Warning: This chapter contains bluntly adult material and earns this story its M rating. The last half of the last scene is not suitable for underage readers.

Cedric fumed -- at himself for teasing Granger without thinking first, at the rest of them for assuming his joke was a rebuke, and even at Granger for acting like a mouse all of a sudden instead of retorting in kind. Now, she was huddled on the far side of the compartment next to a glowering Weasley, her brown hair half obscuring her face. Where had his plucky Gryffindor gone?

It didn't help that he was already shirty over the fact Draco Malfoy was a prefect. Cedric had been hard pressed to bite his tongue and stay seated earlier when Malfoy had come strutting into the carriage with all the insouciance of a Quidditch star. How could Dumbledore have made Malfoy a prefect -- especially after he'd made Cedric Head Boy? Surely Dumbledore, of all people, understood why Cedric might object to working with the little snot?

Thus preoccupied, it startled him when Flitwick hopped down off the seat he'd been standing on for height, gesturing to Cedric and Violet. "Now I'll turn over the meeting to your Head Boy and Girl. As I said, I wouldn't normally even be here but for the late start in getting out your letters. Cedric, Violet?"

Cedric glanced at Violet. "You want to go first?"

She shrugged and stood. "I haven't a lot to say. I'm Violet Sykes, I'm in Ravenclaw, and I recognize most of you. Cedric and I are your liaisons with the staff. We're also here if you have special problems with a student. Your usual duties are evening rounds and being sure people are doing their homework. You're expected to keep peace in your common rooms, change the password every week and make sure lights are out when they're supposed to be -- and check that no girls are in the boys rooms with the door shut, or boys in the girls rooms at all."

"Isn't that a double standard?" one of the Ravenclaw prefects asked, a kid named Berrisford.

"Didn't make the rules, sorry," Violet replied, untroubled. "There are also some occasional duties that may come up. On the train, for instance, you'll be patrolling the aisles. Ravenclaws on the first hour, Slytherins at half past, Gryffindors on the next hour, and Hufflepuffs at half past. Rinse and repeat. When we reach Hogsmeade, prefects are to keep an eye on students as they get off, to make sure no one gets hurt -- especially the younger kids. You're also to make sure all first years get to Hagrid and the boats. Then you're free to join up with everyone at the carriages."

"We won't get any good seats," Pansy Parkinson complained.

"Have someone save you one," Violet replied with the same easy phlegmatism, and Cedric thought he understood why Dumbledore had chosen her. She didn't get rattled, and was probably less likely than he to worry about difficult people. "Your most important regular duty is evening rounds. The first two nights after this one, all new prefects will shadow previous prefects; after that, the four of you divide up portions of the castle however you like and check for students from your Houses. All younger students are to be in common rooms by nine, fourth years and up by ten, though sixth and seventh may stay in the library till midnight with a teacher's permission; you're not responsible for them. And please get to us with your reports no later than ten-thirty. Cedric and I would like to go to bed, too -- or to the library. Ravenclaws and Slytherins will report to me; Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors will report to Cedric."

Watching the four Gryffindor prefects, Cedric took note of Hermione's start. "Cedric?" Violet said, glancing back down at where he was seated. "Your turn."

Unwilling to stand propped on crutches, he shifted a little in his seat. "I'm Cedric Diggory. I suppose most of you know me."

That brought general laughter. "Everybody knows you, Ced," Hannah Abbot told him, shoving at his shoulder with good humor. "Just get on with it."

He blushed. "Violet went over the usual duties. We have a couple more this year." There were groans at that. "Not many," he hastened to add. "And actually, they're rather old ones that have fallen out of use. We're bringing them back. The first we're resurrecting is new-student orientation."

The mutters got louder. "Orientation? Don't we do that in House?"

"You do. But I -- we -- want an additional orientation session for the first years as a group. Tonight after the start-of-term feast, instead of leading your first years back to your common rooms, you'll take them to Professor Flitwick's classroom." Cedric nodded to the professor. "He's agreed to let us use it. It won't take long, but Violet and I want to introduce ourselves -- and introduce the rest of you so all the first years know you, even prefects not from their houses.

"That brings me to the second new thing. We expect all of you to assist any first year who gets lost this first week -- not just first years from your Houses. Usually, every first year is warned not to trust anybody in another House, even a prefect. That is going to stop." He paused to look around the room, catch every eye, even the sullen Slytherins. "If I hear that any prefect has misdirected a first year just to take the mickey out of him, you'll be answering to me personally."

