Despite the break in the rain and a beautiful day, Hermione hid in the Gryffindor Tower all Saturday. She had homework, and even Ginny couldn't lure her out until supper, which she ate quickly and without looking around. She had no desire to see Cedric happy with Cho. That night, as usual, she sent her report through Mary, although this time, Mary returned with a note on parchment, sealed with Spellotape. She handed it over. "He says part of your duty is to report to him, not to report to him through me." And she peered at Hermione. "Are you certain he's not harassing you?"
"No, he's not." Well, not like Mary had meant.
Hermione set out her latest batch of elf hats and socks, then headed upstairs, the note clutched in her hand. She was afraid to read it, and certainly didn't want to do so where anyone else might see, in case it made her cry. In her dorm, Lavender and Parvati were busy chatting on their beds so Hermione settled into hers and pulled the curtains around for a measure of privacy, then opened the note.
My Stubborn Granger --
Sorry for being a prat. But I still disagree with you about the elves. Talk? Without yelling? Meet me on the bridge after breakfast, weather permitting.
--Your Annoying Ced
She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into ridiculous giggles, and slept better that night than she had since Tuesday. The morning dawned glorious and sunny, and if she took a bit of extra time with her hair, neither Parvati nor Lavender seemed to notice. When she arrived downstairs for breakfast, Cedric was sitting with his friends so she sat down among the Gryffindors. "You look happier today," Ginny observed as Hermione helped herself to toast.
"Feel a bit better, yes. Homework's done. My elf hats are disappearing -- so I think they do want freedom."
Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't comment, and when Hermione was done eating, she pushed away from the table with a simple, "I'm going for a walk, I think."
"Want company?" Ginny asked.
"No, no," Hermione answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. And why was Ginny suddenly looking over at the Hufflepuff table? "Anyway, I thought you and Michael were going down to the Lake?"
"We are."
"I might see you later, then."
"Later."
Hermione headed out, taking her time to get down to the bridge. When she'd left, Cedric had still been in deep conversation with his mates, but she'd caught him glance her way at least once. On the covered pedestrian bridge, she stopped halfway down and leaned against the side, looking into the chasm at the silvery creek far below. The sky above was eggshell blue, crisscrossed now and then by an owl or other bird, the air crisp with the promise of autumn. This early in the morning, she had the bridge to herself, but after perhaps twenty minutes, she heard the distinctive clunk and scrape that announced Cedric's arrival. Turning, she watched him approach, comparing Cedric now with Cedric of a year ago. She could recall talking to Harry on this same bridge last year, and Cedric trotting down the length of it to catch Harry up. He'd moved so easily then, graceful and sleek like a young leopard. Now it was painful to watch him lurch along, yet for all his awkwardness, he seemed somehow more regal. More like a man, less like a boy.
He was a little out of breath by the time he reached her and she didn't say anything beyond, "Hi," letting him just breathe for a moment. Like her, he leaned to look out over the edge of the bridge.
"Tuesday I was in a foul mood," he began. "That didn't mean you had to avoid me for days." It was almost petulant.
"Who was avoiding who? You left the library. I didn't think you wanted to talk to me any more."
"I didn't -- right then. But when you didn't come with Mary to report, I reckoned that was that."
"I was angry with you."
"I was angry with you. Don't tell me you never get pissed off at Harry, or Ron. I know better."
She chanced a glance at him. He was still looking out over the chasm. "I've known them a long time," she said. "We fight; we make up. I didn't know if you'd want to. You seemed . . . really angry with me."
"I needed time to calm down. You hit a nerve."
"I gathered that. But you're wrong, you know. The house-elves do want freedom. I've been knitting hats for them and every morning, when I wake up, they're --"
He'd held up a hand. "Don't start. I came out here to talk, not to have 'I told you so' shoved down my throat. I still don't think you're right." Her mouth opened in protest and he literally covered it with his hand, crutch dangling. "Don't interrupt me. I also don't think you're entirely wrong."
She was very, very tempted to bite his fingers, but the surprise of his touch combined with his admission that she wasn't entirely wrong froze her in place. She waited, quiet, and after a moment, he lowered his hand. "Thank you. Now just be quiet for a minute, all right?"
Mute, she nodded.
