Hermione, with Harry, Ron and Neville, found seats halfway down the Gryffindor table. She was torn between scanning the Head Table for evidence of Hagrid and keeping an eye on the entrance for a glimpse of Cedric. She got the latter if not the former.

He came in after most of the others, on the crutches, flanked by some boys she didn't know, Cho Chang, and the new Head Girl from Ravenclaw, Violet Sykes. For just a moment, he and Violet stood side by side, like a prince and princess, then parted with a word to each other, heading for their respective tables. Cho followed Violet and didn't (Hermione noticed) kiss Cedric goodbye, even on the cheek.

The tables had gone somewhat quiet at his entrance and students openly stared. She watched him try to ignore it as he clunked along on the crutches behind several other Hufflepuffs. It hurt to see, and she glanced down at her plate, wishing other students would grant him the courtesy of disinterest.

But then, as he was sitting down, the entire Hufflepuff table began to applaud him. Jerking her head up and around, she gaped. His House had seen what was happening, and they were letting him (and the rest of the school) know what they thought of him, at least. He was grinning and blushing a little, and it brought tears of relief to her eyes. Beside her, Harry abruptly stood, clapping proudly so everyone could see. Half the Gryffindor table and much of Ravenclaw followed suit (if not standing). Only the Slytherins stayed mostly silent, though a few did clap politely. Hermione glanced up at the Head Table, noting that the teachers had joined in the applause, Professor Sprout most enthusiastically, her plump face beaming as she pounded her hands together. Professor Dumbledore was smiling benignly and wearing an expression that was almost . . . well, Hermione wasn't sure one could ever call Dumbledore smug, but he looked close.

Two faces at the Head Table, however, didn't look happy. One (perhaps predictably) was Professor Snape, who clapped, but with a sour smile. The other was a short woman seated beside Dumbledore. She wore an almost terrifyingly frilly cardigan and pink Alice band that didn't seem to match the rest of her. Her square and doughy face looked anything but feminine. She smiled and clapped, too, but neither seemed sincere, and her eyes, focused on Cedric among the Hufflepuffs, were not friendly. "Who's that?" Hermione asked, pointing as subtly as she could . . . but the surprise in her voice carried over the dying applause as students turned back to their conversations, waiting for the feast to begin.

Harry, who'd sat back down, turned to look, and then both his eyebrows went up even as a voice from behind them called softly, "Harry!"

Harry turned, as did Hermione. It was Cedric -- who was also looking up at the Head Table. He motioned to Harry, who scrambled off the bench to go talk to him. The two conferred a moment, their faces serious, then Harry came back. Softly, he said to both her and Ron. "It's that Umbridge woman. She was at my hearing, works for Fudge."

"Nice cardigan," Ron quipped but Hermione ignored him.

"She works for Fudge? What on earth's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno," Harry replied as Hermione's eyes scanned the table once more. Then she twisted in her seat to glance back at Cedric -- who was looking right at her. She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was thinking what she was thinking. Almost as if he could read her mind, his lips thinned in dissatisfaction then he mouthed, 'See me later,' and turned back to his table.

"No, surely not," she muttered, but she wasn't talking about Cedric's instructions.

This Umbridge woman was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Hermione was virtually certain of it. And that translated to all manner of not good, if Umbridge worked for Fudge. Harry hadn't sounded very happy, and Cedric hadn't looked very happy.

In any case, the first years had arrived, and Professor McGonagall led them in, carrying the Sorting Hat stool with the hat sitting on it. This she placed in front of all four tables, moving back to arrange the first years so they faced the rest of the students. Hermione studied them critically, wondering who would become new Gryffindors even as the rip near the hat's brim opened, and the hat sang:

In times of old when I was new and Hogwarts barely started
The founders of our noble school thought never to be parted:
United by a common goal, they had the selfsame yearning,
To make the world's best magic school and pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach!" the four good friends decided
And never did they dream that they might someday be divided.
For were there such friends anywhere as Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell the whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "Well teach just those whose ancestry is purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach just those whose intelligence is surest."
Said Gryffindor,"We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same."
These differences caused little strife when first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had a House in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so, for instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards of great cunning, just like him,
And only those of sharpest mind were taught by Ravenclaw.
While the bravest and the boldest went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest, and taught them all she knew,
Thus the Houses and their founders retained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony for several happy years,
But then discord crept among us feeding on our faults and fears.
The Houses that, like pillars four, had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other and, divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school might meet an early end,
What with dueling and with fighting and the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came a morning when old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out he left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united as they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here and you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further, listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you still I worry that it's wrong.
Though I must fulfill my duty and must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether sorting may not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you . . . let the Sorting now begin.

Like everyone else, Hermione clapped, but she was looking around the hall, listening to the mutters. Behind her, she heard Ron say to Harry, "Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?"

"Too right it has," Harry replied.

Hermione shook her head. They didn't get it. "I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" she asked, a bit pointedly.

"Yes, indeed," Nearly Headless Nick said from where he was leaning through Neville -- and that was just . . . bizarre, and a bit creepy. "The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels --"

But whatever he was going to say was cut off as McGonagall moved forward. Nearly Headless Nick even put a finger to his lips. Annoyed, Hermione frowned; she'd have to get it out of him later. Twisting in her seat, she looked back at the Hufflepuff table again. Cedric, seated between two other seventh years, was watching the front -- and the hat -- with a slightly troubling intensity.

When the Sorting Hat had finished its song, Cedric understood finally why he'd been chosen Head Boy, and what he needed to do. It wasn't arrogance, but a bone-deep comprehension of his role.

Violet was meant to keep the students in line but Cedric would pull them together. Last year, he'd been made Hogwarts Champion -- Hogwarts Champion, not Hufflepuff. He might have shared it with Harry, but the Goblet hadn't intended that, and as much as he liked the younger boy, Cedric recognized that Harry functioned best on his own. He wasn't a team player, even at Quidditch. Seekers usually weren't. That's why Cedric had never much liked being both captain and Seeker. A captain needed to watch what was going on in the game, but a Seeker had to concentrate on the snitch; they didn't mesh well. Harry went after snitches. Cedric couldn't afford to, not any more. He was needed as a bridge, the one uniting opposite banks. Someday, he wanted to be an ambassador, had wanted it since he'd been twelve years old and back from Canada with a new appreciation for a very different culture. That fascination with the Other had only grown since until he couldn't imagine doing anything else with his life.

And that's what he had to be now: an ambassador. No longer could he belong only to Hufflepuff, even if he'd always have them squarely behind him. From this night forward, he belonged to Hogwarts. Without consciously thinking, he reached up to touch the Head Boy badge on his left breast. The Hogwarts' crest, not his House's.