"And that should scare us?" Marius Montague muttered. Montague was Slytherin's Quidditch captain, and he and Cedric cheerfully despised each other.

"Considering the number of hexes I had to learn for the Tournament -- including a few Krum taught me from Durmstrang -- perhaps it should." He and Montague locked eyes until the other boy looked down first. "So -- this first week, if any first year asks your help, you help them. And yes, I know it might make us late to class, but I've asked permission for a fifteen-minute grace period for prefects. Don't take advantage of it, but you've got it if you need it."

Like they wouldn't take advantage of it, but he'd address that later. Pausing again, he studied the faces for reactions. Most appeared more curious than mutinous. He hadn't really asked them for much beyond putting paid to the popular pastime of baiting first years.

"Last, regarding the Hogsmeade weekends, I want you to stay visible and keep an eye on the students in your House. No slinking off to hide in the park under the willow for a snog" -- that got a few laughs -- "or going up to the shrieking shack for kicks, or anywhere else that's out of the way. And I want you to keep students from your Houses from doing the same."

"Why?" This came from Ernie MacMillan, who sounded more baffled than irritated. "It's not like anybody's going to want us --"

"Because it's dangerous," Cedric cut him off. "Isolated students are exactly what Voldemort and the Death Eaters would like to find." There were shocked gasps all around the compartment at Cedric's casual use of the name, and even Violet winced. "Hogsmeade isn't Hogwarts. You're outside school protection there. That's my rule, and I'm going to enforce it. As prefects, you don't go wandering off -- and you don't let your students wander off, either."

His eyes came to rest on Draco Malfoy, who smiled faintly. Cedric waited for Malfoy to ridicule the caution, but the younger boy just kept smiling; he knew better than to implicate himself, unfortunately. "All right," Cedric said. "That's it. We don't have anything else. Do any of you have questions?"

Montague's hand went up and he spoke even before Cedric could recognize him. "The Prophet says all this talk of You Know Who being back is hogwash."

"I know what The Daily Prophet says, and I know what I saw. I'll trust my own eyes, thank you."

Murmurs at that. Cedric remembered what Madam Bones had warned him, but he also wasn't about to back down from the likes of Montague.

"How long will this new orientation session take tonight?" Padma Patil asked, diplomatically changing the subject.

"Twenty minutes maybe. Not long. Then you can take the first years to your common rooms as usual."

"Violet said when we're supposed to report by, but not where," Ron Weasley pointed out, still eying Cedric with veiled hostility.

"Cedric and I each have an office on the first floor," Violet told him. "We'll show everyone tonight after the session."

"It's not much of an office," Cedric added. "More like a glorified broom cupboard."

That got a few giggles, but, "So you can't walk anymore?" cut across them and froze everyone. Cedric could feel Hannah Abbot's grip tighten on his shoulder, as if she thought she might have to physically restrain him, and Hermione's head went up, mouth tight and brown eyes wide with anger. Even Flitwick's mouth hung open at the rudeness.

Cedric met the eyes of the asker. Draco Malfoy. "I can walk fine with crutches," he said coldly, then added, "I appreciate your concern."

Malfoy still smiled. "What about fly? Still going to captain Hufflepuff's Quidditch team, Diggory?"

The blood left Cedric's face but before he could say a word, Granger had leapt to her feet to shout, "That's enough, Malfoy! How dare you speak to him, after what your father did --"

Malfoy surged up too, fists balled. "How dare you speak of my father, you filthy Mudblood --"

"Silence!" Cedric roared.

And they went quiet, which surprised him a bit. "Sit down," he said more calmly. Violet and most of the prefects were watching him with some alarm, except those from his House. He doubted any of the rest had ever heard him yell like that off the Quidditch pitch, but he had to tackle this head-on and do it now. (Flitwick, he noted, was watching with both interest and, perhaps, some approval.) Granger had sat down, head lowered again as if ashamed, but Malfoy paused long enough to show it was against his will, then he sat down, too.

"Fighting among the prefects sets a bad example," Cedric went on. "And if I hear any of you use the term 'mudblood' again, I'll give you detention -- where you can read about some magical traditions that don't even have the concept of 'pureblood' and 'part blood' because they never opted out from the larger society in the first place."

"There he goes again," Ernie said, but with exaggerated humor to break the tension. "Nobody get him started on that topic, please. We'll be here till we reach Hogsmeade."

