (I assume that if I say 'right now' you'll say you're answering me.)
Your Annoying Ced
The owl bit his finger when he attached the note, which somehow just made him laugh despite the fact it hurt. Then he played with Esiban and listened to the Wizarding News Network in the library while impatiently awaiting her reply. (He'd become rather addicted to the news that summer.) But he wasn't listening very attentively (his mind was on Granger), and it was only his own surname coming all unexpectedly that got his attention.
"-- that man Diggory! We've not done a thing wrong here. We breed quality crups for the most reasonable prices in southern England. The insinuation that we're somehow practicing cruelty to animals or engaging in irresponsible breeding is quite insulting. As for Amos Diggory, he's supposed to carry out Ministry policy, not decide it. I'm not breaking any laws."
Dumping Esiban off his lap, Cedric sat up on the library couch. Mouth open, he just stared at the wireless as if it had suddenly transformed into a pixie. "What the bloody hell?" he muttered.
"So the reports that your crups are kept in chicken coops and are poorly fed and sickly, aren't true?"
"Those are kennels! And I've done nothing wrong! Diggory came stomping in here two days ago claiming the right to shut down my establishment and cart away my crups! But I have a license to breed from his own department, properly submitted and approved. I don't have to put up with this harassment he calls 'quality checks.' He determines what passes for 'quality,' but who made him Minister of Magic to interfere with the honest livelihood of the average witch? I hear he lives on some estate out in Cornwall --"
"Devon," Cedric corrected to no one. "It's Devon and it's just an old farmhouse." He was too stunned by the whole thing to focus on more than the details.
"-- and probably never put in an honest day's work in his life, bloody useless paper-pusher. I don't pay taxes to make jobs for men like that."
"And that," the reporter broke in, "is the assertion of Mrs. Margaret 'Peggy' Donner of Steel Cross, the Weald, cited on three counts of animal cruelty by Mr. Amos Diggory of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division. It appears there is some question as to whether Mr. Diggory is operating with excessive independence, interpreting well-established guidelines to suit his own definitions. The Wizarding News Network has been informed that the Ministry will launch an investigation into Mr. Diggory's conduct. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has refused to comment on the case until the inquiry's conclusion, although an anonymous source within the department says that Mr. Diggory's behavior has been increasingly erratic since his son was tragically wounded in the Triwizard Tournament this June."
Pointing his wand at the wireless, Cedric banished it to the barn, then realized what a pointless act that had been and summoned it back, turning it off with a flick before grabbing his crutches and heading for the door. "Mother!"
This investigation had nothing to do with 'excessive independence' unless that meant Cedric's refusal to bow to Minister Fudge at Harry's trial. His father had received a commendation two years ago for his handling of breeding abuses, and although Dumbledore had warned Cedric that this might happen if he stuck to his testimony, he hadn't expected it to happen so fast. Or for such a small cause.
Then again, perhaps it hadn't been so small. Cedric had stood up in front of the Wizarding High Court, which included the most influential witches and wizards in England, and told them Voldemort was back.
The Ministry investigation into the conduct of Amos Diggory did not make the front page of The Daily Prophet the next morning. It didn't even make the third page, appearing instead on the fifth, and down near the bottom, as if to affirm its non-importance. Just another bit of Ministry bureaucracy.
But Hermione, who read the paper cover to cover and was, these days, rather sensitive to the name 'Diggory,' as well as to 'Potter' and 'Weasley' and 'Dumbledore,' spotted it within fifteen minutes of receiving her morning copy at breakfast. "Oh, no," she whispered, then indignation took over. "I don't believe this! How utterly ridiculous!"
"What?" Ron asked, looking up from his cereals and half peering over the edge of the paper.
She turned it so he could see, finger pointing to the offending article. "They're after Cedric."
Harry snatched the paper out of her hands and scanned the article quickly, then tossed it down on the table in disgust. None of them said any more; there wasn't much to say. They'd become used to the paper's hostility, but Hermione wondered how Cedric was taking it. Although he'd been marginalized as a Triwizard competitor by Harry's extraordinary selection as a fourth (and underage) champion, he also hadn't had to deal with Rita Skeeter's damning brand of yellow journalism. Cedric Diggory had been no one's target, until now.
Hermione left breakfast to go up to her room and write him a letter. She regretted the Wizarding world's lack of telephones. Letters weren't the same as hearing a friendly voice, and she didn't think talking to him in the fireplace -- as Sirius had done with Harry -- would be sufficient. The whole concept of disembodied, talking heads bothered her Muggle-raised brain.
Dear Ced,
I saw the article this morning in the Prophet about what happened to your father. I'm so sorry. It's completely unfair. I know I can't do anything, but wanted to say I'm thinking about you. Everyone here is. Harry sends his regards, and Ron, too.
With affection,
Hermione
In fact, Harry and Ron hadn't specified that she mention either of them, but she thought they'd both want to be included. As an afterthought, she added:
P.S. Do you want me to come to your house?
It was almost evening, however, before she received a reply.
Dear Hermione,
Thank you for writing -- but no, don't come out here. Things are in a bit of an uproar. Stay where you're safe. Tell me something funny, instead -- a joke, a story, I don't care. I need a laugh, other than the of the sarcastic variety.