He watched the sorting with a kind of detached interest until the very last child -- that tiny girl with the ringlet curls -- was called forward: "Zeller, Rose." She almost had to climb onto the stool, and when the hat shouted "Hufflepuff!" he found himself grinning with a certain amount of proprietary delight. She hopped down from the stool and approached their table to take a seat on the far end.

Dumbledore had come forward. "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands -- welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Laughing, Cedric turned to watch the food materialize before them in bowls and on waiting platters. "I love a headmaster who knows when not to talk," Peter said across the table from Cedric even as he, Cedric, Ed and Scott all reached for whatever dish had caught their fancy first. Cedric hadn't realized how hungry he was.

Table conversation revolved around who had done what that summer, who was taking what classes for NEWTs, and the Sorting Hat's song. "What in bloody hell was that about?" Ed asked, starting in on his second helping of pork chops. Cedric reached over to spear one despite Ed's protest of, "Hey!"

"You're taking them all," he said, elbowing Ed off.

"Can't believe that hat wants us to get along with Ravenclaw -- no offense to Cho, Ced -- or especially Slytherin," Peter said. "It must've gone batty in the July heat wave."

"The July heat wave didn't hit Scotland," Cedric pointed out. "And I think the meaning's obvious. We need to learn to work together. Last time, Voldemort operated by dividing people, making them afraid of each other. United we stand, divided we fall. Pretty simple."

All three of his denmates and a few others around had winced when he said 'Voldemort.' "But it's not like Slytherin wants anything to do with the rest of us," Scott said, reaching for the treacle tart. "They're too bloody proud -- and nobody takes Hufflepuff seriously, anyway. Did you hear that damn hat? It's like we're the left-overs House."

"We're the House that doesn't judge," Cedric corrected. "Maybe the only one that had it right from the beginning. The Hat's got a point -- Sorting's a bad idea. Helga didn't want students sorted; she took everybody. That's how it should be. A little friendly competition's one thing, but this dead-serious war we get every year for the House Cup? I'm sick of it."

Ed was looking at him oddly, though Peter was nodding and at least Scott wasn't disagreeing. Cedric let his eyes move between them. "We're the House who knows the secret. We just have to teach it to the rest of them, right?" He cut his filched pork chop.

"Like they're going to listen to Hufflepuff?" Ed asked. "Scott's right. They think we're a joke."

"They won't by the time I'm done with them."

"What are you planning, mate?" Peter asked, leaning over the table, voice lowered. He looked intrigued, but then Peter was usually up for scheming of one type or another. It was the way their den worked. Cedric was the planner. Scott of the blue eyes and ready grin offered the best critique, stolid Ed with his athlete's short back and sides did the legwork as required, but shaggy-haired Peter was his rock, steady and dependable, if occasionally obnoxious in the bargain.

He really did have friends -- he always had. He just hadn't fully recognized it. "I'm not sure yet," Cedric told them around a bite of pork. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

Then they talked about nothing else of import until supper was over and Dumbledore rose again. He went through the usual announcements, which Cedric mostly ignored. After seven years, they were rote, and he was more interested in a second helping of pudding. The mention of Grubbly-Plank got a somewhat enthusiastic grunt from Ed beside him. "No Hagrid, thank heavens."

But then Dumbledore added, " . . . we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Cedric choked on his pudding and turned to look up at the Head Table. It was as he'd feared. They were stuck with Madam Toad (as he'd dubbed her at Harry's trial). Yet Dumbledore had moved on and Cedric turned his head back to his plate at the mention of Quidditch tryouts. He'd have to talk to Madam Hooch about that soon -- turn in his robes and let the House elect a new captain. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Dumbledore's abrupt pause and a "Hem, hem," made him turn again to look. Everyone else around the hall appeared either astonished, indignant or amused as Umbridge said, "Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome."

"What the fuck?" Scott muttered. Cedric, Ed and Peter all glanced at him, but he'd summed up their thoughts neatly, if not politely.

"Well, it's lovely to be back at Hogwarts," Umbridge was saying, "and to see such happy little faces looking back at me."

At that, Peter had to cram a fist in his mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all," Umbridge went on, "and I'm sure we'll be very good friends."

"Bloody hell," Ed said, leaning in towards Cedric. "What does she think this is? Kindergarten?"

Cedric didn't reply as his eyes flicked over students around the hall -- most of whom seemed as amused as his denmates. Abruptly, Umbridge's voice shifted from schoolmarm to something more firm as she launched into the heart of her speech, "The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance . . . "

It wasn't long before she'd lost the attention of nearly everyone in the room. Ed and Peter were openly mocking her and Scott had returned to his desert. "Shhh!" Cedric hissed at Ed.

"What?" Ed asked, dumbstruck. "You're listening to that rot?"

Cedric waved him silent. That 'rot' contained a number of carefully couched but alarming statements, including, ". . . progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering," and ". . . because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment," and "Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She sat down. Dumbledore and the teachers clapped politely while the students seemed to clap more in relief that she was finished. Crossing his arms over his chest, Cedric muttered, "Bloody hell."

"What's wrong with you?" Ed asked. "I'm just chuffed she's done."

"She's not done," Cedric answered as Dumbledore went back to his announcements as if the speech hadn't been given. "She's not done by a long shot."

The other three just regarded him oddly as he reached for his crutches. "I've got to go," he said. "I've got to meet the first years in Flitwick's classroom with Violet."

"Since when?" Peter asked.

"New student orientation," Cedric replied, getting to his feet as Dumbledore finished and the other students began rising as well. He needed to hurry or he'd be caught in the crowd. "It's one of those new ideas I mentioned. I'll explain later." And he headed off. Fortunately, most of the Hufflepuffs on one side and Gryffindors on the other stayed seated as he moved past. He caught sight of Granger, hurrying with Weasley to gather first years, and struggled not to laugh as Ron called out, "Hey -- hey you lot! Midgets!"

"Ronald!" Granger scolded in that indignant voice he'd oddly come to cherish.

"Well, they are, they're titchy --"

Moving out of earshot, Cedric didn't hear the rest, but Ron was right. They were titchy -- babies, practically, and he hoped their first year at Hogwarts wasn't miserable. He had a very bad feeling about Umbridge.

This was Cedric's meeting. Hermione recognized as much almost immediately even though Cedric and Violet sat side-by-side atop Flitwick's desk at the bottom of the lecture hall. Something subtle in Violet's posture seemed to defer to him. Or perhaps it was just how he drew eyes even when he wasn't trying. A summer of getting to know him, plus his crippling and vulnerability, and her own infatuated fascination had confused her memory of how he could seem to others.