"Shut up, MacMillan," Cedric replied, but with amusement and a bit of relief as he glanced over his shoulder. Then he reached for his crutches where they'd been resting beside him, and stood. "We're finished here. You're free to go. We'll see you later tonight, after the feast."

The others rose and milled around, gathering their things before heading for the door. "Granger," Cedric called before she could duck out. "Stay a moment."

Both Weasley and Granger glanced back at him, and so did a few others, including those from his own House, and Malfoy. But Hermione reseated herself, cat in her arms, and they both waited for the others to clear out, even Flitwick, who gave them a curious glance before shutting the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Cedric said, "Look, I apologize for what I said when you came in--" even as she burst out, "I'm terribly sorry for being late, and then jumping up like that --"

Halting mid-sentence, he laughed but she just stared at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing." She dropped her eyes again.

"What's wrong with you, Granger? You're acting really strange today. Normally, you'd have told me off at least twice by now."

Her dark eyes flashed up, caught somewhere between hurt and anger. "Your friends -- they're going to ask you why you asked me to stay."

"Why would they care?" He was baffled. "They'll probably be curious, but so?"

"I mean, it's me."

Frowning, he cocked his head. "You know, I am obviously failing to grasp the salient point here. Mind clarifying a bit?"

"I'm not exactly popular," she spat out, head turned sideways and still not looking at him. Her arms were gripping her ginger cat so tightly it mewed in protest.

He just blinked. Was that what this was about? He should have guessed, and he clumped across the carriage on the crutches, plopping down next to her with a sigh. "Well, if you don't still want to be friends with me . . . "

"What? Of course I do!"

"Then why do you think I wouldn't?" he asked, dipping his head and turning it so he could see into her face where it was lowered towards her lap. "Granger? I thought you knew me better than that?"

"You're telling me I'm acting like a ninny."

"Maybe a bit." But he smiled as he said it, and she raised her face finally to meet his eyes. Hers were dark and hot and full of hope, and stopped his breath in his chest.

He'd felt nothing for Cho just before, or nothing compared to this -- tenderness, excitement, and yes, even a touch of lust, or at least desire. She stared back as if she felt the same things.

Now he dropped his eyes. "Did you mean it?" she asked him suddenly. "What you said about, uh, mudbloods and purebloods, earlier?"

"I don't want to hear that term from you either -- especially not from you. And yes, I did. This whole 'pureblood pride' is absurd. It's something we made up -- not something real. What's a 'pureblood' anyway? How far back do you have to go before no one can say who came from where? It's not even wise, all this inbreeding." He glanced up at her, then down again, and frowned. "Do you know how many siblings I have?"

"None, I thought."

"That's right. None. But my mother was pregnant four times. I'm the only one who survived. Number three pregnancy, and she spent the last three months of that on her back. Pregnancy number four almost killed her. My father wouldn't let her try again. I should have had three siblings, Granger, but I don't. And that" -- he looked up again -- "is what you get with pureblood inbreeding."

"Your mother's a pureblood?"

"Yes. My father, thankfully, isn't. And I do mean the 'thankfully.'"

"The Weasleys -- "

"The Weasleys are unusual. And I hope every one of them marries somebody who's not pureblood, or they're going to stop being unusual in another generation or two. Think about the purebloods you know. How many have more than one child? How many have none? And how many have produced Squibs?"

"Squibs?"

"Haven't you noticed that Squibs are twice as likely to show up in a pureblood family? Yes, really. Look at Filch. His blood's purer than mine. Look at Harry, a half-blood, but he's a stronger wizard than me. Look at you." He smiled at her. "I doubt Draco Malfoy can do half what you can do." She blushed at that, and it thrilled him. "Blood isn't everything. In fact, it's not much at all. And like I said, in some cultures and magical traditions, that concept doesn't even exist."

She was smiling at him. "You make it all sound very logical, not like apologetics."

"It's not apologetics. It's common sense."

"Thank you." And it sounded almost unbearably sincere. She started to rise, then said, "Wait, I've got something for you." And she pulled a brown-wrapped package out of her satchel. "Professor -- well, Remus Lupin asked me to give you this."

He took it, frowning. "What is it?"

"How should I know, dope? I didn't open it."

And that sounded more like his Granger; he resisted grinning. "He didn't tell you?"

"No."

