By midafternoon, the pain was back in Cedric's lower body and he took another dose of the stronger Abdoleo that Madam Pomfrey had brought that morning, then went to sleep off the worst of it. A firm knock on his door woke him, and he sat up, dazed, running a hand through his greasy hair. He really needed a bath, and hoped this wasn't Cho.

"Come in," he called because getting out of bed was a tedious process.

His visitor wasn't Cho. The door opened to reveal a scowling Harry Potter. Puzzled by the boy's expression and still feeling as if he were swimming up to consciousness through cloudy water, he said, "You don't look happy about something."

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but it's all right. I shouldn't sleep much more today or I won't sleep tonight. Come in. What time is it?"

Harry entered and shut the door, coming through the sitting room until he stood in the doorway to Cedric's bedroom. He glanced at his watch as Cedric ran a hand over his face and tried to get his bearings. "It's half past three," Harry said.

"Isn't that early to be out of class?"

"I got thrown out."

"What?" That woke Cedric up and he dropped his hand to stare at Harry. "Thrown out? How'd you manage that on the first day?"

Harry paced around like a caged panther. "We can't all be model students and Head Boy."

Cedric decided to ignore that. Instead, he waited. Finally Harry stopped the pacing and practically shouted, "Bugger Umbridge!" Then he glared defiantly at Cedric.

"Am I supposed to tell you to wash your mouth out with soap?"

Harry continued to glare. "You're really frustrating, you know that?"

"I am?"

"Why don't you get angry about things?" Harry practically shouted.

Unsure if it were Harry not making sense or if he were still too drugged to find the sense, Cedric rubbed his face again. "I'm really not following you. What'd I do that's got you so mad at me?"

"I'm not angry with you," Harry said, "I'm just angry," and he sank down atop Cedric's trunk to stare almost blindly at the wardrobe and Esiban's cage beside it. The raccoon was scratching to get out. "Is he in that cage for a reason?"

"He's a raccoon, Harry. He gets into everything if I leave him loose when I'm completely out of it. You can let him free now, though, if you want."

Rising, Harry went over to squat down by the cage, tugging at the wire door. "It's stuck."

"Oh, sorry. Forgot. You've got to Unstick it. Otherwise he can get it open."

Harry pulled his wand out and muttered the charm, then raised the door to let Esiban escape. First, the animal greeted Harry, nose to nose, then leapt onto the bed, scolding Cedric in chitters. "I think he likes you," Cedric observed. "Right now, I'm not his favorite person."

Harry was watching Esiban crawl all over Cedric's lap. "Doesn't look that way to me."

"So tell me what happened to get you thrown out? I'm assuming it was Umbridge's class?"

"Yeah." Harry stood and walked back to sit on Cedric's trunk once more. "We're not doing anything in there. She's got us reading -- says we're not to do any spells until our OWLs. If we've got the theory, we can do the spells, she says."

Cedric, who'd been making up with Esiban by stroking his ears, jerked his head around. "You're not serious?"

"Completely. She wrote out these 'course objectives' on the board, or whatever she called them -- thinks we need to get back to basics or some lot of rubbish. When Hermione and Dean and Parvati challenged her, she called us liars -- you and me. And Dumbledore. And I got upset, and --"

"Wait," Cedric said, raising a hand. His brain was keeping up only slowly. "Hold on a minute. Tell me exactly what happened in class, from the beginning, right?"

So Harry did, from Hermione's initial challenge to Umbridge's increasing irritation at student questions, and finishing with Harry's final outburst after the woman's claims about Cedric's 'accident.'

Cedric wanted to drop his head into his hands and howl in frustration. "When I said 'fight back' that wasn't what I meant," he muttered.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked.

Cedric just raised his head again and shook it. This was his fault. He'd told Hermione to resist -- he just hadn't thought she'd take him so literally, or start so soon. "Nothing," he said.

"You think I was stupid, or something?" Harry asked now, voice tense.

"Umbridge was baiting you, Harry. The same as Fudge baited me at the trial. I can hardly criticize you for biting. I blew my top, too. Just --" He made a motion with his hand. "Don't let her string you along, all right? You do that, and you do what she wants. You're playing her game."

"Easy for you to say." Harry was still angry.