"You're right that some house-elves are poorly treated. It's shameful. I agree with that. But I also think you need to learn some things about them. They're not humans, and you have to stop acting as if they are --"
Despite her promise, she took a breath to protest.
"Don't!" he said. "Why is it so impossible for you to be quiet and let someone else talk? I don't interrupt you. It's . . . really rude, Hermione."
And the use of her first name felt strangely cold on his lips. "Sorry, it's just --"
His hand came back up to cover her mouth and she stopped. "What you don't seem to appreciate is that when I say they're not human, I don't mean it badly. I mean they're not human any more than centaurs or giants or goblins. That's not something that you're used to thinking about. I don't know that there's a comparison in the Muggle world. Something can be different without being better or worse, and if we don't have a very good record when it comes to interacting with non-humans, going to the other extreme is just as insulting when you think about it. They may not be less than us, but they're also not like us, and expecting them to be is either unkind or simply arrogant. That's what I was reacting to on Tuesday. And I'm sorry I put it so bluntly, but it's something I feel strongly about -- the wrongness of that sort of arrogance. That's what I want to do with my life, fight that arrogance. You have your house-elves to champion. Understanding people is my crusade, all right?"
And hearing him now, it sounded a lot different than Tuesday, perhaps because he'd made her let him finish. She still wasn't sure she agreed with what he said; his use of 'unkind' to justify keeping house-elves virtually enslaved sounded far too much like pro-slavery apologetics. But he wasn't saying it from some sense of Wizarding superiority. She'd just have to introduce him to Dobby, let him see a house-elf who was proud to be free. Then he'd understand. It was lack of information . . . and he might be right in some things. She'd talk to more house-elves herself, perhaps some of those she'd freed, let them be a voice for the other elves still enslaved. "They do want to be free," she said now. "All the clothes I left out for them disappeared. They took them." Or at least, they'd happened on them, and once they were free, they'd see how much better they felt about themselves.
He shook his head. "First, you're not their master to free them. You can give them as many hats as you want; it means nothing if it doesn't come from their master."
What? Shocked, Hermione sucked in breath. Was he right? She'd understood that the elves served the school, and the students, so she'd just assumed she could free them.
"Second, I have a feeling those hats are ending up in the bin."
Horror struck now, she gaped at him. "How can you say that?"
"I'm honest, Granger." He turned so he could watch her rather than the sky and trees and stream far below. "I'd rather not see you waste your time doing something the elves don't want. Listen to them, find out about them, then work with them for their welfare, if that's what this S.P.E.W. thing's all about. If it's not about you, then don't make it about you -- what you think or decide or do for them. Ask them."
And they were right back to where they'd been Tuesday night, repeating the same arguments. She could feel the tears burn, but at least he wasn't practically yelling. "You make me sound awful and selfish."
"The fact you're concerned at all is a tribute to your good heart, but yes, I think you're going about it all wrong. That's what I object to. And how you're going about it really, really rubs me up the wrong way."
She had no idea how to respond to that. He'd just complimented and insulted her at once, or that's what it felt like. "So what? I should just stop?"
"No. Don't be so bloody stubborn! I already told you what I think you need to do. Talk to the elves -- or listen to them, really. If you're so concerned about them, go and spend a day in the kitchens. Make friends. Find out what their lives are like -- don't tell them what their lives are like. You don't know. You only think you do. That's Gryffindor's great fault, you know."
Chin pulled down, she glared. "What's our great fault?"
"You're always so dead certain you're right."
"Well I could say a few things about Hufflepuff!" She was suddenly angry, not just hurt.
But he only smiled. "So could I. We're so determined to work together, we waffle all over the place and take forever to make a decision. Everyone else gets there first. We just get there together."
Mollified, she studied his face as he studied hers. "So you don't hate me?"
Her question took him aback. "Hate you? I never hated you, Granger. I was really angry with you because I was afraid I'd misjudged you somehow. But I didn't. You care. And you don't just sit around and say you care, you go and do something about it. I admire that. My father's the same way. He was in Gryffindor, too." He grinned. "But sometimes he goes off half-cocked -- like you. It's not charming. It's damned annoying."
"And you think you can keep me from doing that?" She was somewhere between affronted and (just a little) amused.
"I can bloody well try. I'll tell you the truth, even if you don't want to hear it and it pisses you off."
"So you'll join S.P.E.W.?"