Here, now -- returned to Hogwarts -- she remembered, and had been remembering since first seeing him again on the train. Cedric had the gift of charisma. Not because he was especially extroverted. He wasn't. And some of it owed to the simple dynamics of his person: he was tall and striking. Yet it went beyond that. Cedric sparkled. A joy in living made eyes follow him down a corridor or across a lawn, and his easy grin invited others to share it. He lit things up without conscious effort.

And that wasn't just her infatuation speaking. The eye of every first year was on him now. "That's Cedric Diggory," she heard one of the new Gryffindors hiss to another as they settled into seats in the first row.

"Shh," she admonished, but gently, and added, "Yes, that's Cedric," just to feel his name on her tongue.

Once all the new students had found a place in Flitwick's theater-style lecture hall, Violet nudged Cedric, and Hermione saw her mouth 'Your show," which confirmed Hermione's suspicions.

"Hullo," Cedric said, glancing around at faces. "Welcome to Hogwarts. This is Violet Sykes, I'm Cedric Diggory, and we're your Head Girl and Head Boy for this year."

Hermione struggled to appear appropriately attentive rather than simply besotted, and noticed that he kept not looking in her direction. Part of her feared he was ignoring her, but another -- increasingly bolder -- part understood he was trying to keep his focus too. Their conversation in the carriage after the prefects' meeting had gone a long way towards affirming that whatever it was they shared (she shied from putting a name to it), he wouldn't sacrifice it for image or expediency.

"Hogwarts is a big place, isn't it?" he asked the first years. Most just stared back, tongue-tied, but a few nodded. "Kind of intimidating?" More nods. "My first week here, I think I got lost about fifteen times. Once, I wound up in the girls' bathroom when I was trying to find Potions class."

There wasn't a peep from the first years. They just stared back, wide-eyed and somber. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, you're allowed to laugh at that. It was at least intended to be a joke."

--which got giggles from some of the prefects.

"One of the first things I remember being told was, 'Trust nobody not in your House.' And I couldn't always trust those in my House. Making life difficult for first years is an old tradition around here. But at least my House prefects could be counted on not to send me in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, when I was lost, there wasn't usually a prefect from my own House around. The best I can say for the situation is that I accidentally found my way to the kitchens, which came in handy later when I was hungry."

Finally, a couple of the first years tittered without prompting.

"None of that got me to Potions on time, though. Fortunately for you lot, we're putting an end to that state of affairs. Turn around and look at the people standing on the top row behind you." They did, with much whispering and rustling of robes. "Those are your prefects. Regardless of their House or yours, if you need directions this first week -- ask one of them. There are four Houses with four prefects each. That's sixteen people, plus Violet and me, who you can count on to help you out." He glanced up at the top row again. "None of them will send you in the wrong direction." Hermione thought he might have locked eyes with Montague, but then he looked back at the first years.

"I'm going to introduce them to you one at a time, although I doubt you'll remember their names. Still, you should know what they look like and be able to recognize them by their badges if nothing else. I'll start with the prefects from Hufflepuff in the yellow and black ties on my left. First is Desdemona Reilly, a sixth year from Ireland. She plays Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, likes peanut brittle, and Charms class. Beside her is Hannah Abbot with the blond hair, a fifth year. Hannah is best friends with Ernie MacMillan on her other side. Between them, they've got more Chocolate Frogs cards than anyone has a right to, and she keeps hers sorted in alphabetical order in shoe boxes."

And he went on. At first, Hermione thought his ability to rattle off personal details applied only to his fellow Hufflepuffs, but it continued as he introduced them all. How much he knew varied, but she was still amazed by the fact he could offer at least a few details about everyone. He was even kind to the Slytherins and Hermione wondered how much it cost him to say, "Draco Malfoy, whose father is one of the Hogwarts governors. He plays Seeker for Slytherin's Quidditch team, and he's a great flier."

He came to her about halfway through and she felt her ears and cheeks grow hot. "Hermione Granger, possibly the cleverest girl at Hogwarts even in her fifth year. She likes the color pink --"

"Rose," she objected aloud without thinking, "My favorite color is dusty rose -- not pink."

"-- and she has no trouble telling me off, as you can see," he added, grinning, eyes warm on her. "It's part of her charm, along with the fact she ties her hair in knots when she's thinking something over, and smacks you on the arm -- hard -- if she thinks you're being cheeky."

Lips pursed, she glared down at him but he ignored it. He was yanking her chain now. He'd also made every prefect except Ron glance in her direction, wondering when she and Cedric had talked long enough for him to get himself smacked. Ron was studiously not looking in her direction.

It was only at the very end of the introductions as she glanced around to the door that she noticed Dumbledore sitting quietly just inside it, hands folded together on his chest. What was the Headmaster doing there, and when had he arrived? If Cedric had seen Dumbledore, he gave no indication, his focus still on the students. "There, that's everyone. Do any of you have any questions?"

Apparently more at ease, several hands went up. Cedric patiently answered each -- was there always that much food for supper? (no), could they bring pets to class with them? (wasn't a terribly good idea), when would they do homework? (usually after supper or at prep if one was scheduled), and so on. Meanwhile the prefects shuffled feet, bored and annoyed. Perhaps to give him more time, or to speed things up, Violet left the table to climb the risers and gather the prefects, walking them down the first floor hall to the prefects' lounge and the small offices that she and Cedric had at the back of it. 'Lounge,' Hermione thought, was a bit of an understatement. The room had overstuffed velveteen couches in jewel tones, a crystal chandelier, and several private study cubicles of hand-hewn, carved oak, "for you to use if you'd rather have someplace quieter than a house common room."

By the time they returned, the question-and-answer session was winding down and Violet called out from the top tier, "If you've got more questions, ask your house prefects. Please join them now and they'll take you back to your houses."

Remembering that Cedric had told her to talk to him later, Hermione whispered to Ron, "Cover for me. I'll be back to help in a minute." Then she eeled her way against the tide coming up the tiers as she climbed down to where Cedric still sat atop the desk. He watched her come.

"Picky about colors, aren't we?" he asked by way of greeting.

"You're a prat," she replied, but conversationally. "Did you see Dumbledore?"

"He came in just after we got started -- shook his head at me. He didn't want to be introduced."

"What's he here for?"

"Probably to talk to me."

"Why?"

"I suppose I'll find out. You should go with your House," he told her. It wasn't quite an admonition.

"I will. But you said you wanted me to see you later? At supper, remember?"