--Ced
Given the circumstances, she had a hard time thinking of anything funny, but she tried, telling him a tale of Crookshanks stalking Pigwidgeon and a shredded lampshade. She hoped it made him smile, and if she didn't see him in the wake of the news, she did see his mother, who showed up at Headquarters the very next evening. She was escorted into the kitchen -- whose door was subsequently shut -- and no ears, extendable or otherwise, proved able to penetrate the charms on it. When the meeting was over, Lucy Diggory re-emerged with the hood of her purple robe pulled up over her pale hair.
Haunting the back of the stairs, Hermione, Ron and Harry overheard Mrs. Weasley's remark as she pulled away the curtain covering the portrait of Mrs. Black. "Thank you for taking a look at it, Lucy."
Immediately the hideous howling commenced and everyone hunkered down to bear it -- except Mrs. Diggory. She stood tall, facing the portrait, and withdrew her wand. As Mrs. Black got warmed up on the subject of 'blood traitors and filth!,' Mrs. Diggory said in a commanding voice, "Silence!"
To Hermione's astonishment (and Harry and Ron's, too), the painting fell silent as if muffled. Wand still raised imperiously, Lucy went on, "You will control your outbursts, old woman, or I shall paint your mouth permanently shut."
"You can't," the painting replied -- but at half her usual decibel. "You're not my creator."
"There are ways around that, you know. Don't give me reason to experiment with them."
And the painting fell blessedly silent. Mrs. Diggory lowered her wand and Mrs. Weasley shut the curtains again with a heartfelt, "Thank you so very much."
Mrs. Diggory simply nodded. "My pleasure. And I mean that quite literally -- never liked the old bat. Sorry, Sirius."
"I never liked the old bat, either."
And that won a hint of a smile from Mrs. Diggory, but her face returned almost immediately to an expression of distracted concern. At the door, Mr. Weasley stepped around his wife to take Mrs. Diggory's hand in both his. "It'll work out, Lucy."
She didn't reply to that, just turned away and slipped out into the night.
Hermione wasn't sure if she were more interested in what the meeting had been about (although surely Amos Diggory's Ministry inquiry had been part of the discussion), or in what Mrs. Diggory had done to the painting. "How did she manage that?" she whispered, mostly to herself, when the door had shut.
"Yeah," Harry echoed. "Sirius said even Dumbledore can't shut his mum up."
"Dumbledore's powerful, but he's not a Master Painter," Ron explained as they headed back towards the boy's room on the second floor. "Takes a special sort of magic to do that -- although I don't know how long it'll hold. Paintings don't have much of a memory, really."
Hermione glanced back towards the hallway. "So it's a particular gift, like Tonks' metamorphing?"
"Sort of. Plus, well, you have to be able to draw."
Harry grinned, and Hermione asked, "Mrs. Diggory's an artist, then?"
And Ron appeared startled, stopping dead in the hall to stare at her. "You didn't know?"
"Why would I know?" she snapped.
"Because, uh -- well . . . you and Diggory talk. But yeah, his mum's an artist, all right, best Wizarding painter Britain's seen in 500 years, or that's what I've heard people say. She went to study in Paris with Michel Peindre. Surely you've heard of him?"
"Yes, I've heard of him." Hermione wondered why Cedric had never said his mother painted, but didn't think this the time to quiz him about it. She'd look into it later. In the meantime, she decided to take the direct approach about the matter of Mr. Diggory and chose Arthur Weasley as the best target for her inquiries -- or at least the most soft-hearted. She approached him later that same evening while he was having a cup of tea and sorting papers at the big kitchen table. He was the only one in there at the moment. "Mr. Weasley?"
He glanced up and tried to smile, but it looked forced. "Hullo, Hermione."
Entering all the way, she took a seat across from him and folded her hands on the table surface. "Will Mr. Diggory be sacked, do you think?"
"Sacked?" He seemed a bit startled. "Is that what you kids are thinking?" Then he reached across the table to briefly cover both her hands in one of his. "He won't lose his job, Hermione. Or not immediately, and not over this. The most that'll happen is that the inquiry will go in his record, and if they decide he acted in some way contrary to Ministry policy, he won't get a raise this year. But -- unlike myself -- Amos has always had a good reputation at the Ministry. We're concerned because it's evidence of how far Fudge is willing to go to silence opposition. These charges are very trumped up -- just as with Harry's trial. Amos didn't do anything he hasn't been doing for the past ten years. The Ministry seems to have cut a deal with this woman; either that, or they've taken advantage of someone inclined to stir the cauldron in the first place. We'd like to know which of those it is, because it's indicative of Fudge's desperation level. We're also concerned because, well" -- he smiled faintly -- "Amos is a bit temperamental. We're hoping he doesn't make it worse for himself."
Hermione picked at a bit of candle wax that had dripped on the wooden tabletop. "They're doing this because of Cedric, aren't they?"
"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, "I'm afraid they probably are. Although it's not entirely Cedric. Amos hasn't made any secret of the fact he blames the Ministry for what happened in June."
"And implying that he's just a disgruntled employee makes it ever so much easier to keep people from questioning the Ministry's inquiry in the first place, doesn't it?"