"I know," Cedric replied. He wasn't going to let Harry bait him, either. "I know it is. We'll see if I can keep my cool tomorrow; I've got her then. At least I've some idea now of what game she's playing."

"You think she did that on purpose?"

"I think she knows how to take advantage of a situation, yes. Like I told Hermione, Harry -- this is a war with three fronts. The Ministry is one of them, not just Voldemort. Don't underestimate Umbridge. Not taking her seriously is what she's hoping we'll do. Better to let her underestimate us."

"So we just let her do all that? And when were you talking to Hermione?"

"At lunch. As for Umbridge lying -- let it be water off a duck's back. Same as with The Daily Prophet this summer. Just grin and bear it, Harry. It's the only way."

Harry leapt to his feet again. "You just don't get it, Cedric! Nobody's staring at you like you're cracked! Nobody's calling you a liar! They applaud you! You get to be Head Boy! You get the girlfriend! Nobody mutters about you or stares at you in the hallway --"

Abruptly, he stopped, as if just realizing what he'd said. Cedric -- who was struggling to keep a reign on his own temper and glad for once of the drugs -- asked, "They don't stare at me in the hall? At least you don't clatter when you walk."

Harry turned a brilliant scarlet to match his House colors. "Sorry."

Cedric just shook his head, swallowing and counting to three before going on, "I'm sorry they're talking about you. It's not fair. And I'm sorry Umbridge went after you your first day. If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty certain I'm next on her list. But the one she's really after is Dumbledore, you know."

"You think that's why she's here?"

"I'd stake my broom on it." Not that his broom did him any good, currently. "We're only her means to an end, you and me. Dumbledore's the one the Ministry sees as a threat."

"You just -- you seem so calm. I don't know how you do it. Everything that's happened to you . . . you should hate me."

"Stop it," Cedric said. "We already had this conversation; I'm not going to repeat it constantly. I'm very angry -- but not at you. Or not about what happened in the maze, anyway. Now as for letting Hermione take your notes in History of Magic, that's a different matter. Take your own notes from now on, Harry. It's not fair to Hermione."

Harry's head jerked up. "How d'you know about that?"

"Hermione told me."

"Oh, yeah? She tells you everything now? And what was she doing in your room at lunch anyway? I thought you were seeing Cho?"

The kid was still teetering on the edge, and Cedric should have known better than to bring up History of Magic. More evidence of the pain potion not letting him think straight. "She just brought me lunch. And I am seeing Cho. Did Hermione seeing Viktor Krum stop her from talking to you?"

Hands shoved in his pockets, Harry glared from where he stood near the door. "I knew her first."

"So? I can only be friends with people I knew before I met Cho? That means I can't talk to you either."

"I'm a boy."

"And?"

"You're being thick, Ced."

"I'm trying to make a point."

"And missing the point, too, on purpose! It's not the same and you know it." Harry glared. "I've seen how you look at Hermione. It's not fair to Cho."

Cedric opened his mouth to snap back, but bit his tongue, replying coldly instead, "Cho wrote to me all summer. Every other day. Faithfully. She's clever and sweet and good-hearted, and if you think I'd simply throw her aside . . . " He trailed off because, in fact, he had been trying to think of a way to get out of this relationship gracefully ever since the train. "I'm not that much of a bastard." The situation with Cho was none of Harry's business, even if Harry did like her.

Harry must have realized he'd overstepped himself because he shuffled his feet and, hands still in pockets, glanced up once, then down again. "Can you still fly?"

Caught completely off guard, Cedric ran a hand through his hair again and looked away. "No. No, I can't."

Harry just nodded. "I was afraid of that. Listen -- Ron and Hermione told me what Malfoy said to you in the prefects' carriage on the train, about Quidditch. We, uh, sort of had an idea."

If Cedric's mind had been working at its normal speed, he might have formed a coherent response. As it was, he just stared back blankly. When he didn't reply, Harry went on, "I talked to Madam Hooch last night after supper -- just to be sure it's not against the rules or something."

"What's not against the rules?"

"You staying Captain."

"Harry, I can't fly."

"I know. But she said there isn't any rule that the Captain has to be on the team. It's just . . . how it's always been done here. So you can stay Captain if you want. You'll just have to find a new Seeker. You can, um, coach."

Cedric frowned and scratched the back of his neck, not at all sure what he was feeling. "I don't --" He stopped. "First, thank you for thinking to ask in the first place."