"No, I won't. Not until you figure out what the elves actually want. When you can draft something I can believe in, with the assistance ofthe elves, I'll back you completely. Until then, no."
She stamped her foot. "You are so infuriating!"
He shrugged. "That's how I am, Granger. Take me or leave me."
For some reason, and as angry and hurt as she felt, that made her laugh and she leaned out over the side of the bridge again, looking into the water once more. He joined her. "It's been a miserable week not having you around," she admitted, blushing furiously at her frankness, "so I guess I have to take you, however infuriating you are." Ears and neck hot, she glanced over at him.
He was blushing as well. "Good to know I'm missed when I'm not around to torture you by my refusal to agree with everything you say, poppet." She smacked him on the arm. "Hey!" he said, grinning like a maniac. "What did I tell the first years the other night about you getting physical?"
She smacked him again for good measure. "Don't call me poppet."
"What should I call you then? Petal? Pet? Me lovely?"
"You're bloody awful."
"You like me awful."
"I just like you. God knows why."
"So friends?"
"Friends."
They stood side by side on the bridge and watched the water flow by below, together but not touching.
Cedric should have gone back inside afterwards and talked to Cho. He didn't. He should have gone to read McGonagall's Transfiguration assignment. He didn't. It was a beautiful day and his heart was high, and he and Granger slipped off together down to the lake, far along the path to the south, stopping finally under a great oak. He was completely out of breath, but he'd needed the exercise. They'd both come, by unspoken agreement, about as far as they could get from the castle and still be on Hogwart's grounds.
Then they lay on the grass side by side, talking. They didn't, however, talk about house-elves. Cedric thought they both needed to remember how easy it was to talk about other things. He still didn't touch her, but the tension inside him felt nothing like friendship and if he wasn't technically doing anything wrong, he knew all about the letter of the law versus the spirit. This was cheating on Cho, plain and simple.
He just didn't care at the moment, and felt badly for not feeling worse, but lying in the grass next to Granger on an Indian summer day, it was hard to feel anything but ecstatic and a bit dopey. All his senses were heightened, making him aware of everything: the rich smell of the earth beneath them, and the sharp scent of his own sweat from the hike out here on crutches. Somewhere nearby a bee buzzed and occasionally a bird twittered in the oak above. The sun fell bright gold through the branches, filtering in splashes like falling coins, and an ant crawled over his hand, tickling. At one point he turned his head slightly to find her watching him. They lay at a slight angle to each other like a V, heads close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. She smelled of bacon and pumpkin juice. For a suspended moment, he thought about kissing her, but didn't. When he kissed her finally, he didn't want it marred by anything, most especially not by the fact he shouldn't be out here, flirting with another girl.
Yet was this even flirting? It seemed to him they'd gone well beyond that. Flirting was about innuendo and a bit of uncertainty, but Granger would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to realize he was head over heels for her.
Abruptly he pushed himself up on an elbow, their faces still just a few inches apart. "I need to go," he said. She just watched him, chocolate eyes soft. "There's a whole lot of things wrong with this -- us being here, and . . . " He trailed off. "I need to talk to Cho."
She blushed and looked away, face suddenly guilty. "You're going to break up with her?"
"What do you think?"
"We can't -- We shouldn't, um, we shouldn't see each other -- not right after, you know? It'd be cruel."
She was right, although it annoyed him. He also noticed they hadn't even bothered with the dance of 'Will you . . . ?" It seemed a bit passé, at this point. "I know," he said instead. "Assuming I can stay away from you. I haven't been very good at that, so far."
It made her smile. "I thought you'd been staying away from me for the last, what, four days?"
"Well, I was angry with you!"
She sat up abruptly and looked back at him over her shoulder. It was almost a 'come hither' look except Granger didn't know how to do that on purpose, so the impact was twice as powerful for being entirely unconscious. "What happened to 'the lift didn't happen'?"
Pursing his lips, he said, "You're stringing me along, now."
Her slightly coquettish look disappeared. "Sorry, not trying to. Not really. Just --" She tilted her head. "I'm not sure what."
Dropping back down on his side, he stretched out his arm toward her, hand covering hers where it propped her up. She shifted her balance and let him have the hand. He rubbed the back of it with a thumb but didn't say anything. Instead, he let her go and sat up all the way, reaching for his crutches and pushing himself to his feet. "It's probably best if we don't walk back together."