Mr. Weasley appeared impressed. "Yes, it does."
"Cedric's hard to discredit, and people feel sorry for him, so they're going to get him through his father."
Mr. Weasley studied her face a moment, as if deciding how much to say. "Amos may be well-liked for the most part, but he's made some bad choices in the past -- or at least questionable ones. He was a lot younger, but these things have a way of following us." He tilted his head down and regarded her seriously. "Remember that, Hermione. Reputations aren't always repairable."
"But what -- ?"
"That's not really your business, and I've probably already said more than I should. Unlike some at the Ministry, I'm not inclined to gossip about what my colleagues did in school. We all eventually grow up. Amos Diggory is a good man. And this will blow over. It's just not very comfortable for Amos or the Diggorys until it does."
So she went upstairs to write Cedric another letter and tried not to worry overmuch when he didn't reply for two days. Knowing Cedric, he was eating his heart out with guilt, but the most she dared to say by post was, "Mr. Weasley assures me this will blow over."
Cedric wasn't the only one acting guilty. Harry seemed torn between relief at his reprieve and remorse for having got Cedric and his family into trouble, however inadvertently -- not to mention Cedric's injury itself. "Harry," she told him, "you had nothing to do with this. Cedric chose to go to the Ministry."
"For me."
"Look -- you didn't make those dementors attack you, you didn't do magic outside school just to show off or something, and you never asked Cedric to come to your hearing. You certainly didn't call him forward to testify. Dumbledore did."
"I wonder if they've done anything to poor Mrs. Figg?"
She blew out in frustration. "Probably not. Don't change the subject. Cedric wanted to do those things, so he did them."
"For me," he repeated.
"Not just for you. He wants to fight You Know Who just as badly as the rest of us. He says he doesn't think Dumbledore wanted to call him forward to testify, but he's glad it happened."
"When did he tell you that?"
"The other night. We talked a bit about your hearing. Cedric wanted to be there, Harry."
Yet Harry remained sullen, and Hermione wasn't sure how much of that was about Cedric, how much about Sirius' increasing glumness as the school year approached (and Harry would be leaving), and how much about the situation in general.
The investigation into Amos Diggory's actions ended a week before the school year was to begin, and he was cleared of all charges (though apparently the woman's crup farm wasn't shut down). Hermione and Cedric still wrote, if not with their initial, ridiculous fervor. She got a letter from him every few days and answered it in approximately the same rhythm. Occasionally, she was teased -- especially by the twins, who insisted on referring to Cedric (out of Harry's hearing) as Granger's prettyboy prat -- but mostly not.
In fact, nothing of any note happened until the morning before they were to return to school, when their welcome letters and book lists finally arrived -- and prefect badges for her and Ron, but not for Harry, with much ensuing awkwardness. Hermione still blushed to herself hours later when she thought of how she'd first mistaken Harry as her new, fellow prefect -- an honest enough mistake as he'd been holding the badge at the time she'd entered the room. But then to add insult to injury, she'd expressed far too much surprise upon learning that Ron was prefect instead. Of course, Ron deserved it just as much, but by this point they were so used to Harry receiving special status that she'd made the wrong assumption and wound up hurting both friends.
Looking down at her new red-and-gold badge attached to her robes, she wondered who she'd be answering to this year as Head Girl -- and Head Boy. She knew the popular speculation that Cedric would be named Head Boy, but if Harry hadn't been made a prefect, perhaps Dumbledore had passed over Ced as well? She didn't for a minute believe Fred and George's speculation that Harry hadn't been chosen because he'd caused too much trouble, but she wasn't sure why he hadn't been chosen. And would those same reasons apply to Cedric?
She considered writing to him, but didn't. She'd see him the day after, and then she'd know. She had no desire to put her foot in it with him, too, and if she wrote to ask, yet he wasn't Head Boy, it might make him feel like an also-ran, and he'd had enough of that with the Tournament. She considered writing to tell him she'd been made prefect as a way to test the waters -- see what he replied. But that might sound like bragging, and bragging around Cedric never felt right. He was one of those rare people who didn't seem to have an arrogant bone in his body -- despite everything he was capable of doing (and doing well). It was almost unnatural. Or maybe, being in Gryffindor, she'd just grown so used to casual arrogance, she found it strange when others didn't display it, as if that concealed dishonesty, or proved a lack of ambition. Yet she didn't think Cedric dishonest, and she knew he had ambitions.
With a sigh, she returned her robes to her trunk and went down to supper, where she received a shock, and only part of it was the big banner hung above the dinner table that read Congratulations, Ron and Hermione -- New Prefects, or the fine meal spread out for them in celebration.
Cedric was there. He'd come with his parents, along with a number of other members of the Order. She wasn't sure how to act with him in front of his mum and dad, but grinning, he crossed to speak to her as soon as she entered. He looked a tad . . . windswept, which she found amusing. "Congratulations, Granger -- although I can't say I'm surprised."
She just stared up at him. There was no banner for him tonight -- and she couldn't ask why, fearing the reason. He seemed to guess from her conflicted expression what she wanted to know, and smiled. "Yes, I am. So you'd best get used to taking orders from me."