"But you don't want to do it."

Cedric looked up, afraid Harry was going to get angry again, but he didn't seem upset. "I'm not sure if I do," Cedric replied. "It's not -- It's not Quidditch that really interests me," he admitted after a moment. "I mean I enjoy it, keep up with scores, have a favorite team. Going to the World Cup was . . . amazing." He smiled and got an answering grin from Harry. Then he paused again. "It's the flying," he said finally, swallowing as he recalled how it had felt to sit on the grass in the field behind his house, useless broom in hand, knowing he'd never sit it again. "I don't know that I could go out there and coach, watch them fly and not be able to do it myself. Maybe that's selfish of me --"

"It's not selfish," Harry interrupted. "I just . . . didn't know if you might want to stay Captain."

"I really do appreciate you asking --"

"You don't have to do it because I asked, Ced. It just seemed like everything got taken away from you."

"You pointed out earlier that I'm Head Boy," Cedric said, smiling.

Harry ducked his chin. "Yeah, well, I know that's work. You didn't sound exactly gloating about it."

"It is work. And perhaps . . . it's not such a bad thing not to be Captain this year. I doubt I could do right by it. I've got enough on my plate as it is. But I do thank you, Harry."

Harry just nodded. "I reckon I should go to dinner."

"Yeah, I reckon you should." Harry turned to leave and Cedric called, "Hey, Harry." Harry turned back. "Try not to let what they're saying get to you. I know it's hard, but we'll find a better way to fight them than you getting detentions, all right?" The words came out more trite than Cedric had meant them, and scuffing his shoe again, Harry just shrugged one shoulder and headed out.

Cedric lay back on the bed, Esiban curled on his chest, dozing. He wished his mind was clear enough to formulate a plan, but one thing was very clear: he'd better come up with something more subtle than a class mutiny before half the fifth years wound up in detention. Or worse.

"Granger, you little nitwit," he muttered to himself, but not with real heat. While she might recognize subtle, she wasn't very adept at reproducing it. And really, he liked her that way.

He fell asleep in the midst of his pondering and didn't wake fully even when Peter and Cho arrived upstairs after dinner with a plate. Peter puttered around his bedroom, feeding the raccoon while Cho helped him sit up to take his medicine, ruffling his hair. "Thanks," he whispered to her, "you're sweet. Sorry I was such a bastard this morning." He still smarted from Harry's words to him earlier.

"You're flying rather high," she told him in her soft burr, amused. "But I accept the apology." She kissed his nose.

"I don't think you're up to eating dinner, but I'm leaving the juice," Peter told him. "You go back to sleep, mate. Ed'll be by in the morning."

"He doesn't have to --"

"Shut it." And Peter left, followed out by Cho. Cedric rolled onto his side and slept again.

Dinner was awful. First, Hermione felt badly about Harry's detention. She really hadn't intended that result. After Umbridge had sent Harry out of the classroom, all resistance had drained from the rest them, even she, Dean, Parvati, and Ron, and no one had objected when Umbridge had given them that sickening smile. "You will now return to reading chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' Unless anybody else would like to join Mr. Potter in detention?" At least Hermione could say she hadn't opened her book, and Umbridge hadn't challenged her about it. But Hermione couldn't help feeling Umbridge had got what she'd been after all along, and she, Hermione, had helped to bring it about.

So much for fighting back.

Second, there were the whispers. Harry had taken a seat silently between her and Ron. All around them, she could hear people talking, "He says he saw Cedric Diggory cursed by Lucius Malfoy . . . " "He reckons he dueled with You Know Who . . . " "Come off it . . . " "He says Dumbledore fought You Know Who, too . . . " "Who does he think he's kidding?" "Well, Cedric did get cursed . . . " "We don't know what happened to Cedric. Maybe he did have an accident." "True. Being attacked by Death Eaters sounds a lot better than accidentally cursing yourself, or something."

Eyes kept sliding in Harry's direction, as if hoping Harry might respond, but Harry ignored them. The best that could be said of it all was how Hufflepuff table had dug themselves in like their namesake, the badger. They glared out at the other students, and once, Hermione heard the seventh year Ed say -- loudly -- "Some people might want to think twice before they imply that Ced's making things up!" There were claps and calls of 'Yeah,' from the rest of the Hufflepuffs, but across the hall at the Slytherin table, the response was derisive laughter. Hermione could see Cho sitting among her Ravenclaw friends, jaw clenched, close to tears or a temper tantrum -- but the rest of Ravenclaw didn't appear as sympathetic.