Cedric peeled off the paper. Hermione didn't offer to leave, he noticed. It seemed she was as guilty as he of the sin of curiosity. He let her stay. Inside the package was a simple book with blank pages. Bemused, he thumbed through it until reaching a piece of parchment stuck in the middle.

Dear Cedric,

This is a journal. I thought it might come in handy as a place to put what you don't want to say to others, or feel you can't say -- or to put anything you like, really. Use it when the words have no where else to go. When I first came to Hogwarts, Dumbledore gave me just such a book, and I now have a small collection of them, years later.

As for any fear that others might read it, this book will open only in your hands. Anyone else would find it quite impossible to crack. (If I may brag a bit, my Sealing Spells are excellent.) So you needn't fear that your private thoughts will be discovered by anybody.

Sincerely,
 Remus Lupin

Cedric smiled at the letter, and then smiled wider when he realized Hermione was trying desperately not to lean over and read it, too. He handed it to her and she took it to scan the contents quickly, then handed it back. "That was sweet of him."

"He's a good bloke. I wish he hadn't had to leave Hogwarts. Best Dark Arts teacher we've had the whole time I've been here."

"The governors wouldn't let --"

"I know. They're idiots. I never felt unsafe with him."

Hermione had no chance to reply because the door opened and Cho stood there, looking from him to Hermione. "Cedric?" she asked, her face a puzzle.

If he'd had two good legs, he'd have leapt to his feet in mortified guilt, but he couldn't do that anymore, which was probably a good thing. Hermione had done so instead. He just smiled at Cho. "Thought I'd got lost?"

Her expression cleared a bit at his nonchalant reply, and she smiled, although it was half-hearted. "They said you were down here, talking to Hermione."

He held up the journal. "She brought me something from Professor Lupin -- you remember him?"

"Yes, of course." Then she turned her smile on Hermione, but Cedric thought it looked a little false.

"I'll see you later, Cedric," Hermione said as she dragged her trunk towards the door, the ginger tabby clamped under her free arm --

He blinked at it, really seeing it for the first time. "Hey, Granger, you know your cat's half kneazle?"

Hermione looked back, then down at the cat. "He is?"

"I'd say somewhere between a quarter and half." The cat in her arms had twisted to lock lambent gold eyes on Cedric. "Oh, yes, you are," he told it, almost laughing. "And don't go running away from your mistress just because you've been found out, little furball."

"Crookshanks wouldn't run from me," Hermione replied, indignant. Then she tilted her head. "Do I have to register him, then?"

"Only if he's half or more. Where did you get him?" Cedric was acutely aware of Cho watching this exchange.

"The Magical Menagerie in Diagon Ally."

"Then he's probably less than half. I doubt they're selling illegal half-kneazles. They don't want my dad to shut them down."

Cho broke in, "Cedric's father is --"

"-- in charge of the magical pet registry, yes, I know," Hermione replied, just a bit tartly.

And that certainly ratcheted up the tension in the carriage. Her face flushed. "I'll talk to you later."

"Later," he replied.

As soon as the door was shut Cho turned on him. "What on earth was that about?"

"I told you, she brought me something from --"

"I don't think you knew she had something from Professor Lupin when you asked her to stay after the meeting! Plus earlier, she called you 'Ced'! What's going on here?"

That was hard to answer as he wasn't allowed to tell Cho anything about the Order of the Phoenix.

"She's a friend of Harry's -- "

"I know that! Don't act -- "

"I'm not," he snapped. "She's a friend of Harry's. She came to see me in hospital for Harry, since he couldn't come." He wasn't sure that was true but suspected it might have been, at least initially, and at the moment, it sounded good. "Why are you jealous all of a sudden?"

When on the defense, attack: Cedric did it almost without thinking, and Cho's expression became a mass of contradiction -- resentment, guilt, irritation, uncertainty. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd felt his indifference earlier when she'd hugged him. Now, she made a helpless gesture with one long hand. "I would have come to see you, too, if -- "

"Stop," he said, reaching out towards her and pulling her to him, catching her legs loosely between his knees. He looked up at her. "Stop. I know why you didn't come." He twined fingers through hers, other arm around her waist, holding her to him and looking up at her, chin resting on her flat tummy.

She was blushing now, but smiling, and she ran a hand through his hair. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Yes," he told her, then let her go, collecting his crutches in order to stand. "I should go and join Peter, Ed and Scott."

"I'll come."

"All right." This time, he let her open the door for him, perhaps because he felt a bit dirty.