"Eeee!" And without even thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, bouncing up and down in delight, and almost pulling him off balance on the crutches.
"Hey! You're strangling me!"
Everyone had turned to look and she let go in a sudden fit of self-consciousness, addressing the room at large, "Cedric's Head Boy!"
"We know," Professor Lupin said, smiling.
"Where's your banner?" she asked, turning back to Cedric.
"Don't need a banner, and don't want a banner," he said, and she recalled how too much attention had embarrassed him during the Tournament. He took the opportunity now to sit down at the table and she pulled chairs out of his way. He patted the seat beside his. "Sit," he said.
"Giving orders already, Diggory?" But she took the seat.
"Practice." He started to reach for a bread roll but Mrs. Weasley smacked his hand.
"Manners, Cedric! Wait for everyone to arrive."
"Sorry." But he didn't look it. "Watch this," he whispered to her, and vanished a pair of small rolls into his hand beneath the table. One he passed to her. She wanted to scold him but couldn't bring herself to. He looked entirely too impish and pleased with himself as he shoved the whole roll in his mouth when Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking. She returned him hers and he didn't protest, just ate that, too.
She glanced around; people were still milling. Ron was being harassed by the twins and Harry was talking to Remus Lupin and Sirius; Cedric's parents had moved to the other end of the table, to speak with Shacklbolt and Tonks. "How is your dad?" she whispered. "I saw the charges were dismissed."
"He's still pissed off, but getting over it."
"How are you?"
"Pissed off but getting over it."
Harry had sat down across from Cedric at the table. "I guess congratulations go to you, too," he said, but Hermione could see the shadow in his eyes. First she and Ron, and now Cedric. It must hurt.
"Sympathies might be more in order," Cedric was saying with a touch of amusement.
"Yeah, well -- but it's an honor."
"It's also a pain in the neck," Cedric replied with equanimity, "especially in my NEWT year," and Hermione wanted to hug him all over again for being gentle with Harry. "Being prefect's no fun in your OWL year, either," he added, offhand. "I'm not sure I'd do it again, if offered the option." And that was, Hermione thought, a good deal more gracious than she or Ron had managed. Then again, Cedric was older.
"Authority figures," Moody was saying to Ron, "always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you."
Ron looked suddenly concerned, and beside her, Cedric, who'd just taken a sip of water, spat it out through his nose. Hermione stared at him as he tried to wipe his plate clean. "He may be paranoid, but there's a certain truth to that," he said softly, still grinning. "Watch your back, Granger, Weasley."
Ron sat down beside Harry. "Gee, thanks. That makes me feel loads better."
Bill and Mr. Weasley arrived then, and Bill made a point of first congratulating Ron, then coming around the table to hug Hermione and slap Cedric on the back. "Consultation time after supper, mate. I know some things you want to know, right?"
"Right." Cedric said, accepting the hand Bill offered before Bill passed on to kiss his mother. Hermione remembered that Bill had been Head Boy in his day, as had Percy, but Hermione thought Cedric's style would be closer to Bill's.
Mr. Weasley had raised his goblet and said, "I think a toast is in order. To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects, and to Cedric, Hogwart's new Head Boy."
The rest of the table drank to and applauded them, and Hermione couldn't decide whether to grin or blush -- so she did both at once, as did Ron, and even Cedric.
The rest of the crowd now bustled around the table, filling plates. There were too many people for everyone to be properly seated, but of course Cedric couldn't eat and stand, so he remained sitting, and she remained at his side so he wouldn't be alone. Harry and Ron kept their seats, too, and Sirius joined Harry on his other side, Remus Lupin sitting down across from Sirius and beside Cedric to complete the friendly circle enclosing him. It was all very casual, but their consideration warmed Hermione's heart. Tonks -- sporting vivid, red hair tonight -- scooped more food onto her plate than anyone that small should be able to consume, and said, "I was never a prefect myself. My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."
"Like what?" Ginny asked.
"Like the ability to behave myself," Tonks replied, and most of those standing nearby laughed, although Hermione wasn't sure if she ought to. Wasn't Tonks an Auror, responsible for wizard law enforcement? To cover her confusion, Hermione gulped her butterbeer (unlike the adults -- or Cedric and the twins, for that matter -- she didn't get wine), then proceeded to choke on it.
Ginny bent down to slap her back and ask Sirius, "What about you?"
That question earned a bark of laughter from Sirius, seated beside Harry. "No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James."
"Sirius was a bit notorious," Lucy Diggory agreed from the other end of the table as she picked through the chicken with neat, quick movements.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it, cousin. You were long gone by the time I hit my stride." His use of 'cousin' took Hermione so much by surprise, she almost missed the rest of what he said, "Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."
"I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," Lupin replied. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."
Again, there was laughter, and even Harry looked more cheerful all of a sudden. Supper conversation turned to other things -- brooms, in their vicinity, as Ron was eulogizing the new Cleansweep that he'd received for making prefect. Hermione ignored that in favor of pondering the fact Cedric's mother was related to Sirius, but Sirius had said most of the old Wizarding families were interrelated because there were so few of them. Sirius was distantly related to Harry, too, and the Weasleys, for that matter.