Frustrated, Hermione wanted to stand up and shout in defense of Harry, too, but felt the same sense of pointlessness that had dogged her since class. What would shouting prove? People would just laugh at her, too.

And Cedric thought he could unite the Houses?

"What I don't get," Harry snarled as he put his knife and fork down, "is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them . . . "

"The thing is, Harry, I'm not sure they did," Hermione replied. And her frustration finally boiled over. Slamming down her own knife and fork, she got up. "Let's get out of here." She marched off, aware that people were watching them, and that their departure could be interpreted as a retreat, but she just couldn't take it any more, and neither, she thought, could Harry.

When they'd reached the first floor landing, Harry asked, "What d'you mean, you're not sure they believed Dumbledore?" He sounded almost indignant.

"Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened," Hermione told him quietly, looking over the railing into the main entranceway below. "First Cedric arrived back without you, yelling to get Dumbledore and shoving people around, then running back into the maze like he'd lost his mind. Then when you and Cedric came back the second time, he started screaming and clutching at his back. No one saw what happened to him except you. Cedric was in the infirmary, unconscious for days, and neither of you were at the final banquet. We just had Dumbledore's word for it that You Know Who had come back, fought you and wounded Cedric."

"Which is the truth!" Harry almost shouted. "He was there!"

Hermione put a hand to her forehead. "I know it's the truth, so will you please stop biting my head off? I'm not doubting you, or Cedric, or Dumbledore. My point is that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase, Dumbledore's going senile, and Cedric's father is suddenly acting outside his authority. It didn't do a lot to support your stories."

"The Ministry agreed last summer there were Death Eaters, at least!" Harry protested.

"The Ministry said it was Barty Crouch and a friend or two, and while yes, he's a Death Eater, he's also right around the bend, and that's how the Ministry is describing it: Mad Barty Crouch, not Death Eater Barty Crouch. And the fact he was here at Hogwarts masquerading as Moody for almost the whole year doesn't help Dumbledore's case. There've been accusations of a coverup here -- not at the Ministry -- and that this whole story was concocted to hide Dumbledore's incompetence."

"That's absurd!" Harry shouted again.

"No, it isn't," Hermione replied sadly. "Think about how it looks from the outside. Dumbledore had a convicted Death Eater on staff and was fooled by his disguise for months, despite the fact he was supposed to be good friends with the man Crouch was imitating. Then that same Death Eater hijacked the Triwizard Tournament, put one Champion under an Imperius Curse, and kidnapped two others right under Dumbledore's nose -- almost killed you both. That doesn't look good for Dumbledore."

"And you believe he's at fault?" Harry's question was cold.

"No," Hermione lied. Truth was, she did wonder how Crouch had been able to fool even Dumbledore. The rest of them hadn't known Mad-Eye Moody well enough, but Dumbledore had. Hermione could only suppose Dumbledore had been too distracted by the Tournament and concern for Harry to notice oddities. No one was infallible, even Dumbledore. "I'm just telling you how things look to people on the outside." And turning, she headed up the stairs again. It had been the worst first day back ever, and she wondered how she'd survive the year. She'd never felt this worn down.

So when they returned only to find Fred, George and Lee Jordan experimenting on first years with joke-shop sweets, Hermione completely lost her temper. Here, finally, was something she could confront -- and put an end to. And when Fred and George taunted her about how she'd make them stop, she pulled out the one deadly weapon in her arsenal. "I will write to your mother."

"You wouldn't," George replied with a look caught between pure horror and plain disbelief. Hermione wasn't sure if she'd just gone several points up or several points down in the twins' estimation.

"Oh, yes, I would," she replied.

But that confrontation was the last straw, and she couldn't even begin to concentrate on her studies. "I'm going to bed," she told Harry and Ron, opening her bag to retrieve the knitted hats she'd so carefully made that summer. She knew they weren't terribly good hats, but that didn't matter. Taking them over near the fireplace, she set them on a table and camouflaged them with parchment and an abandoned quill. There, that would do.

Behind her, Ron asked, "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

"They're hats for house-elves," She replied. "I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic, but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more."