Cho wasn't being silly for her doubts, or not entirely. And what was he going to do about this situation? It wasn't right, and he knew it, but she'd been so loyal all summer when any other girl might have found an excuse to break up with him. How could he, in good conscience, break up with her now on the very first night they were back? He had to give her a chance; it was only fair. A week, maybe two. If he hadn't remembered why he was seeing her by then, it would be time to put an end to it.

By the time Hermione found the train compartment taken by Harry and Ginny (along with Neville and, of all people, Luna Lovegood), Ron had already filled in the others on the meeting and who were the new prefects, and had just finished detailing Cedric's bombshell concerning Hogsmeade weekends while Harry was flipping through a magazine and the others listened.

"I bet that went over like a lead balloon," Harry observed, closing the magazine and handing it back to Luna.

"Why would somebody put lead in a balloon?" Luna asked -- which stopped conversation for a moment.

"Uh, just a figure of speech," Harry explained.

"Yeah, and it did, too, just a bit," Ron agreed. "Put Montague in his place, though. Worth the price of admission just for that."

"Cedric doesn't like Montague," Hermione said as she seated herself beside Ron and deposited Crookshanks next to her on the maroon cushion. "He cheats at Quidditch."

"Hermione, everybody cheats at Quidditch. Montague's just ham-fisted about it."

"Cedric doesn't cheat." Well, not unless cheating were more fair, as in the Tournament. Cedric, she'd discovered, was more concerned with 'fair' than with 'rules.' It was something she'd begun to learn herself. The law wasn't always about justice.

"What'd he want with you, anyway?" Ron asked, deflecting her defense.

"Just to say he was sorry for that crack when I came in. He didn't mean anybody to take it seriously."

"Oh," Ron replied, perhaps a bit mollified. "Didn't sound like it, at the time."

"What'd he say?" Ginny asked.

"Just teased me for being late. It was a bit dry. Everybody else thought he was irritated with me." She didn't add that she hadn't been entirely sure herself, at first.

"Cedric is like that," Luna said from behind a copy of The ... Quibbler? Upside down? Hermione frowned.

"You know Cedric?"

"Luna lives near us and the Diggorys," Ron replied. "Well, sort of near."

"Cedric is a bit odd," Luna added, "but nice." She didn't elaborate and Hermione exchanged a glance with Ginny, but refrained from comment on Luna Lovegood calling anybody 'odd,' especially Cedric Diggory. (Although Hermione also had to admit Luna was right; Cedric marched to the beat of his own drummer at times, which suggested she did know him better than many at Hogwarts.)

Further discussion was terminated, however, by the opening of the compartment door to reveal Draco Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "What?" Harry demanded even before Draco could speak.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention. You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Hermione sputtered at that along with everyone else. Harry's wit was getting sharper.

Malfoy couldn't leave well enough alone. "Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?"

"Shut up," Hermione told him.

"I seem to have touched a nerve. Well, just you watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

Furious now, Hermione stood. "Get out!"

Hand to his chest in mock alarm, Malfoy drew back. "My. First you defend Diggory even if he obviously can't stand you, and now Potter. Granger the guard dog. But we all knew you were a bitch anyway, didn't we?" And laughing, he slammed the door in her face.

She had to keep her back to the others for a moment because sudden tears stung her eyes. The compartment was silent behind her until Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "He's a prat. Ignore him."

"I know," she said, but still had to wipe her right eye before sitting down. Luna was reading, apparently oblivious. Neville was nervously playing with Trevor the toad, Ron avoided her eyes, and Ginny just looked furious.

"What's this about defending Cedric?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy had the gall to ask him -- in front of everyone -- if he couldn't walk at all now. Then he asked him if he was still going to captain Quidditch for Hufflepuff. You should have seen his face."

"White as a sheet," Ron agreed. "Looked close to going spare."

Harry shook his head and opened a chocolate frog package. "Malfoy's a bastard. He knows Ced can't stay Seeker."

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "He told me he thought he might still be able to fly."

"Maybe he can fly, but not like you have to for Seeker. You rely on your legs too much. I doubt he could play any position on the team now." Crumpling up the frog package after handing the wizard card inside to Ron, he threw it into a corner. "Bloody hell, I didn't even think of that earlier. He can't walk. He can't play Quidditch . . . "

"That's why he didn't want to talk about brooms last night at supper," Ron added, as if the reason had just dawned on him.

"Yeah. I thought we were boring him."