"Oh. Yes. It'll have to wait. Meet me in the library tomorrow after classes are over?"

"All right." She turned to hurry and catch up to the Gryffindors.

"Granger," he called and she glanced back. "Dusty rose. I'll remember."

"You're still a prat," she told him.

Laughing, he replied, "You like me that way."

She did. But she sniffed anyway and left him sitting there on the desk. It was only later that she realized she had no idea what his favorite color was.

When all the other students were gone, Dumbledore finally stood and waited as Cedric made his way up to join him. "Sorry it took so long," he said, a little out of breath on the crutches.

Studying Cedric over the top of his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore merely smiled. "Time well spent, I think. Now come, Mr. Diggory. I want to show you a few of Hogwarts' little secrets." And he winked.

Put that way, it made the tour of magical modifications for handicapped students a bit less bitter for Cedric to swallow. There were stairways that could move like those he'd seen in Muggle department stores, and a hidden lift in the antechamber off the main entrance. The steps leading out of the back door to the courtyard swept flat into a ramp if one tapped the banister base three times, and all the towers had hidden lifts, as well.

The tour took almost an hour and it was nearing ten-thirty before they headed back to the main entrance where the staircase led down to the Hufflepuff common room. Cedric was exhausted even though he'd gone back to the chair halfway through the tour at Dumbledore's suggestion. His body ached and when they'd reached the entranceway, he braked his chair to pull out his flask of Abdoleo. Watching him unstopper it and drink, Dumbledore said, "I have your class timetable for you now so you don't have to wait until breakfast, as you may need a bit of extra time." And he drew the parchment from his pocket, handing it to Cedric, who resealed the flask and then accepted the timetable, unfolding it to glance it over.

It wasn't quite what he'd expected. "No Transfigurations?"

"Look at the bottom."

Cedric did. "Special classes?" he asked, confused.

"Professor McGonagall believes that between your natural aptitude and the preparations you made for the Tournament last year, you've moved so far beyond your classmates that even NEWT-level classes would waste your time." Dumbledore smiled. "She has something special in mind, I believe."

Cedric felt his eyebrow go up, but didn't ask what. He'd find out tomorrow, since he had his first lesson after class, just before supper -- which meant he'd have to find a different time to meet with Granger. He noticed another notation at the bottom of the timetable, but that pleased him rather less. "I have special classes with Professor Snape, too? I'm not taking Potions." He'd received an E on his OWL and Snape didn't accept even an E for NEWT-level.

"Professor Snape believes -- and I agree -- that it might be in your best interest to learn to brew your own medical potions rather than depend wholly on others to brew them for you."

Cedric glanced up. He had a hard time believing Snape would care. The man didn't particularly like him, even if he also hadn't given him the same amount of grief he'd given Ed; Cedric had usually paired himself with Ed in class just to keep Snape off Ed's back. Snape probably wanted to teach Cedric to make the potions so he didn't have to bother with it himself. Abdoleo was simple enough for Madam Pomfrey to handle, but the precise mix of Restituo required for the severe spell damage to Cedric's lower body meant a trained apothecary or -- here -- a Potions Master had to brew it.

"What if I make it wrong?" Cedric asked, rubbing at his right leg, which was starting to ache rather badly. He considered taking more potion, but he should wait until he went to bed. It would put him to sleep if he took more now on top of the first dose. "It's supposed to be incredibly complicated."

"Professor Snape will be supervising you carefully, Cedric. We won't take chances with your health." He tilted his head. "Any other objections to your timetable?" It was said lightly, but even the Headmaster could lose his patience.

"No, sir," Cedric said now, folding the parchment back up and tucking it in a pocket of his robes.

"Then let me show you the last thing -- your room."

"My room? But won't I -- ?"

"Could you manage to get to your old room several times a day and on a tight schedule?"

That brought him up short. He honestly hadn't given it a lot of thought, but Dumbledore was right. The Sett hadn't been designed for handicapped students to navigate. He could reach the Common Room -- it was just past double doors and down four steps -- but the maze of tunnels leading to the dormitories, or dens, might be difficult to maneuver through on anything like a regular basis. "I won't be in the Sett?"

"You will always belong to your House, Cedric -- and be welcome there. But we didn't think the dormitories would be the best place for you to sleep. In fact, relatively speaking, it's somewhat recent that the Head Boy and Girl have remained in their Houses. When I attended here, each had their own rooms. That was," he added with a twinkle, "well over a century ago. Nonetheless, the rooms still exist. We reopened the Head Boy's chambers for you."

"Chambers?" Cedric asked, bemused. "But my denmates --"

"-- have been told you won't be sleeping there. In fact, Mr. Adamson and Mr. Summers took your trunk and Esiban up to your new rooms." Dumbledore led him back to the antechamber lift. Once inside, he tapped the fifth floor and said, "Your room is just down the main hallway next to the Prefects' Bathroom -- to which it has its own entrance, although you'll find that, as with the main door, it won't open if the room is already occupied." He winked.

"Wouldn't dream of peeking," Cedric replied, but he couldn't really say it with a straight face. There were a few of the girls . . . maybe one in particular . . .

He stopped that train of thought.

There were no stairs between the lift and his new rooms, and when Dumbledore opened the door for him, there was no down step, either. The floors were completely level. He could get around here easily. In fact, someone had been in not just to clean it up and air it out, but to insure that the furniture left open areas for his chair and no obstacle course for the crutches. He wasn't just being shuffled off here out of the way of the fully ambulatory -- they'd thought about what would be easy for him.

Rolling in, he looked around. The room wasn't large, but it was sumptuous, decorated in eighteenth-century gilt wallpaper and all four House colors: garnet, citron, emerald and sapphire. A chandelier of candles hung above and there were tapestries on the walls. In one corner sat a large teak desk with lamps. He ran his hand along the top of one patterned brocade sofa with teak accents while Dumbledore lit a fire in the grate. He was supposed to live here? He felt as if he occupied a museum.

The raccoon clicking madly in the corner to get his attention, however, didn't fit in a museum, and he had to laugh. "You're going to be a mess in here," he said, rolling his chair over to let the animal out. Esiban immediately climbed the chair to perch on his lap.

"Allow me to show you one other thing, then I shall leave you to settle in."

Cedric turned the chair and followed the Headmaster into the bedroom. It was somewhat smaller than the sitting area, most of the space taken up by a large draped bed, a wardrobe, a dressing table, and, in the corner, his old trunk -- looking quite small, battered and pathetic amid the splendor. "The toilet is through there," Dumbledore pointed. "We procured hand holds for you, but have left you to affix them with a Sticking charm, as you know best where you need them to be. The door to the prefects' bathroom opens from the other side of the toilet. But this is what I wanted to show you."