"You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?" Ron asked. "And you're covering them up with rubbish first?"

"Yes." Hermione swung her bag onto her back. She knew it was a bit deceptive --

"That's not on!" Ron snapped. "You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be free."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Of course they want to be free! Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!" And she stomped off. How could he be so thick-witted and archaic? They might write with quills and get light from lamps, but it was still almost the Twenty-First Century. There was simply no good argument anywhere to support slavery, and she couldn't understand why he didn't see that when he didn't subscribe to the ridiculous biases she'd found in other pureblood wizards.

She'd have to talk to Cedric. Surely he would understand and agree with her; after all, he'd been the first person she'd ever heard give a considered explanation for why he didn't believe in blood purity, rather than just dismiss it out of hand or react defensively (however reassuring the emotional support of her friends might be). He was interested in her life as a Muggle, too, and not as a novelty. He wasn't prejudiced. Maybe together they could talk sense into Ron.

Cedric woke the next morning at ten to five. His sleep patterns were completely upset and when he realized what time it was, he just flopped back down and considered trying to sleep more, except his back and shoulders were aching from spending so much time in bed, he was very hungry, and he needed to piss. He also felt grimy after not washing for two days, and there was little he liked less than that feeling.

Sitting up again, he gathered his braces and put them on, snapping the locks in place and feeling the metal come alive, molding to his muscles and joints. Then he took his crutches out of the little bowl in which he kept them beside his bed and expanded them. Crossing to the wardrobe, he fetched fresh clothes and put them in the bag he used to carry things about, then went into the bathroom to use the toilet, brush his teeth and shave -- and ditch his dirty clothes. However odd he felt lurching about in the nude except for the braces, it was easier to undress here where he could sit down. He might've put on a robe, but what was the point? It wasn't as if he had to go through hallways. Bag shouldered again, he tried the door into the prefects' bathroom. Unsurprisingly, it was open. At this hour, he doubted anybody else would be competing for it -- which was a good thing since this could take a while.

Entering, he muttered a spell that lit the candled chandelier, then glanced around and fetched a towel from the corner table before making his way to the gigantic marble bath with its jeweled taps in the middle of the room. After two years as a prefect, he knew which taps he preferred, but there was a new problem. They were low, near to the bath's surface, and leaning down to start them wasn't easy. He hadn't thought to bring his wand, either. Frustrated, he lowered himself onto the top step leading down into the pool, one hand gripping a crutch, the other the marble bannister, second crutch dangling from his wrist. "I am so effing tired of this," he said to no one in particular. And it had been only two months. He faced these struggles for the rest of his life. Although normally despising self-pity, that morning he felt near to tears.

In the wall high above him, the stained-glass mermaid dozed on her rock. It was so early, there was no sign yet of sunrise through the colored window.

Sighing, he leaned over and touched a tap -- whichever was closest with a scent he didn't absolutely hate. Normally, it didn't take the pool as long to fill as one might think, given its size, but with Cedric able to reach only a handful of taps without his wand, he had to wait a while. He watched the water climb up the white marble sides, over his toes and legs and the steel braces. He'd been assured they wouldn't rust. He could probably leave them on, but they'd weigh him down, so he unfastened them and set them on the pool edge where he could get to them when he was finished. From his bag, he took shampoo and soap and set them within reach. Then he set his crutches beside the braces, not bothering to collapse them. When the water reached his waist on the second step down, he noticed he didn't feel quite so heavy -- he hadn't anticipated that, although perhaps he should have, and he moved down another step until the water lapped at his chest. Experimentally, he pushed up with his legs.

And lifted himself.

It took him so by surprise, he actually yelped aloud. He tried it again. The damaged legs that couldn't support him on land nonetheless had enough strength to raise his weight in the water.

Water which was in danger of overflowing. Cedric had been so astonished by this newfound ability, he'd forgotten how close the pool was to full, and now had to scramble to turn the taps off. Then he pushed away from the stairs, arms moving in a breast stroke. He could still kick, if not so powerfully. Moving out into the middle of the bath, he righted himself and put his feet down.

He was standing. Shaky, but standing.

He let out a bark of laughter.

In the water, he could move again with something approaching normality. He might not be able to walk, but he could swim.