She nodded. "I'll wait a while here." She didn't wish him luck, he noticed. But then luck wasn't what he needed, just a backbone.
In the end, he didn't find Cho, she found him in the Great Hall at lunch. It was near the end of the hour so only a few students still occupied it as she sat down beside him at the Hufflepuff table. "Where have you been all morning?" It wasn't, quite, waspish.
"Outside," he said around a bite of ham and bread.
"Doing what?"
"Just sitting by the lake."
She regarded him strangely. "I didn't see you; I went down there."
"Sorry."
"You were by yourself? Studying?"
And oh Merlin, why had she had to ask that point blank? He was a lousy liar when he felt guilty for the lie, but he simply couldn't tell her the truth. It would hurt her too much. "Yes," he said and took another bite to cover.
She didn't reply for half a minute, then said, "Why do I not believe you?" Her voice shook and he glanced at her. She had tears in her eyes and she may as well have dug claws straight through his gut. It made him angry, but as a result of feeling guilty. She wasn't manipulating him, or not on purpose. Her tears were real.
"Cho --"
"Stop it! Just stop it!" She got to her feet, glaring down. Everyone still in the hall looked over. "I don't understand what's going on any more. You're hot or you're cold, and I'm tired of being treated like I'm a terrible burden to you. Piss off, Cedric!"
She left. Storming away from him at meals was getting to be a habit.
Then he thought about what she'd said. Had she just broken up with him? Or was that only another tantrum? He wasn't entirely sure, in large part because Cho wasn't moody -- or hadn't been until lately. It was one of the things he'd liked about her. She was straightforward and sensible. The fact she was acting so unpredictable now was, he knew, mostly his fault. But it also meant he had no idea if he should take the 'piss off' literally or if it were girl-code for 'come and make up with me.'
Probably the second. He suspected that if he went after her, she'd take him back.
But it would be a lot easier if he didn't. He could take her dismissal at face value and this mess would all be over. He wouldn't have to say the words, or answer awkward questions -- or watch her cry. It could just be assumed.
He went back to his sandwich, trying to ignore the glances shot his way. He was glad there was no one else sitting with him. He didn't want to talk right now.
Hermione felt the change after lunch like the static before a storm. She caught whispers and once ran into Luna, who said bluntly, "Cho Chang is crying in our common room. She says you stole Cedric from her."
And how on earth was Hermione supposed to answer that? "I didn't 'steal' Cedric. I've barely even seen him this week." Which was certainly true. "He's a friend of Harry's."
Luna tilted her head. "He watches you. I've seen him."
Hermione blinked three times, trying to decide what to say. "I didn't steal him from Cho. I'm not that sort of girl. He's not that sort of boy. We talk sometimes. We get along. But you don't see him following me around, do you?"
"No," Luna admitted with her usual frankness. "But Cedric wouldn't, not so soon. It would hurt Cho." And she walked away, radish earrings swinging. Hermione watched her go, a bit stunned. She honestly couldn't fathom the other girl. One minute Luna became frighteningly perceptive, and the next, she was declaiming on the Wizarding World's version of crystals and chakras, off on her own planet.
In any case the news was all over the castle by dinner: Hogwart's Golden Couple was history. Ravenclaw (or at least the girls) came together around Cho. Hufflepuff came together behind Cedric. Gryffindor whispered. Slytherin laughed behind hands. Occasional glances were shot in Hermione's direction, but whatever Luna had related about Cho's accusations, most people didn't immediately connect her with Cedric.
It was Cedric's name being dragged through mud. "He's changed since June." "Well, that's rather obvious, isn't it?" "He even says he saw You Know Who!" "Do you think he's cracked like Potter?" "The Tournament was pretty intense, and then he lost his legs -- maybe he's gone round the bend." "Never would have thought he'd dump Cho Chang." "Do you really think he's interested in that Granger girl?" "She's just a friend of Potter's, and he's very thick with that crowd now." "Bloody rotten of him to hurt Cho like that." "Just like a useless, coddled prat. How'd he get to be a Triwizard Champion anyway?"