Cedric, she noticed, wasn't paying any attention to the broom conversation, either, despite a few attempts to involve him. He answered politely and returned to his plate -- which was quite full. Yet as a Seeker and Quidditch captain, he should have been right in the middle of that topic. Leaning towards him, she said, "You all right?"
"Fine." But he clearly wasn't.
"You're related to Sirius?" she asked, to give him something else to talk about.
"Yes. It's a bit distant."
"Third or fourth cousin, I think," Sirius added.
"Something like that." Then Cedric added, much as Sirius had before, "All these old families are related, Hermione." And she was struck by the fact he hadn't called her Granger. "It's a bit unhealthy, really, and a wonder more of us aren't plain barmy."
"Speak for yourself," Sirius said, and made a disturbingly mad face, which caused Cedric, Harry, and Hermione all to laugh.
"The Diggorys aren't as bad, though," Cedric added. "We're from Cornwall, originally."
"And we all know the Cornish don't think they belong to England."
"We're Celts, not Anglo-Saxons, thank you."
"You look mighty tall and blond for a Celt, Ced."
"So that's why the name?" Hermione asked suddenly, "'Cedric,' I mean. I'd wondered." As far as Hermione knew, he was the only 'Cedric' at Hogwarts.
"What? My name doesn't have anything to do with being Cornish."
"Lucy read Ivanhoe one time too many," Sirius put in, face alight with mischief.
"Ivanhoe?"
"'Cedric' is a character in the novel," the living Cedric explained. "Ivanhoe's father. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely a good fellow, although he wasn't a bad sort, either. I asked my mother about that once, and she said she just liked the name."
"Oh." Hermione took a bite of baked potato to conceal her laughter.
"How did you get the name 'Hermione'?"
"My mother loves Greek mythology. Hermione was the daughter of Menelaus and Helen -- a bit of a wimp, actually. I'd have preferred it had she named me after Penelope or somebody clever but she chose Hermione because her name's Helen and she thought it amusing."
"So we're both named for imaginary people of questionable merit," he said, which made her smile. And with him beside her, sometimes brushing her elbow with his, this dinner seemed much better than the last time he'd been here. She wore a big smile and laughed easily, and there was a kind of sparkle to the whole evening. The people seated around Cedric came and went. Sirius and Lupin moved on eventually, to be replaced by Tonks and Ginny. Then Harry left to talk with Moody, and Bill took his place. He and Cedric conferred at length over Head Boy duties. But Hermione didn't miss the fact that Cedric was never abandoned. Once or twice, he glanced over at her and just smiled, and she would smile back. He was her anchor in the crowded kitchen, and she his.
Suddenly someone was gripping her shoulder to tug her out of her chair. It was Tonks. "I'll be back in a moment," she told Cedric, who just nodded up at her.
Tonks steered her into the basement hall. "So -- you're seeing Cedric Diggory?" she asked in obvious delight.
Hermione just blinked. "What? Oh, no! He's just a friend." And she was suddenly grinning again. "A really good friend." Maybe even a best friend. It felt strange to think so. Harry and Ron had always been her best friends, and she knew she was lucky to have such loyal ones, but they had each other first at the core of things. She'd always stood a bit outside that tie and hadn't realized until just that moment how very much she'd wanted somebody she could call her best friend.
Tonks tipped her head to the side. "The two of you've looked mighty cozy all evening."
Giggling a little from sheer joy, she gripped Tonk's forearm. "We just think a lot alike. It's quite . . . nice, really, to have an alter-ego." And saying that, she understood it for the description she'd been seeking. She'd found her other self.
Laughing, Tonks punched her lightly on the upper arm. "That's how many male Triwizard Champions you've had orbiting you like moons?"
Hermione flushed scarlet. "They're all friends. Just friends."
"Right," Tonks said, dark eyes sly. "I'll buy that for Harry. Cedric and Viktor Krum? Try again." And she sauntered off.
Hermione returned to Cedric. But he was out of his chair now, up on crutches with his mother helping him into his cloak. "You're leaving?" she asked, disappointed.
"Have to," he said. "It's getting late, and tomorrow's the big day." Despite his words, he seemed a bit sad about something. "I'll see you on the train, Granger. Remember -- come to the prefects' compartment up front first. There's a meeting."
"Right. I'll see you then." And acting spontaneously, she hugged him in parting, just as she might have done with Harry or Ron.
He seemed a bit startled, and couldn't hug her back, being on the crutches, but pressed his chin to the top of her head in a close approximation before she let him go. "Tomorrow." And he followed his parents from the kitchen, people calling good-byes after them. Lucy Diggory turned to look back at Hermione before exiting, nodding once, her long, cat-eyes amused. Cedric, she realized, had his mother's eyes, if steel gray to her pale blue.
It wasn't until he was gone that Hermione realized tomorrow wouldn't be an easy day for him, and maybe he hadn't been sad as much as nervous. People here at headquarters might be used to him now, but no one else from Hogwarts had seen him on the crutches. She doubted he was looking forward to that.
The morning he returned to Hogwarts, Cedric opted for the wheelchair. There were several reasons, but the most fundamental came down to simple vanity. He looked somewhat less awkward and idiotic.