Still grinning, he let himself sink beneath the surface and twisted around beneath it, using his arms to pull himself forward, shoulders and chest much stronger now, his legs kicking like an otter. When he broke the surface, he laughed once more. If being next to the prefects' bath didn't make up for losing the Sett, it had turned out to be more than a consolation prize.

He spent over an hour in the pool and got out finally only because the bubbles had faded and the water had grown tepid. Emerging back onto the land, his limbs felt leaden again, but he was clean, he'd had a good workout, and he wouldn't forget there was one place in the castle he could be free of the bloody crutches.

His excellent mood followed him down to breakfast, where he found Cho waiting for him. "You look chirpy," she said.

"I slept well and I had a swim before breakfast. I'm ready to take on the world," he said expansively.

"A swim? Are you still off your face?" She was giggling, probably at the silly grin he wore.

"Prefects' bath. And no, I am not high. I am Head Boy, I have a reputation to maintain."

Rolling her eyes at him, she opened the Great Hall doors. "Let's start with breakfast, all right, before you march off to conquer all Asia like Alexander."

They sat together at the Hufflepuff table. At breakfast, House lines weren't so firmly drawn and no one objected to the Ravenclaw in their midst. Ed just passed her the Marmite and asked what NEWTs she'd decided on. Cedric filled his plate with eggs and bacon and toast and felt rather pleased with himself, even optimistic. Perhaps he and Cho could work it out after all, and when he left for his first class, he kissed her quickly on the mouth, making her smile. It was only when he turned that he saw Hermione watching him from the Gryffindor table. Their eyes met, then hers dropped, and he felt guilty for no good reason at all. Cho was his girlfriend; Hermione wasn't. He'd never pretended it was otherwise, nor had Granger ever acted as if she expected more.

None of that changed the fact his heart was beating far too fast just at seeing her, and as comfortable as Cho was, she was comfortable only. He couldn't ever remember her stirring this . . . insanity in him, even in the wake of the Yule Ball when they'd both decided there might be more to them than a dance and a pleasant evening. Exiting the Great Hall, headed for Dark Arts, he was a bit startled when he heard feet patter behind and turned, thinking it would be Cho. It was Granger, instead. A bit out of breath, she stopped in front of him. "Can I talk to you later? About house-elves?"

He blinked. House-elves? "All right," he said.

As they stood there, Draco Malfoy swept past with his entourage, eying them curiously. "Correcting his colors again, Granger?" Malfoy asked.

Cedric ignored him until he was out of earshot, then said only, "Pathetic."

Hermione giggled slightly and her head came up. "So -- house-elves. Meet in the library after class?"

He started to agree, then remembered. "No, can't. Sorry. I have a special class with Snape." And he'd need to talk to McGonagall, too, since he'd missed his special lesson with her yesterday. "This evening after supper maybe?"

"All right." She hesitated, looking down at her shoes, then blurted out, "What about Cho?"

"What about her? She has homework, the same as me, but I have some time before I have to go back to my office. I assume you checked in yesterday evening with Violet? Sorry I wasn't around."

She shrugged. "I was so tired, I almost forgot, actually. Mary had to remind me."

"So I'll see you then. Have to go to class now -- takes me a bit longer."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She blushed. "What class?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Be careful with Umbridge, Cedric."

"I heard from Harry yesterday. We'll talk about that, too, later."

Her face had gone bright red. "I guess the 'fight back' didn't go so well."

He smiled at her. "I was speaking more figuratively when I said that."

She sniffed. "It didn't sound like it."

"Apparently not." Turning he made his way down the hall.

Behind him, he heard her call, "Next time, be a bit more clear, then!"

"Prickly, aren't you?" he called back without turning as he made his way to the hidden lift that would take him to the first floor. By the time he reached the classroom, half the students were already there. Talking to Granger had slowed him up, but Peter had saved him a seat in the back on the outside, where he could prop his crutches against a cabinet full of skulls. There were four seats to each side of the main aisle in desk pairs of two. He and his denmates usually took a row to themselves, near, if not at, the back -- although Ed hadn't managed to come up to scratch enough in his Dark Arts OWL to continue to NEWT. It was just Cedric, Peter and Scott. Cedric liked the back because he preferred to watch, not talk. "The best students," Remus Lupin had observed to him once two years ago, "are often found in the front rows, or the last." Remembering that made Cedric smile now, and he thought of the little black journal Lupin had given him. He hadn't actually made use of it yet.