Cedric bore the whispers with a bit more grace than Harry had on Monday, but he didn't linger over his dinner and went back to the Hufflepuff common room with his friends. Hermione didn't see him until rounds report, and she dawdled outside the prefects' lounge, waiting until some others showed up so she wouldn't be caught talking to him alone. When she knocked on his office door together with Ernie, Hannah and Ron, he looked up and asked, "All right, you four?" He didn't meet her eyes.
"No troubles," Ernie replied. "See you tomorrow, Ced."
"Tomorrow," he said, and went back to a book he was reading. She left with the other three.
Returning to their common room, Ron -- who seemed frazzled from his day writing essays -- asked, "So is what they're saying true?"
"It might help me answer if I knew to which 'they' you're referring and what 'they' are saying."
"You're so annoying, Hermione. I mean about Cedric and Cho. She broke up with him?"
"Yes, I think so, at lunch -- but I haven't talked to either since."
He shot her a glance as they mounted the stone stairs towards the Gryffindor Tower. "He hasn't -- you know -- asked you out, or to be his . . . "
"What?" Her mouth dropped open. "No!" So it wasn't entirely the truth, but it wasn't a lie, either. He hadn't asked her. They'd both just assumed that part whenever it was safe to admit it.
"Well, at least Harry's happy. I saw him talking to Cho after dinner. And he says he saw her yesterday morning in the owlery, too. Filch had some crazy idea he was ordering dungbombs. Cho covered for him."
"Dungbombs? That's odd." And Harry would probably be delighted that Cho was free; there were worse things than him distracting her. Hermione hadn't missed the fact Cho smiled at Harry just a little differently than she smiled at anybody else, Cedric excepted. Her attention had cooled somewhat after the ball last year, but before the ball . . . Well, Hermione had thought Cho just might've fancied Harry a bit.
Harry was still working on his essays when she and Ron returned and all three of them sat together until late, when an owl unexpectedly arrived at the Gryffindor common room window. It bore the most insulting letter from Percy Weasley with 'advice' for Ron about dissociating himself from Harry. Hermione read it over Harry's shoulder, and might have confiscated it to show Cedric but Ron snatched it back and ripped it to shreds in a pique, tossing it in the fire. Nonetheless, a few lines stuck in Hermione's head.
"I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different -- and probably more accurate -- view of Potter's behavior."
And "Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. Cedric Diggory appeared as a witness as well, although he wasn't invited, and said some very insulting things to the Minister, things that have not been forgotten. I'm astonished he was named Head Boy, although perhaps I shouldn't be, as it provides further proof of Dumbledore's unsuitability to remain in charge there. In any case, Potter got off on a mere technicality if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt."
And "This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week -- again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this -- a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years"
She knew she wouldn't remember the words exactly, but she could reproduce the drift.
Cedric had been right about Umbridge. She was here to remove Dumbledore, but Hermione wondered if Cedric realized that if Dumbledore went, Cedric himself would be next? Hermione didn't think Umbridge would let him stay Head Boy for long.
Their conversation with Sirius-in-the-fire that followed did nothing to improve Hermione's spirits about the situation at Hogwarts. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat," he said.
Trained in combat?" Harry asked incredulously. "What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"
"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," Sirius replied. "Or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing -- forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic."
The proposition was so absurd, neither she, Ron nor Harry could even reply for half a minute. Then Ron summed up their feelings with, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with."
"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" she asked Sirius.
"Yep," Sirius replied. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."
They asked Sirius what he knew about the article in the Prophet to which Percy had referred, but Sirius couldn't enlighten them. Then they asked him about Hagrid, only to be put off in a way that made Hermione worry even more where Hagrid was.
It all gave her a great deal to think about, and whatever the current situation with Cho, she needed to speak with Cedric as soon as possible. Spelling her alarm, she rose early, dressed for the day and was waiting for Madam Pince when the woman arrived to open the library. There, Hermione pulled out A History of Hogwarts, Prefects Who Gained Power, and several other titles, searching through them and making notes to herself. But she wasn't interested in those who became Head Boy only to go on to gain power later in life.
No, she wanted to know if anybody had ever been removed from the office -- and why.
Cedric didn't go to breakfast. He spent the hour swimming, then dropped in at the kitchens to get something to eat before his first class, Double Charms. He was a little early, and seeing him enter, Flitwick tapped something on his desk down below. It reappeared on the desk in front of Cedric, and he dropped his jaw at the headline:
Ministry Seeks Educational Reform
Dolores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever "High Inquisitor"
What the fucking hell?