The disadvantages didn't occur to him until he and his parents actually arrived at the station. Being in a wheelchair left him looking into people's chests or backs, and after spending his most recent years looking over most people's heads, that was disconcerting to say the least. He also had several people bump into him accidentally, as if he weren't there. There were handicapped entrances to navigate, and the whole problem of getting onto the Hogwart's platform without being seen. It was one thing to lean against the pillar and just . . . slip through it. It was quite another to zoom through in a wheelchair because people noticed, all the while attempting not to stare. His mother finally had to resort to a Confundus charm on everyone in the vicinity.
Then he was through the barrier. It was always a bit dimmer on the other side without the Muggle lights, and the scent of coal smoke stung his nostrils, the blast of the train horn loud in his ears. There was a great deal of bustle as other students called out greetings, and a few cried to be leaving their homes for months. Cedric halted where he came out, frozen with an anxious anticipation. A moment later, his parents emerged, his father dragging a trolley with his trunk and Esiban in his cage. His mother handed over his school robes, which he'd decided to put on even before the train, just so he wouldn't have to look awkward doing so later. She helped him to stand while he got into them, his emotional as much as physical support. The new Head Boy badge felt heavy on the black fabric. Unlike his prefect's badge, it had the Hogwart's crest, not Hufflepuff, and his name beneath the letters H.B.: Diggory. (Every Head Boy and Girl got to keep their badge after graduation.) He belonged, now, to the school, not just his House.
His mother checked him over as he sat back down in the chair (his father holding it steady to be sure it didn't roll out from under him, leaving him on his arse). With an absent brush of his fringe back, she nodded. "You're ready."
"Don't feel ready," he muttered.
She didn't reply, just strode out from behind the brick pillar into the crowd, her Muggle wool cloak billowing behind her like that of a queen, her long, blonde hair braided and wrapped about her head like a crown. Perforce, he had to follow, his father behind him with the trolley.
Conversations halted as he passed, the silence spreading like a sickness. Heads turned, whispers started. He glanced around, half-hoping to see Granger, Potter and their crowd, but didn't.
He wished his mother hadn't made this into a procession. But he trusted her; she understood image better than most, and this morning, on the way, she'd said to him, "Let them all see you at the outset. Don't hide. You're Hogwart's Head Boy -- you're going to be seen, Cedric. So let them look their fill. They'll talk, and it'll be past. Then you can get on with the business of living."
Her point might have been sound, but it was hard to bear, here, now, with a couple of hundred eyes on him from train windows, or from students and parents still saying goodbye on the platform.
Then the unexpected happened.
Cheering began. He'd just passed three train-compartment windows all flung open with students hanging out. They wore the yellow-and-black ties of his House and shouted, "Dig-go-ry!" and "Whoo!" and "Cedric!"
He broke into a smile and, turning in his chair, waved.
A couple of them piled off the train, and there were others coming towards him from where they must have been waiting, halfway down the platform. At the center were his denmates, Ed, Peter and Scott. He'd never really thought of them as close, but just then, they felt like it as they drew up beside him, grinning widely. He gripped their hands and found himself suddenly surrounded by badgers, protected from the curious stares of others. "Cedric, mate!" "How are you!" Then a gasp, and, "Oh my -- the badge!" "Merlin's beard, the badge! Look at the badge!" "He's Head Boy! Our Ced's Head Boy!" This last was shouted back to the compartments full of Hufflepuffs on the train and a wild shout went up, then even louder cheering. The small crowd around him pounded him on the back.
And it was okay. No one commented about the chair, except to compliment the badger spell-painted on the back. They were far more interested in his reflected glory (such as it was). "Did you bring the cup?" Peter asked him.
"What cup?"
"Don't be thick -- the Triwizard Cup!"
"No, I didn't bring it."
"Why not?"
"Because it's big and it glows in the dark, all right? I don't need a night light."
"You're odd, Diggory."
But it was said with a fond familiarity. Peter was always telling him he was odd -- had been since their very first night in their first year. Yet Peter was also, of his denmates, the first to throw Cedric into the middle of things, whether to nominate him as Quidditch captain or Charms Club president or Triwizard Champ. "I'm not going to win," he always said, "but you will." Peter and Ed had been the ones to haul Cedric into the hall to put his name in the Goblet of Fire, last October. Scott might have been with them, had he not been in hospital as a result of having tried to put his own name in earlier, despite not being of age. Cedric, Ed, and Peter had all given Scott a very hard time about that later.
They weren't firm friends, but they'd been through six years together. That counted for something. And just now, they were the ones who formed a phalanx around him as they all moved towards the train, the others trailing behind along with his parents. Anybody who wanted to get to Cedric would have to go through them first.
Cedric was abruptly reminded of what Remus Lupin had said to him about friends a few weeks back, and realized that he did, in fact, have them if he wanted to let them past the porch. Peter, Ed and Scott had clearly been waiting for him to arrive, and had enlisted helpers to be sure he was spared the prurient curiosity of the student body. They hadn't had to do that. And if they hadn't visited him at St. Mungo's, they'd certainly written, and at least Peter had asked if he wanted company in Devonshire. Cedric -- always conscious of putting others out -- had declined, as Peter lived up near Liverpool.