Umbridge had arrived, looking frightful in her dark robes, frilly cardigan and a ridiculous blue bow atop her hair. Beside him, Peter muttered, "Merlin, she's ugly as sin. Ought to be a fine for that."

Cedric snorted. "It's not her looks I'm worried about, mate. Whatever she says today, keep your nose low and don't argue, right?"

Peter shot him a curious glance. "You afraid she's going to go after you like she did after Potter?"

"Dunno. But I prefer to play on my terms, not hers. And if she comes after me, I want it to be obvious that's what she's doing, right?"

Peter just eyed him a minute. "You're awfully Slytherin for a Hufflepuff sometimes, Ced."

Cedric smiled. "I had a good teacher."

Umbridge was hemming to get their attention. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." Her voice was saccharin.

Cedric, Peter and Scott shared a glance but didn't reply. Neither did anyone else and Umbridge's false smile soured. "Manners must have been sorely neglected at Hogwarts if even my seventh years don't know how to respond politely to a greeting. When I say good morning to you, you customarily return the greeting: good morning, Professor Umbridge. So -- again? Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the rest of them replied. Under his breath, Peter muttered, "Can't believe I just said that." Cedric nudged him silent.

"Now," Umbridge clapped her hands together. "Let's get started, shall we? I'm absolutely delighted to be instructing you in your final year -- bringing a bit of, shall we say, order back to what's been a highly irregular class. We'll be returning to basics, the theory you should have had in year one but apparently didn't."

Near the front, Roger Davies raised his hand. "How's that going to help on the tests?" He seemed virtually panicked. "We've got NEWTs!"

"No, please," Cedric muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Umbridge simpered. "And you are?"

"Roger Davies."

"Ah, Mr. Davies, of Ravenclaw, yes? Naturally you'd be concerned about your exams. I'm sure you're a very good student -- Ravenclaws usually are."

That got shifts and mutters from the Hufflepuff half of the class, but Cedric remained still.

"I assure you that studying theory is the most important part. Without a full grasp of theory, spellcasting is rather dangerous -- don't you agree?"

"Well, yes, but --"

"In this classroom -- unlike what I understand has been done in the past -- you will not be facing any dark creatures, nor exposed to any illegal spells. You are perfectly safe. Therefore the theory, Mr. Davies, is where we shall concentrate."

She's full of shite, isn't she? Scott had scribbled on a bit of parchment, passing it over to Peter and Cedric. Peter stifled a giggle and Cedric bit his tongue.

Perhaps expecting just such covert rebellion -- or watching Cedric's corner like a hawk -- Umbridge now swept down the central aisle towards them. "Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"

Peter and Scott shook their heads. Cedric just watched her. She held out a hand to Peter. "I believe I saw a scrap of parchment! Hand it over. There will be no note-passing in my class!"

Peter slipped Cedric the parchment under the table and raised empty hands as Cedric Vanished it. He was best at silent spells. "Honestly -- nothing," Peter said. "See?"

"Stand up! All three of you!"

Peter and Scott complied, both glancing at Cedric with slightly horrified expressions.

He decided to make a show of it. Reaching back, he snagged his crutches, put them on, then stood -- slowly. Umbridge watched him through narrow eyes, as if knowing exactly what he was doing. Then she edged between their desks and the ones in front, studying the three of them and the floor beneath, looking for the note. "Turn out your pockets!"

Sighing, they did so. Scott had gum and a pocketknife, Peter had nothing besides his wand, and Cedric had his flask of Abdoleo and a small bag of sweets he tended to keep handy for Esiban. Umbridge swooped down on the flask. "What is this! You've brought alcohol into class?"

Cedric resisted rolling his eyes. "It's my medicine," he explained.

She glared up at him. "Your medicine, what?" He blinked, unsure what she meant. "Your medicine, what? Manners, Mr. Diggory."

Oh, yes, she certainly knew who he was. He'd have to play this very carefully. "It's my medicine, Professor Umbridge."

Unscrewing the top, she sniffed at it. "Abdoleo."

"Yes, ma'am, that's right."

"Abdoleo is a pain potion -- a narcotic. A drug, Mr. Diggory. I do not allow drugs in my class!"