He read the article, barely glancing up as Peter, Ed and Scott traipsed in. Scott dropped a piece of parchment in front of him atop the paper. "See you've caught up with the news even if you didn't show up for breakfast," he said. "Granger asked me to give you that."
His friends took seats as the rest of the desks filled. Cedric didn't open the note immediately, but instead he leaned over to say, "How'd the Umbridge news go over? Inspections?"
"I think people are a bit afraid to say anything," Peter replied softly. "Well, not those who agree with her appointment, but everybody else seems to be looking around for which way to jump, y'know? Susan said this is serious. We need to be careful now. Really careful. You especially."
A short, squat shadow in the doorway made Peter cut off and there were murmurs around the room as Umbridge entered, a clipboard in hand. "I trust you received my note," she asked Flitwick, "giving the time and date of your inspection?"
Poised atop his desk in the hall's center below, little Flitwick bowed elegantly. "Welcome to Charms, Professor Umbridge. I hope you don't mind taking a seat at the back?"
"Not at all," she simpered.
"Got her eating right out of his hand, the bloke has," Peter muttered under his breath.
But to their horror, Umbridge Conjured a chair directly behind Cedric. Peter glanced around at her; Cedric specifically didn't. Across the room, he could see the Weasley twins eyeing him -- not without sympathy for once.
The woman's presence in the shadows at his back, like a spider, made Cedric determined to show no weakness. Fortunately, Charms was one of his better classes. He might not shine at it quite as much as he did with Transfigurations, but the two were linked, and he had a talent for both. He even suspected that at one point, Flitwick set him a challenge just to show him off to Umbridge. The rest of the students were having trouble charming bluebirds out of their wands. "Give me a bird of prey, Mr. Diggory," Flitwick called to him at the back of the class. "Silently, if you please." So Cedric did. Raising his wand, he thought, Avis Accipiter Gentilis, and a black-and-white banded goshawk shot out of his wand end to swoop around the lecture hall before disappearing in a shower of silver dust. It netted him applause from his fellow students (even the Gryffindors) and Flitwick nodded, grinning. "Well done, Diggory!"
Behind him, Cedric heard a little cough, as if Umbridge had swallowed something unpleasant.
When the lesson was over, he packed up his things and watched Umbridge waddle away towards Angelina Johnson, who appeared less than thrilled. Free of the Toad's eye at last, he opened the parchment note from Hermione and read it quickly:
See me in the library at lunch. West side. There's an alcove about halfway down the outside aisle. It has a table and a stained glass window of a butterfly woman with no face. If you squeeze in between the table and the window, no one passing in the aisle can see you. I'll meet you there.
She hadn't signed it. Folding it up, he tucked it in his robes and told Peter, "I'm going to the library."
"Still avoiding Cho?" Peter asked knowingly.
"Actually, no." But then he changed his mind. "Well, maybe a bit." Better if even Peter didn't know what he was really doing. "But I've got homework, too."
"Whatever, mate. Want me to bring you something to eat to History of Magic?"
"Yeah, if you would."
They parted and he took the lift up to the library floor. He was fairly sure he knew the alcove of which Hermione spoke and when he arrived and had squeezed past the chairs -- rather awkward on crutches -- he found her waiting cross-legged on the floor. Glancing around to be sure no one was watching, he settled down facing her, leaning his back against the window ledge, his knees drawn up. Wordlessly, she reached into her bag and handed him some bread and cheese. "Food in the library, Granger?" he whispered.
"I thought you might be hungry since you weren't at breakfast."
"I stopped by the kitchen. They're getting used to seeing me. I'd rather swim in the morning, actually." He took a bite of cheese.
"Swim?"
"Prefects' bath."
"Oh." She peered at him. "You can swim?" Then she blushed.
He kicked at her foot, lightly, so the brace didn't hurt. "You can ask me questions about what I can and can't do. I'd rather you ask than wonder. And yes, I can swim -- swim rather well, actually."
It made her smile. "I wish I could see you. But, well, I don't think the room would let me in."
"See me swim, or see other things?" It was out before he really thought about it -- the sort of off-color crack he might have made to Cho, but Granger wasn't Cho and her face turned an even more brilliant scarlet.