He wanted to thank them, but didn't know how. Their friendship in the den had never been about discussion of deep matters. Yet perhaps he'd been wrong to assume it less real for that.
When they reached the steps to the front compartment of the train, he had to leave the chair for his crutches. His parents where still there, but staying back now. His mother smiled faintly, his father broadly. He was back in the hands of his House, and he'd be taken care of. His father passed Ed his trunk then hugged Cedric, and his mother gave Esiban to Peter before kissing his cheek. "Be good, write," she whispered. "I love you. And so do they." Then they were gone. Before getting on the train, Cedric collapsed his wheelchair -- to murmurs of 'wicked' from the others -- and Ernie MacMillan was there on the stairs in front of him, offering a hand up. "I'm a prefect, Ced! I guess I got your old badge!"
"Congratulations," Cedric said, accepting Ernie's hand because it was offered without pity. Getting up the four steps into the train was more difficult than it had a right to be, but the stairs were exceptionally steep. None of them rushed him, or complained.
"I'll take your stuff," Peter said once they were inside. "Join us later?"
"Right," Cedric replied, and it was only then that he saw the dark-haired girl hovering behind Peter.
Cho.
He hadn't even noticed that she'd not been among the group waiting outside the train. Smiling as she slipped past Peter, she came to wrap arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. "I missed you," she whispered in her soft, Scottish burr.
"Missed you too," he replied, but couldn't hug her back and the words were reflexive.
He wasn't feeling anything. No thrill, no heart-stop at seeing her, not even the blood-hot rise of lust below the belt. There was a certain warmth there, certainly, but no different than what he felt for any of his friends, and perhaps less than he'd experienced when he'd first seen Peter, Ed and Scott coming to surround him.
That wasn't good.
Not good at all.
And the fact his eyes had been subtly scanning the crowd since he'd arrived, looking for brown, bushy hair, only made it worse.
She let him go, staring up into his face. He smiled down. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Do you need any help getting to the prefect's cabin? I heard the news." She hugged him again, spontaneously. "Head Boy!"
"I can manage, I think," he told her, half-laughing. "I'll see you after, all right?"
"I'll walk with you," she said. "Just, you know, in case."
"Cho -- really. I'm fine." And he turned away from her, making his way up the aisle towards the front carriage and the prefects' cabin. He didn't realize until he'd got there that she was still behind him. She pulled open the door; it started him a bit. "Cho!" he said, mildly annoyed. "I'm not helpless."
"I know," she said, blushing, then darted back down the aisle before she (or he) could say more.
Sighing, he entered the cabin where Professor Flitwick was already talking to Violet Sykes, great-great granddaughter of Jocunda Sykes, who'd flown the Atlantic on a broom just to prove it could be done. "Mr. Diggory," Flitwick piped, "come in, come in. You and Violet will be in charge this year." Cedric smiled at Violet, who just nodded back. She was a peculiar girl, a bit like her ancestor in that she did things just because they'd not been done yet, and Cedric was unsure if he found that intriguing or off-putting. But unlike her ancestor, she had no interest in flying and had stubbornly stayed off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She was also one of the few girls in the school who could almost look him in the eye without standing on tiptoe. "I've asked the prefects to come back in twenty minutes," Flitwick was saying. "We got off to such a late start this year, no one's had any chance to talk to either of you beyond sending your letters. I'm not sure you even knew who the other was."
"I didn't," Violet said, glancing at Cedric. "But I can't say I'm surprised. It would have been Diggory or Davies. Since it was me, I didn't think it'd be Davies."
Cedric wasn't sure how to respond to that, wondered if she'd rather have had her Housemate serve with her. But she was right to assume Davies wouldn't be chosen if she were; Head Boy and Girl were only once in a blue moon from the same House.
"All right," Flitwick said, motioning for Cedric and Violet to have a seat. "Miss Sykes, Mr. Diggory, let's go over the basics . . . " Cedric reached into the breast pocket of his robe and pulled out the short list he'd made last night (after talking to Bill) of things he wanted to ask -- and to ask permission for.
The missing Sturgis Podmore caused such a delay in leaving Grimmauld Place that Hermione worried they'd miss the train altogether. By the time she and Ron arrived with Mr. Weasley to join Harry, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and 'Snuffles' already there, virtually no students still stood on the platform. Certainly no Cedric. No longer able to leave anything to the last minute, he'd probably been on the train for a while. She let her eyes scan the students hanging out of windows, talking to parents and siblings below, or yelling to each other, but didn't spot him. She didn't want to admit that she'd hoped he might be waiting for her. Perhaps he was already up front in the prefects' compartment.
She accepted the goodbyes of the adults with a distracted air, and was a little surprised when Lupin pressed a package into her hand. "Give this to Cedric, would you?"
Curious but obedient, she nodded and tucked the flat package under her arm as Snuffles-Sirius rose up on his great hind legs to half-embrace Harry. Not very doglike -- which Mrs. Weasley hissed at him. "For heaven's sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!"
Then she, Ron, Ginny, Harry and the twins hurried up the steps onto the train, pushing through to one of the open windows to wave. "See you!" they called out. Sirius was running along the platform, chasing the train as it chugged away from the station. It made Harry laugh -- and a lot of other students, too. Certainly not inconspicuous of him.