Moving to the wardrobe, he opened it with a tap of his wand, then lit the wand tip and motioned Cedric over. Skirting the bed, Cedric rolled nearer and Dumbledore pointed inside the empty space. All along the walls were the carved initials of centuries of Head Boys. It was clearly a tradition. Cedric leaned forward to see a set Dumbledore indicated near the back on the left: A.P.W.B.D.

"Whose are those?"

"Mine," Dumbledore said with a grin. "I think . . . " he glanced around the inside of the wardrobe, ". . . yes, I do believe that I was the third-to-last to occupy this room. No one since has left his mark." Turning back to Cedric, he added, "But I believe there are still a few empty spots, Mr. Diggory. You must use your wand tip, not a knife. Anything you carve with a blade will be gone again by next day."

"I don't know any spells for carving with a wand tip," Cedric protested.

"Ah -- that is the puzzle each Head Boy must solve. I have faith in your cleverness." And he moved back, extinguishing his wand and shutting the wardrobe doors. "And that is quite enough for one evening. I bid you a good night. Try not to fall asleep in the bath," he added on the way out, chuckling.

And the door shut, leaving Cedric to explore his new rooms. Despite their grandeur, he missed the noise of the Sett, and his denmates' company -- even Ed's snoring. It was very silent in these rooms, and cold, despite the fire. He might have liked to take advantage of the bath's proximity -- hot water often eased pain in his lower body -- but it was already after eleven so he put it off in favor of sleep.

It still took him half an hour to unpack, set up Esiban's litter box, and get ready for bed. Then he lifted himself out of the chair and into the four-poster where he removed the braces from his lower legs. Esiban waited on the spare pillow, chittering at him. "Hush, you. I know you were fed." Propping the braces against his bedside table, he hauled his legs up. Once in a bed, it was difficult -- or at least tedious -- for him to get out again until morning. He set the urinal on the tabletop in case he needed it, as well as his Abdoleo flask. Then he waved a wand to douse the lights and tried to sleep, but he'd never been good at turning off his mind, and the room's almost oppressive quiet didn't help. He kept thinking of Umbridge, or the Hat's song, or Hermione -- or Cho. Esiban crisscrossed his legs several times, then got off the bed to explore in the dark. Worried at what the raccoon was getting into, he tsked, calling him back up. "Don't trust you. Now settle down or I'll have to get up and put you in your cage." Esiban hissed to show his opinion of that suggestion, but did settle down against Cedric's side. Running his hands through the raccoon's thick fur, Cedric finally managed to drift off.

Somewhere in the wee small hours of morning, shooting pains in his legs and a terrible cramping woke him again. Fumbling for the Abdoleo flask, he swallowed a generous amount, then tried to ignore the pain until the potion took effect. It hadn't been this bad since right after he'd left St. Mungo's. His breath came fast as he struggled not to whimper like a child. Esiban was awake, too, and nuzzled his cheek, little nose wet and cold. He chittered a question. "I'm all right," Cedric whispered back. "Just hurts a bit." Turning around three times, Esiban settled right beside Cedric's head.

Cedric slept once more, only to wake again with the same severe symptoms. He was fairly sure it was past sunrise by that point, but he had no window and it hurt too much to look for his pocket watch. His right leg in particular was on fire and twitching, and he had to grab the sheets to keep from crying out. Esiban was nosing him almost frantically. "Stop!" he snapped. He took more pain medication -- almost all he had -- then used the urinal and lay back, panting and waiting for the Abdoleo to knock him out once more. "Sorry," he said to the raccoon who'd burrowed against his side as if he could soothe Cedric with his body. "I can't get up to feed you." Fumbling for his wand, he pointed it through the open bedroom door, whispering, "Alohamora." The front door cracked open. To Esiban, he said, "Go on. Go to the kitchens. They'll give you something to eat." The raccoon climbed up on his chest, looking down at him a moment, then leapt to the floor and scuttled off. Cedric spelled the door shut, rolling onto his side and covering his head with a pillow.

What a way to begin his final year, unable even to get out of bed for his first class. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to come back here.

Still annoyed at the twins and their Skiving Snackboxes -- and more worried than she cared to admit by their dire warnings of fifth-year class stress -- Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table after breakfast, scanning her new timetable and listening to Ron and Harry discuss OWLs. "D'you reckon it's true," Harry asked, "that this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?"

"Oh, yeah. Bound to be, isn't it?" Ron replied. "OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Not really. Except . . . well . . . "

Curious at his bashful tone, Hermione glanced up in time to see Ron's face take on a sheepish expression. "What?" Harry asked him.

"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," Ron said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Yeah, it would," Harry replied with rather more enthusiasm.

"But they're, like, the elite," Ron pointed out. "You've got to be really good --" Abruptly, he let out a bark of laughter and pointed at something over Hermione's shoulder.

Frowning, she turned in time to see Esiban waddling his way down the whole length of the Hufflepuff table, right over the food (to cries of outrage from those still eating). "What on earth . . ?" she muttered. She sincerely doubted Cedric let his pet run wild in the castle.

The raccoon stopped in front of one of Cedric's older friends, rose up on his back legs, and made odd clicking noises, as if he were telling the boy something. Apparently not speaking raccoon, the boy scooped Esiban off his plate and dumped him on the floor. "Cheeky beast. Where's your master? I know he doesn't let you sit on the dishes."

But Esiban was back up on the table moments later, in the middle of the shaggy-haired boy's plate once more. "What's up with you?" the boy said, shoving him again. "Gerroff!"

Her last pumpkin muffin still in hand, Hermione rose to walk over even as Cho Chang approached, too, from the Ravenclaw table. Seeing Cho, Hermione hung back. "Where's Ced, Peter?" Cho asked.

"I thought he was with you," the shaggy-haired boy -- Peter, apparently -- replied.

"I haven't seen him all morning. He's not been to breakfast yet. Isn't he up?"

"I have no idea. He's not in our room anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Dumbledore moved him." Peter didn't look happy, and it was news to Hermione as well. She wondered what Cedric thought of it. "He's upstairs now. They said he can't get in and out of our den well enough." Peter's frown deepened. "We'd have taken a new room for him, but nobody asked."

"Upstairs where?" Cho pressed.

"Old Head-Boy suite next to the prefects' bathroom."

Hermione didn't wait to hear more. Turning on her heel, she hurried out of the hall, Harry and Ron following after. "You think something's wrong with Ced?" Harry asked as they made their way up the stairs.