"It's medicine," he said again, quietly, and turned his head just slightly. "I do have a prescription for it. You may check with Madam Pomfrey, if you doubt me. The Abdoleo is necessary for me to function."

She sniffed and -- to Cedric's astonishment -- pocketed his flask. "I shall indeed investigate this! In the meantime, I can't imagine that you can't stand a little discomfort. Please sit down, gentlemen."

Peter's face was just short of furious. "You can't take that!" he said. "Ced needs that!"

"Shhh," Cedric hissed, probably fruitlessly as Scott looked on the edge of rebellion, as well.

Umbridge had turned back, the sickeningly sweet smile on her face. "I can, indeed, confiscate a narcotic substance brought into my classroom, until such time as I can verify that Mr. Diggory is permitted its use."

"You know he is," Scott snarled. "You know what happened to him --"

"I 'know' no such thing! And ten points from Hufflepuff, Mr. --?"

Scott set his jaw, but muttered, "Summers."

"Mr. Summers. Ten points for such poor manners." She let her eyes travel back to Cedric. "Your taste in friends is most questionable for a Head Boy, Mr. Diggory." Her eyes swept them again. "I shall be watching for notes, you three. Sit down."

And she returned to the head of the class.

They sat, Scott cursing under his breath. Peter just looked at Cedric with a worried expression. I'm fine, Cedric wrote on the edge of his parchment. Took some before I came in here. I'll see Pomfrey after class.

"Now that we've cleared up that bit of unpleasantness, please turn in your books to chapter one . . . "

Lips thin, Cedric did as she said. The best he could say for their first confrontation was that neither had come out the clear loser. She might have taken his Abdoleo, but it had been an empty gesture. He'd have it back before day's end. And, in fact, he did. It was in the middle of his very next class that Madam Pomfrey marched into Professor Flitwick's lecture hall with a, "Please excuse me, Filius." Everyone in Charms watched her make her way to Cedric's seat on the back row and slam down the silver flask of Abdoleo in front of him, along with a piece of parchment. "This is yours," she said. "And if anybody pretends to know medicine without a green robe again and attempts to confiscate it, please show that person my note." And turning, she stomped out.

Down below, Flitwick winked at Cedric and beside him, Peter was laughing. "Hufflepuff ten, Umbridge zero," Peter said softly.

"It's a long way from the end of the match," Cedric muttered back as he pocketed the flask.

At lunch, Cho came to sit with him again. "I heard Umbridge tried to take your medicine."

"What, is it all over school already?"

"I'm afraid so." She smiled slightly. "You were brilliant."

"I didn't do anything."

"You were still brilliant, not losing your temper."

"Is that a critique of Harry?" Cedric asked softly.

"What? No, of course not!" She appeared startled. "I think he was very brave to stand up to her like that yesterday."

"So I'm brilliant for not standing up to her and Harry's brave for doing so?" He grinned.

She took it badly. "I wasn't making comparisons, Cedric. I don't know why you had to take it that way. Don't tell me you're jealous of Harry?" Her eyes narrowed. "I could say a few things about your sudden . . . friendship . . . with another Gryffindor, but I'm trying not to be jealous!" And grabbing her plate, she got up from the bench to stalk away.

"Merlin's beard!" Cedric muttered, watching her go. "I was just kidding."

"Yeah, well, she has a point about the other Gryffindor," Scott said from across the table.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cedric snapped.

Scott just looked at him. "Try counting how often Granger's name pops up in your conversations or letters." Scott looked back down at his plate. "Don't hear 'Cho' that much. Maybe you should decide which girl you want to go out with and cut the other loose?"

Eyes narrowed, Cedric said, "I find that amusing coming from the fellow with a harem following him down every hallway."

"Yeah, well, I like to keep my options open, me." He grinned abruptly. "You're more of a one-girl chap so two's a bit much for you." The grin fell off his face. "Pick one, Ced. You're not doing Cho any favors hanging onto her for pity when you really want the other one."

"Who said it was pity?" This was getting ridiculous. Why was his love life suddenly everyone else's business? "I've been with Cho for nine months."

"And maybe that's a few months too long?" Scott went back to his lunch. They didn't talk again.

It was only later that it occurred to Cedric to wonder if perhaps he should be jealous of Harry?


Notes: The prefects' bath is a combination of book and film -- mostly book, but I liked the stained-glass mermaid.

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