"He shouldn't have come with us," Hermione muttered, concerned.
"Oh lighten up," Ron told her. "He hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke."
Fred clapped his hands together and grinned at them all. "Can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later." And the twins were gone down the corridor.
"Shall we go find a compartment, then?" Harry asked, turning to her and Ron.
Hermione glanced at Ron. "Er," Ron said.
"We're -- well -- Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage, remember?" Hermione said. And she felt terrible for the look of disappointment on Harry's face.
"Oh," Harry was saying. "Right. Fine."
"I don't think we have to stay there all journey," she told him. "We just get instructions from Ced and whoever the Head Girl is, then patrol the corridor from time to time. That's what Cedric said last night."
"Yeah," Harry was saying. "Yeah, I just forgot. Well, I -- I might see you later, then."
"Yeah, definitely," Ron assured him. "It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather -- but we have to -- I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy!"
Hermione looked down in case Harry glanced her way, as she couldn't claim the same. Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Cedric again.
"I know you're not," Harry said now as Ron turned away, dragging his trunk behind. Hermione followed, Crookshanks under an arm. "Tell Ced I said 'hullo'!" Harry called after them.
Hermione glanced back, smiling. "I will."
As she and Ron trudged up the hallway, they passed various compartments full of students, all busily engaged in catching up after summer holiday. But as she went by one, she caught sight of Cho Chang bent over, sobbing into her hands while surrounded by a gaggle of her girlfriends. Shocked, Hermione stopped. Had something happened to Cedric that she didn't know about?
Or had Cedric broken up with Cho, perhaps? That traitorous thought came hard on the heels of the first, and without thinking, she raised her hand to knock on the glass of the closed door. "Ron, you go on," she said when he glanced back at her quizzically. "I'll be there in a moment."
Marietta Edgecombe rose to pull the door a little open. "What is it, Hermione?"
"I just -- is Cho all right?"
Marietta hesitated, but from behind her, Cho said, "You can tell her."
"You remember how Cedric was wounded in the Third Task?" Marietta said. "Well, the curse they used on him turned out to be irreversible. He's permanently crippled. Cho's upset, as you can imagine."
Hermione swallowed the impulse to snap, "I know all that!" After all, why should Marietta assume Hermione would know Cedric's medical condition?
And it struck her that, as far as most of Hogwarts was concerned, she and Cedric were strangers. She had no idea what to say now that didn't sound either presumptive or pretentious. "I'm sorry. It must be very hard on Cho." She remembered how she'd cried all the way back to her own house on the Tube after seeing Cedric in St. Mungo's for the first time. Cho must feel much the same, even if she'd already known he was crippled. "But Ced's a strong person. He'll get through this."
And all four of the faces in the compartment focused now on her, even Cho, who looked up from reddened eyes above salt-stained cheeks. For a moment, Hermione had no idea what she'd said to earn such reproachful looks until Cho asked, "'Ced'?"
Hermione wished she could sink through the train floorboards. Of all the times to resort to the nickname he continually invited her to use, but she resisted . . . "Cedric," she corrected, feeling foolish. "Well, I'd best be going. I have to reach the prefect's carriage --"
And she turned quickly, hurrying away up the aisle.
Face and ears still hot, she finally reached the big prefects' compartment in the first carriage. Shoving open the door, she pushed her way in, only to halt Professor Flitwick's welcome speech.
"Nice of you to join us, Granger." It was Cedric, seated on the other side of the carriage, surrounded by a halo of Hufflepuff prefects. He was grinning -- not in a cruel way, she didn't think -- but others in the compartment, especially the Slytherins, snickered. She did a double-take upon seeing Draco Malfoy as a prefect. Cedric shot the Slytherins a frown, but why would they assume he'd only been teasing her? He was Cedric Diggory, perfect prefect, Quidditch captain, Triwizard Champion, and now Head Boy. She was just Brainy Granger with the ugly cat and frizzy hair.
Not looking at him, she settled down next to Ron, who'd saved her a seat. "Prat," Ron muttered. "Should've figured he was only friends with the likes of us till school started."
Hermione wanted to defend Cedric -- he wasn't two-faced -- but nothing was ever that simple and she could only shrug a shoulder helplessly as Flitwick returned to his welcome speech. She kept her eyes mostly lowered, but once when she did look up, she caught Cedric staring at her -- apparently waiting for her to glance his way because his eyebrow went up and he cocked his head at her in a wordless question. She tried to smile back but her face felt frozen; she looked down again instead. They were back at school, and there was no room for a Gryffindor bookworm in the personal court of Hogwart's golden boy.
Notes: Yes, yes, giggle if you must, but allow me my little X-Men reference. Cedric's roommate Scott is none other than the "Mr. Summers" from Hufflepuff who Dumbledore says (in Goblet of Fire) tried to fool the age line. I just . . . couldn't resist. And if you'd like to imagine that Mr. Scott Summers of Hufflepuff looks like a young James Marsden, feel free. ; Despite escorting Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball, Roger Davies of Ravenclaw appears to have been only two years older than Harry, as he was still Quidditch captain in Harry's 5th year. My theories about Heads and prefects in this and the next chapters are based on what little we know and some logical speculation.