"I think Cedric's raccoon is desperately trying to get someone's attention, yes," she answered. "He's very clever, Esiban."

Hermione hadn't yet had the opportunity to use the prefects' bathroom, but she and Ron -- and Harry, of course -- all knew where it was after last year: fourth door to the left from the statue of Boris the Bewildered. But a door stood to either side of it, spaced at equal distances. "Which d'you suppose is his room?" Harry asked, looking between them.

"I don't know --" Hermione cut off as Cho, the boy Peter, and two other seventh years came down the hallway toward them from the direction of the stairs . . . Esiban waddling in the lead.

"What are you doing here?" Cho asked as they approached.

"Uh --" Harry appeared completely tongue-tied in Cho's presence.

"Move," Peter said, face serious as he pushed past Hermione to approach the door on the right, banging hard. "Ced? You in there, mate?"

There was no reply and Peter tried the glass knob. It was open and he and the other two older boys went in, leaving Cho in the hallway with Hermione, Harry and Ron.

She turned on all three of them. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh," Harry said again, and Hermione cut in, "We saw that Esiban was upset. We thought perhaps we should check on Cedric."

Cho's expression hovered between confusion and annoyance. "What do you think we're doing?" But before she could say more, one of the older boys whose name Hermione didn't know burst out of the door again and took off at a run down the hallway. Alarmed now, all four made their way inside, a bit tentatively in case Cedric wasn't decent. Yet they found themselves in a small but beautifully decorated sitting room. The door to the bedroom beyond was half open and they could hear Peter talking to Cedric. "Hey, mate, hold on there. Ed went for Madam Pomfrey."

Harry pushed forward into the bedroom, as well. "What's wrong with Cedric?"

There was a pause and Hermione could just imagine the older boys wondering who Harry thought he was. "It's okay," she heard Cedric say, his voice very strained. "I'll be all right, Harry. Just -- having a bad day. Happens sometimes." Hermione bit the side of her hand. She'd known his legs still pained him occasionally, but she'd never heard him sound like that.

Cho had moved halfway across the sitting room floor, as if unsure she'd be allowed in Cedric's bedroom. Hermione wanted to join her, but didn't dare. It wasn't her place, no matter how much she wished she could see how Cedric was, not just listen. She stood with Ron just inside the main entrance, glancing around at the furnishings without really paying attention. Cedric's raccoon sat atop the sofa, up on its hind legs, watching the bedroom door. Realizing she still held a muffin, Hermione approached Esiban, offering it to him. "Good boy for coming to get us," she said. Esiban eyed the muffin a moment, then snatched it from her and scuttled off to a corner to eat.

"That is one seriously weird animal," Ron observed. "I'm surprised Cedric's allowed to bring it."

"Like I said," Hermione replied as she came back to stand beside him, "Esiban's very clever. And Cedric would miss him terribly if he had to stay home. Imagine if someone took Hedwig from Harry?"

"It's still not exactly your standard pet."

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey arrived with the third boy, Ed. Entering the bedroom, she asked a few questions, then Hermione heard her scold, "You've overtaxed yourself, young man. This curse attacks your nervous system. Too much stress causes a flare up. I want you to stay in bed today and sleep, and I'm going to have a word with Professor Dumbledore. I can't believe he made you Head Boy on top of everything else you've been through. Take this." She must be giving Cedric a potion. "Mr. Summers, go and fetch him some breakfast." One of the older boys -- the good-looking, blue-eyed one -- ducked out to leave the suite. "And I'd like one of you to stay with him," Madam Pomfrey finished.

"I don't need --"

"You be quiet."

"I'll stay," Cho called from outside the door, moving up finally to peer around the edge.

"No, really. Cho -- go to class. I don't need a babysitter."

"Apparently you do, Mr. Diggory, as you don't seem to know your physical limits. Miss Chang may stay. Perhaps she can talk some sense into you. The rest of you, go away and let him rest."

Harry, Peter and the big boy named Ed emerged as Cho went in. Peter and Ed paused beside Hermione and Ron, and Harry. "We'll be back to check on him later," Peter said. "He's still our denmate, wherever they're making him sleep."

It was, Hermione thought, a polite dismissal. She, Harry and Ron were being told they'd trespassed. Harry, however, wasn't in the mood to be pushed around, even by seventh years. "He's my friend, too, and he saved my life. I'll be by later to check on him, as well."

Peter and Ed seemed a bit taken aback, and Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Harry? We'd best go or we'll be late to Binns' class." To the other two, she said, "Excuse us," and she pulled Harry and Ron out the door.

"Prats," Harry muttered as he followed her down the hallway. "They act like Ced's their property."

"Well imagine how you'd feel if some little third year you barely knew talked as if he had special rights to Ron? They're his friends, Harry. They've known him for six years."

"Really fine friends when they couldn't be bothered to visit him in hospital all this summer, aren't they?"

Hermione didn't reply because Harry had a point, however sharply stated. Yet given the worried expressions she'd seen on their faces, she wondered if the fact Cedric hadn't had visitors that summer was because they hadn't made an effort, or because Cedric had kept them subtly at bay? Sometimes he wore personal space like plate armor.

In any case, they made it to Binn's class on the edge of late, and for once she was glad their professor was oblivious. As per usual, Harry and Ron paid the lecture no attention, leaving her to take notes from the dreadful bore, although she was terribly worried about Cedric and having a difficult time paying attention. She was so sick of this. "How would it be," she told them after class as they left the room, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our OWLs," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione . . . "

She spun on him. "Well, you'd deserve it! You don't even try to listen to him, do you?" What she wanted to say was, 'You just take advantage of me because you know I'll let you.'

"We do try," Ron said, putting on his best 'innocent' face. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration -- you're just cleverer than we are -- is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish." She knew he was conning her, but she dropped the argument and pushed out into the courtyard. It was drizzling, the sky overhead as gray as her thoughts. Ron and Harry were debating what lesson they'd get in potions and she wasn't really paying attention until -- of all people -- Cho Chang rounded the corner, hesitating at the sight of them. Wasn't Cho supposed to be watching Cedric? Who was taking care of him then? Had they left him alone?

Cho approached. "Hi, Harry, Ron . . . Hermione."

Harry had stood up, smoothing his robes. "How's Ced?"

"He made me leave." She glanced down, frowning. "He doesn't want me to miss class, plus he hates being babied, as he put it. I quote -- 'Go away and let me die in peace.'" She tried to smile but it wasn't convincing. "He was the same way after the Second Task when he came down with a cold from the Lake. Terrible patient."