Both Harry and Ron, as well as Ginny, looked so glum that Hermione -- who knew little about flying -- feared they were probably right. "Well, he can still be captain, can't he?" she asked. All three of them, and Neville, too, looked at her as if she were out of her mind. "Football coaches don't play on the team, after all. Why couldn't he . . . coach?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, as if that hadn't even occurred to them. "Not sure there's any rule at Hogwarts against it," Ron said, offhand. "Just hasn't been done. Wonder if he's thought of it?"

"Dunno. But it might be a bit . . . bitter, just coaching."

"You talk to him, mate," Ron said. "He might listen to you."

"I'll check with Madam Hooch tonight, just to be sure it's legal," Harry agreed. "Then I'll talk to him."

Hermione gave a small nod to herself. Harry was a good bully when he wanted to be.

"Cedric, where's Hagrid?" It was Granger, who'd seemingly materialized at his side out of the milling mass of students spilling onto the Hogsmeade platform. At Flitwick's suggestion, he'd gone back up to the prefect's compartment near journey's end, so he could be first off instead of last, as he needed to be in charge. He'd opted for crutches, too, in order to see and be seen.

Glancing down at her, he shrugged. "No idea. Grubbly-Plank told me she's taking the first years."

"I hope he's all right," Hermione said, a worried frown cutting her pretty brows.

"Probably off on an assignment." Cedric should be watching the students, but found it hard to watch anyone but Granger.

She looked up at him. "An assignment? For . . . you know?"

He grinned. "Subtlety isn't your strong suit, is it, Granger? And yes. For 'you know.'"

She humphed at him and stalked off, leaving him laughing. Peter came up beside him. "We got your trunk and the cage, but you get the raccoon, mate." He handed over Esiban, who immediately climbed up to perch on Cedric's head and shoulders. Peter laughed. "You always look ridiculous like that."

"I look like Davy Crockett," Cedric said, his eye on the milling students and his prefects.

"Davy Who?" Peter asked.

"This American frontier bloke. Wore a cap made from raccoon fur -- tail still attached. I didn't know about him, either, till Justin told me. He read it in some Muggle book. I should look it up sometime." Or he'd ask Hermione.

Peter nodded in the direction Granger had just departed. "Tetchy little bird. Potter's friend, isn't she?"

"She is. And being tetchy is part of her charm."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Better not let Cho hear you say that. She was glued to you all the ride up."

Cedric didn't comment. She had been glued to him from the time he'd left the prefects' compartment until he'd gone back to supervise their arrival. Now, she was off to save him a spot in a carriage.

"So," Peter said, conversationally. "She let you in her knickers yet?"

Turning his head, Cedric gaped. "None of your bloody business!"

"Which means 'yes.'"

"Which means none of your bloody business," Cedric corrected. Although Peter was at least close to right. "I'm a gentleman. I don't kiss and tell."

"You're an effing prude is what you are, Diggory," Peter replied, then slapped him on the shoulder. "See you in a bit."

"Right."

Most of the older students were gone, off to the carriages, and Grubbly-Plank seemed to have most of the first years . . . except for one, perhaps. An absurdly tiny girl with black ringlet curls was glancing between the children still on the platform and the ones hiking up the path to the roadway. "Hey," he called. "First year?" She nodded, and he tilted his head towards Grubbly-Plank. "You're over there."

"But the others --"

"First years get to approach the castle over the Lake. Trust me -- the view's worth it." He grinned, and she seemed reassured.

"Thanks," she called, and hurried over to join her fellows.

Violet, the only other older student still on the platform, was headed his way from where she'd stationed herself further down. "Hope they don't leave without us," she called as she approached.

"Be just our luck." Yet he suddenly realized he couldn't hurry, and they just might leave without them. "You go on," he said. "I'll slow you down."

She gave him an offended look. "I'm not in that big a rush, Cedric. Come on." And turning, she started off up the lane leading from the railway station to where the carriages waited on the road above. It was dark now, the moon shining, and Cedric could hear night noises in the pines rising around them. "You know," she said conversationally as she paced beside him, "with that animal on your head, you look like you've got some strange growth."