Hermione wasn't sure if Cho were just making conversation, or attempting a subtle reminder that she'd been in the Lake with him as his 'treasure.' And Hermione didn't remember Cedric not wanting visitors in St. Mungo's. Maybe he just didn't want Cho. (She immediately suppressed that thought.)

In any case, Ron interrupted with the most beside-the-point question ever, "Is that a Tornados' badge? You don't support them, do you?"

Cho -- and Harry, too -- seemed startled. "Yeah, I do," Cho replied, hand going up to cover the little blue badge with the T on it.

"Have you always supported them or just since they started winning the league?"

"I've supported them since I was six," Cho answered with a sniff, then turned on her heel. "Anyway . . . I'll see you later, Harry."

Hermione spun on Ron. "You are so tactless!"

"What? I only asked her if --"

"Don't you think she might be worried about Cedric? Maybe she wanted to talk about him, not have you attack her about Quidditch teams." Not to mention that Ron had just lost her the opportunity to find out more about Cedric's condition.

"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only --"

"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"

"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season --"

"What does it matter?" Hermione was yelling now and she realized, vaguely, that her own reaction to Ron made no more sense than his challenge to Cho in the first place. She was just upset and worried on the one hand, and feeling as though Ron and Harry were taking advantage of her on the other.

"That's the bell," Harry interrupted and they all headed down to the dungeon for Potions, which was, if possible, even worse than History of Magic. At least history was simply boring. Snape was his usual vicious self, and Hermione, who was used to being appreciated by teachers, had never understood why he didn't like her no matter how hard she tried. His dislike predated her friendship with Harry too, so she knew it wasn't that alone.

At least she was able to produce a proper Draught of Peace that didn't incur any critique from Snape. But when he vanished Harry's less-than-stellar potion, leaving him with nothing to turn in for a grade, Hermione seethed all the same. Snape was so unfair, and she said so as soon as they were at lunch.

"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

"I did think he might be a bit better this year," she said. "I mean . . . you know . . . " She glanced around to be sure no one could overhear. "Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," Ron said. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape; where's the evidence he really stopped working for You Know Who?"

Hermione frowned, because she had her private doubts, as well, but she said, "I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron."

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," Harry said before Ron could answer. He sounded tired and annoyed at once, and Hermione glanced at him. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." And abruptly, he rose from the Gryffindor table to stalk off, leaving behind his mostly untouched shepherd's pie, and her with Ron.

They watched him depart, then Hermione said. "I wish he'd stop taking his temper out on us." Ron just shrugged, but looked shamefaced all the same.

Hermione was no longer hungry either, and glanced around, noting the blue-eyed boy who was friends with Cedric carrying two plates. She rose. "I'll meet up with you and Harry after your Divination class. I need to do some work." And she headed out after the boy. "Excuse me," she said, running to catch him in the Entrance Hall. "Is that plate for Cedric?"

The boy turned to smile down at her. He was entirely too attractive for comfort with wide cheekbones and vividly blue eyes. "You're Granger."

"Yes."

"Ced talks about you a bit."

She blushed. He did? "Um, I've finished eating. I can take him his lunch." She suddenly felt desperate to talk to someone friendly.

He eyed her, then handed over the extra plate. "Tell him we're thinking about him, all right?"

"I will," she said accepting it; it was still warm. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Scott Summers," he said, and turning with his own plate, went back into the Great Hall.

She climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and found her way back to Cedric's rooms, knocking softly in case he was asleep.

"Come in," he called, and she opened the door. It had a heavy glass knob instead of an old-fashioned ring. "It's you!" He sounded surprised. And he was out of bed, too, sitting in his wheelchair at the big teak desk in the front room, reading something, dressed in a white undershirt and tracksuit trousers.

"I thought you were supposed to be resting?" she scolded.

"I am resting. If I sleep any more, I'll have a headache." He waved her over and took the plate, moving his book and setting it on the desk in front of him. "Thank you. I'm starving."

Backing up, she sat down in an elegant wing chair and watched him dig in. "How do you feel?"

"Better. But then, I've had so much Abdoleo, I'm as high as a kite."

She giggled. "You don't sound it." Although he did, perhaps, look it. There was something glassy about his eyes that she remembered from St. Mungo's.

"Give me five minutes. I'm bound to say something silly."

"You sent Cho away." He glanced over sharply and Hermione explained, "We saw her in the courtyard. She's worried about you, you know."

He just shook his head. "She was smothering me, and I was still grumpy. If I didn't make her leave, I'd've said something unfortunate."

She watched him. There were things she wanted to ask -- about Cho and what he felt for her -- but this wasn't the time, and she lacked the courage anyway.

He was watching her, too. "You seem unhappy."

Sighing, she hesitated, then found herself blurting out everything -- the quarrel after History of Magic, her frustration with Harry and Ron, the mess with Cho, Snape's unfairness to Harry, and Harry blowing up at her and Ron afterwards at lunch. He listened quietly while he ate, and she wondered how he could do that -- get her to confide her frustrations so easily. Maybe it was just that he did listen.

When she ran out of words (and he ran out of food), he pushed the plate aside and frowned. "From now on, tell Harry and Ron to take their own notes. It's really unfair of them to expect you to do their work for them, the lazy gits. Binns is deadly dull -- pun intended; you've just got to grin and bear it. If they want to pass their OWL, they can go to the library and read some books on the lecture topic. Then they can play hangman in class all they like and it won't matter. That's what I did."

She found herself smiling. "You just said the L-word." At his puzzled glance, she elaborated. "Library. They both tend to avoid it."

"Oh, bloody hell, that's their problem." She laughed. He must be a bit high -- he wasn't usually so blunt in his criticism of people. "As for the rest of it," he went on, "Snape picks a scapegoat in every class. I think it makes him feel superior or something. In our year, it was Ed. He's got a good heart, but not a sharp mind, bless him. Snape was positively vicious -- can't count the number of times he called him a brainless moron to his face. But Ed could fly rings around him on a Quidditch Pitch! Doubt Snape could even stay on a broom, the swot."

Hermione flushed, pricked a bit by Cedric's dismissal as she wasn't an especially good flier either, and she'd been called 'swot' often enough, growing up. She knew he hadn't meant to hurt her, but when he'd had too much pain medication, he talked twice as much and twice as fast -- and without watching what he said. Most of the time, she liked it. Unguarded Cedric was charming -- a bit like unkempt Cedric. (Just now, half his hair was sticking out.) But occasionally, he said something he might not have otherwise, and she decided then that she'd never let him see her fly.

"Is Ed one of the boys from this morning?" she asked. She thought she remembered one of them being called Ed.

"The one with the very short hair, yes. Ed Carpenter."