He laughed, but couldn't laugh long. It was uphill, and he was trying to go as quickly as he could; it ran him out of breath. Esiban had leapt down to hurry along in front of them with that odd, waggling raccoon scuttle. Although still several hundred feet away, they could see everyone was already loaded and the lead carriage had begun to move. And good heavens, what was harnessed to it? Harnessed to all the carriages? They looked like some perverted cross between a horse and a dragon, black, scaly, emaciated, and winged -- and hadn't his father told him about some creature like this? But he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was, or why they were suddenly pulling the carriages where they never had before. He stopped dead for just a moment, his mouth hanging open. But before he could say anything to Violet, she sprinted off, her dark robes flying. "I'll stop them! We're not leaving you out here." He heard her calling, "Stop! Stop the carriages! Not everyone's here!"

And now Cedric felt horrible, and self-conscious, as students opened carriage windows to look out, curious as to the delay. But there were other voices calling now, too, "Wait! Cedric's not here!" At least one of those voices was Granger's; he'd recognize it anywhere. Another was Zacharias Smith, who had a loud mouth. The carriages had, indeed, paused, the first four strung out a bit in line.

It took him another few minutes to reach them, and by that point, he was so humiliated he could barely look up. Thankfully, he wasn't far from where he needed to be. Cho had a door thrown open and called to him, and he joined her in the concealing dark of the carriage's interior, panting from the effort, his legs aching, and Esiban following him in. He pulled free his flask of Abdoleo and drank some, but could really use a drink of water, too. "I feel like an idiot," he muttered, putting the flask back.

She moved over beside him. "Don't." She laid her head on his chest, hugging him. "No one blames you."

That wasn't why he felt like an idiot, and he was quite sure Malfoy, Montague and the rest of that group had been laughing their heads off as he'd struggled up the slope from the station. It was only then that he realized he and Cho had the carriage to themselves, except for the raccoon. "We're it?" he asked. There were normally at least four people per carriage. "Isn't this hogging?"

"You're Head Boy; you deserve your own carriage."

"Oh, please."

She laughed and admitted, "All right, I pulled a few strings." He felt more than saw her shift, raising her head so that her lips whispered against the line of his jaw, "Haven't seen you all summer." One of her hands rested on his knee, and he wasn't sure if her breath were tickling him or turning him on.

Twisting his head, he let her kiss him as her fingers crawled up from his knee to make small circles on the inside of his right thigh, tracing fire. Then she smiled against his mouth and pulled away. "You're sweaty." Reaching up, she loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and opened his robes, her hands stroking his chest over the fabric of his button-down.

"It's not that long a trip to the castle," he warned, laughing a little. "Don't undress me, right?" But he was opening her robes, too, hands sliding inside to pull her to him so he could kiss her again. "What are those things pulling the carriages?" he asked against her mouth. "That's new." But the question was idle as her kisses were quickly burying his interest in the creatures.

"What things?"

"The black horse things."

"Horse things?" She pulled back to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The horse . . . things, with the wings, pulling the carriages. You know? You can't have not noticed them, Cho, however much you were keeping a lookout for me."

"Cedric -- there's nothing pulling the carriages."

"What?"

"Nothing. Same as always -- nothing. It's just locomotor or something."

He blinked. Was he going mad? She was looking at him as if she feared he might be. "I saw animals," he insisted. "Like horses. They were harnessed to the carriages. Black, scaly, all the bones showing, winged. You didn't see them?"

"No." Reaching out, she laid the back of her hand on his forehead to see if he had a temperature.

Worried now, he ran fingers through his hair, then leaned over to open one of the windows, intending to look out and see if he really had hallucinated it all, but she tugged him back. "Forget it, Ced. I don't want to talk about horses, imaginary or otherwise." And her mouth was back on his, then she shifted her weight a little until she'd straddled his lap, her school skirt hiked up, her crotch pressed to his, rocking against him . . . and that shut down his brain quite thoroughly.

He brought his hands up and around to cup her breasts beneath crisp white cotton, his thumbs finding the bulge of erect nipples. Gasping, she pulled her mouth away and arched against him, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder, still stroking her breasts while she rocked on him. He should probably worry about a damp spot on his crotch but didn't have enough coherence. He just wanted her to keep doing that. Moving one hand down, he slid it under her skirt and inside her knickers. Did this qualify as getting in them? Literally, maybe, although it wasn't quite what Peter had meant. They hadn't gone that far. She arched against him once more, keening. She was soaking wet on his fingers, her skin down there hot and slick, her head thrown back to expose her pretty throat. Leaning in, he latched onto it with his mouth, sucking hard and she hissed, rubbing faster against his hand. He twisted the fingers so that two slid inside her. It was tight, and she gasped. He immediately withdrew. "Sorry. That hurt?"

Lip bit, she nodded. And that answered one of his questions about what she'd done (or not done) before him. Given how aggressive she was, he hadn't been sure, but he liked it that when he kissed her, she didn't make him do all the work. And he never felt as if he were imposing his nasty little desires on her.

In any case, what he'd just done must have interrupted her rhythm because she was climbing off his lap, leaving him with a very wet hand. "Hey," he said, "Come back up here. I won't do it again. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she said, "But I had something else in mind, actually. Move beast." And he heard Esiban's nails clicking on the wood as Cho shoved him elsewhere, but he couldn't see her outline.

Then he realized he couldn't see her because she was kneeling on the floor between his legs and -- oh, Merlin's beard. She had her fingers on the front of his trousers, gripping his erection through the cloth. How long until they reached the castle? He hadn't brought anything to clean them up, and the whole carriage stank of musty sex and sweat. "Cho," he said, but it came out breathless. She was unbuttoning the trousers' top. He fumbled for his wand, caught in his robe, and pulled it out, trying to Conjure a tissue, but didn't have wit enough left to make the charm work. "Bugger," he muttered.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding amused as she worked his zipper down.

"No tissues."

"Here." She pulled one out of a pocket and handed it to him.

Wiping his hand, he laughed. She'd clearly thought this out, at least as far back as the train, and he knew why she'd wanted a carriage just for them. Some serious snogging was the least of it.

Then she had him free of his underpants, and that wasn't her hand on him. It was wet and engulfing and he felt something hot slide around him from base to cock tip. She had him in her mouth -- and he almost came right there, just at the thought of it. But he was also -- and honestly -- a bit distressed. What was wrong with him? How many boys dreamed of getting a blowjob from their girlfriends? Yet he felt exposed and vulnerable, and it was one thing if they fooled around using hands, even as far as they'd gone, but this was . . . quite a bit more. He half lay against the carriage seat back, helpless and at her mercy.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want her to do this.

He wasn't thinking of her face when he shut his eyes and it wasn't her heavy, sleek hair that he wanted under his palms and against his thighs. And that was wrong. He'd been wrong to let her start this at all, given his conflicting feelings. It was dishonest. Yet he'd only wanted to know if he could still remember what he'd felt for her last spring. The answer was, obviously, no. And her inexperience didn't help; those were teeth being dragged up the underside of his cock. "Ah!"

If he'd been on the verge of exploding ten seconds ago, now he was suddenly on the verge of deflating, and he found himself pulling her head away. "Don't," he said softly. "You don't have to do that."

"Who said I 'had' to. Maybe I want to?"

"No," he replied. "This carriage is going to stop in a minute and I'm too self-conscious. Just come up here and let's put ourselves back together. I don't think it'd look good for the Head Boy to get caught like this with his girlfriend before we even get to the Welcome Feast."

She got off her knees back onto the seat and he could see her in the shadows wiping her mouth surreptitiously and spitting softly into a tissue. She wasn't looking at him at all as she straightened her skirt, underwear and bra, and did up her robes. He tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped them up. The cloth felt a bit wet from her saliva, and he was glad it was dark out, and the robes would cover him there. He adjusted his tie and ran hands through his hair, then reached out to smooth hers where it had slipped free of a slide. She jerked her head away. "What?" he asked.

"You think I'm a slut, don't you?"

"No!" And he really didn't. "I just -- I'd rather it happened when we're not in a hurry. And I'd have the opportunity to reciprocate."

And that must have been all right because she turned abruptly and buried her face in his shoulder. She was shaking and he just held her, stroking her hair. He should probably say something like, 'I love you.' But he didn't love her, and he couldn't lie, even as he also knew that after this, there was no way in hell he could break up with her. Not any time soon, anyway -- he couldn't do that to her. He pressed his forehead to her crown, eyes squeezed shut in frustration even as their carriage trundled to a stop.

Notes: Yes, football is soccer, of course. My impression from the book is that thestrals are so rare, even the son of someone who works with magical creatures might not know what he's seeing. It seemed the Wizarding born students didn't know them by sight (those who could see them), only by reputation once Hagrid said what they were. Like Harry, Cedric saw a man killed during the graveyard battle.

REVIEWS ARE LOVE ... more, they tell me if anybody's reading this here. If not, there's not a lot of reason to continue posting it. It's a long story and involves a lot of re-formatting for fanfiction-net. If nobody's reading, I'll just leave it on the sites where it's currently archived.