"The others?"

"Peter Adamson and Scott Summers. They're my denmates -- well, were."

"I met Scott; he had your lunch originally. He asked me to tell you that they're thinking about you." Cedric smiled at that. "Are you angry to be up here?" she asked abruptly. "I overheard Peter tell Cho this morning that Dumbledore moved you without asking anyone. I think he was insulted."

The smile fell off Cedric's face and he looked away. "I miss the Sett." Gray eyes flicking back to her, he explained, "That's what we call our dormitory. A sett is a --"

"A badger den. I know."

"It's a bit of a warren, actually. Lots of narrow halls with sharp corners, steps up and down into rooms -- used to be a cellar. I could still get around it, but --" He shrugged. "I suppose Dumbledore thought this would be easier for me. I can go right out the door, down the hall to a lift that takes me to the first floor, the classrooms, and the Great Hall. Direct route. Even if I could get around the Sett, it'd be a lot more problematic to get anywhere on time, and I couldn't come and go easily."

It was the most Hermione had ever heard about the Hufflepuff dormitories. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you got moved," she said.

He shrugged and glanced back at his plate to conceal his feelings. "If I hadn't, I don't suppose you'd be sitting here, would you?"

"I suppose not," she agreed, glancing around, really seeing the room finally. "It's . . . quite something."

"Used to be the Head Boy's chambers."

"Used to be? Still is, if you're here."

He grinned. "Touché. Although I might feel better about it if they'd given Violet the Head Girl's room."

"You're near the bathroom, at least."

"There is that, but Dumbledore made me promise not to peek in on the girls. Rather takes the fun out of it." She burst out laughing at the unexpectedness of that remark and his cheeks pinked from blushing. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that. Just teasing -- honest."

She laughed harder. "It's all right. And what did you want to talk about in the library later? I don't think you'll be getting there today."

Turning serious, he frowned. "Umbridge. Do you know who she is?"

"Not really. Harry said she works for Fudge, and was at his trial."

"She's Fudge's personal Undersecretary at the Ministry. Now she's here -- teaching. She's not a teacher." His scowl deepened. With those heavy brows, he could look rather forbidding. "I want to talk to my mother about her to see what she knows."

"Your mother? Doesn't your father work for the Ministry?"

"Yes, but my mother was in her House, even if I'm fairly sure Umbridge is quite a bit older. Still, my mother might know something."

"What was her House?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Can't you guess after that speech Umbridge gave? Slytherin."

And Hermione sat back, stunned at that bit of news. Cedric's mother had been in Slytherin? But was married to Amos Diggory? Then again, she was related to Sirius, and Cedric had said she was a pure blood. Maybe, like Sirius, she'd been a black sheep? But Sirius hadn't been in Slytherin House. Hermione had a difficult time imagining a Slytherin as mother to a Hufflepuff, especially as the two of them seemed rather close.

"You're shocked," he said, eying her. "And I don't think it's about Umbridge.

"A bit," she admitted. "I suppose I just assumed your mother was in Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor."

"Naturally not Hufflepuff." He sounded suddenly aggressive. "Hufflepuff is full of pushovers, and Slytherin is the bad House, right?"

Flushing, she glared. "I didn't say either of those things, Ced."

Dropping his head back to stare up at the candle-laden chandelier, he sighed. "Sorry. You didn't. But I think them sometimes." His head came down again. "You heard the Sorting Hat's song, right?" She nodded. "Voldemort works by dividing people."

"I know," she said. "I told Harry and Ron that this morning. Ron's response was, 'If that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance.'"

Cedric snorted. "I don't like Slytherin," he admitted bluntly. "But I love my mother. She's the best of what that House is, Hermione. It has its strengths."

"I know it does -- it must, or it wouldn't still be part of Hogwarts." Or that's what she always told herself when she was feeling especially vicious towards Draco or Pansy or the others.

He was watching her with a kind of vague intensity that she thought owed half to the drugs; his pupils were dilated. "We've got to find a way for all the Houses -- all four of them -- to work together. Umbridge is here to undermine Dumbledore, maybe even get him sacked. I'm virtually certain of it. And she'll succeed if we let her divide us." Then he leaned forward, head lowered a bit, frowning at his long hands. "Can I tell you a secret? One you can't tell anybody else -- even Harry? Probably shouldn't, but I need to tell someone."

She nodded.

"I knew I was Head Boy back in July. Dumbledore asked me in advance if I'd be."

She stared at him, shocked. "He asked you? Isn't that -- ?"

"Highly irregular, yes. But he told me he wasn't doing me any favors and wouldn't put it on me without my permission. I think he knew this was coming then, and needed someone in the Order as Head Boy, in case they do manage to remove him. Someone who'll still be here. It's a war, Hermione, and not just against Voldemort. That's the problem. This war has three fronts, and one of them's the Ministry of Magic. Umbridge is Fudge's weapon at Hogwarts."

She wanted to argue with him, but found she couldn't. She just sat there, still staring. "What are we going to do?" she asked finally.

He twisted his head just a little, looking at her sideways. "Fight back, of course." His smile grew wicked, and he held out a hand to her. She put hers in it and his fingers closed over hers. "You're with me?"

She squeezed back. "Absolutely."

"That's my Granger. Now go to class before you're late, and help me think of something clever, right?" He released her hand.

It was only later that she realized he'd called her 'my Granger,' and had given his confidences to her, not to Cho, had asked for her help, not Cho's. Cho might be his girlfriend, but she, Hermione Jean Granger, was his partner-in-crime. She could live with that; partnerships lasted longer. She wouldn't let him down.

Later, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was the memory of his trust that -- a page into the first chapter of Slinkhard's awful (and useless) Defensive Magical Theory -- made her shut the book and raise her hand into the air, waiting for Umbridge to recognize her.

Fight back, he'd said. She smiled to herself as she watched Umbridge notice, then decide to ignore, her hand. She was her Head Boy's faithful prefect. If he wanted her to fight back, she would.

Endnotes: Obviously, sections of this chapter are a real blend of Book 5 dialogue and original material, although I will admit to one deliberate change from the book to here: Hermione's use of 'Ronald.' That reflects her movie dialogue, of course, not the book. Some people hate that usage; I like it. (shrug) It feels very Hermione to me. Also, I thought it important to reproduce the Sorting Hat's song in full.

On Dumbledore's age: When Finding Himself was first written, the birthyear given for Dumbledore on the Lexicon was 1841. After Book 7 was released, that had to be changed to 1881 because JKR revised his age. Therefore, his age in this novel reflects the original birthyear; it's not that I can't properly add and subtract. ;