"Cedric!" she hissed, her voice climbing above a whisper for the first time.
"Shh," he said. "You blush very well, you know."
"You're awful."
"You said that yesterday. And I told you, you like me awful."
Picking at her bread, she tossed a bit of the crust at him. He tried to catch it in his mouth but missed. He realized he was blushing, too, but the first suggestive joke was past and maybe that marked some manner of watershed. She leaned forward. "This is serious, you know."
He almost made another quip but she was right: it was serious, and they had only an hour, or even less as it took him so long to get anywhere. "I take it you want to talk about Umbridge again?"
She nodded and wiggled closer to him, head bent. "There's more than just what was in the Prophet this morning. Last night, Ron got this . . . awful letter from Percy. Not awful to Ron, but awful. I'd've saved it to show you, but he was so angry, he tore it up and threw it in the common-room fire." Then while Cedric ate, she summarized what Percy had said, including the line about him. "You were right," she finished. "They're after Dumbledore."
He just nodded, and tried to push down irritation at Percy. "That git never liked me."
"He didn't?" She seemed surprised by that. "But, I'd have thought -- I mean, you're both such good students!"
Shaking his head, he said, "He was a bit full of himself. I and Janice -- the other Hufflepuff prefect in my year -- just wouldn't take him seriously enough when he started ranting about something."
"Well," she said, her face showing a clear struggle. "Percy's very responsible. Not that I like him, I mean -- he turned on his family. But he did usually try to follow the rules."
"Lighten up, Granger. Sometimes you have to break rules to do the right thing -- and I know you know it. You, Potter and Weasley aren't exactly famous for following rules. In fact, I thought you a bit of a troublemaker last year, at first."
"Me!" Her face was indignant.
"Yes, you. Sneaking into the Champion's Tent like that before the Dragon Task."
"Well, I needed to see Harry, to, you know . . . I just needed to see how he was." Looking up at him, she caught his grin. "You're teasing me."
"You fall for it so easily, you make it hard not to." Reaching out, he ran a thumb over her cheek and she closed her eyes, her expression almost . . . transported. Inside his chest, something uncurled, fluttering like moth wings. "You're so beautiful," he said even more softly. Her eyes opened, surprised. "And truth? When you came to the tent last year, looking so focused and worried for Harry, I was jealous. I wanted a friend as loyal as you; I never expected to get you myself."
She smiled faintly. "Fate's a funny thing, Diggory." Then her eyes grew serious again. "There's more."
He dropped his hand from her face. "Tell me."
"Sirius showed up in the common room fireplace last night." At his raised eyebrows, she said, "Harry wrote him a letter. Yes, I know it was foolish, but apparently he didn't say anything too revealing. Sirius told us something more. Fudge thinks Dumbledore is trying to start his own . . . wizard army, or something ridiculous like that!"
Abruptly, she fell silent and he could hear voices in the distance. Someone was coming along the aisle. They both crouched down and stayed quiet until the pair of students passed. He realized halfway through that he was clutching her hand and she was clutching his. When the girls had gone, he tugged at the hand. She seemed confused and he leaned over to slide an arm around her waist, pulling her to him so that she sat between his knees against his chest, his arms around her shoulders. "We don't have to whisper so loudly this way," he said in her ear -- though it was really just an excuse to hold her and he was sure she knew it. She must be able to hear how hard his heart hammered under his ribs.
She tucked her head beneath his chin and set a hand on his chest, although she didn't speak immediately. He stroked her shoulder under her robe. Her hair smelled of lilies, or some spring flower. "Tell me exactly what Sirius said," he prompted after a minute.
She did, and asked at the end, "Can you believe it?"
"It's insane but . . . the sad thing is, I can believe it."
She pushed away from him a little, turning her head to look at him. "I'm not just worried about Dumbledore, I'm worried about you, too."
"Why?" It was hard to concentrate on her words with her face that close. He just wanted to bend forward and kiss her.
"If they can get rid of Dumbledore, Cedric, what makes you think they'll let you stay as Head Boy?"
His gaze rose from her mouth to her eyes. He couldn't say he hadn't thought about that, but -- "Once appointed, it's not easy to dismiss Heads or prefects. We'd have to do something seriously wrong."
"I know," she said. "I came here before breakfast and looked some things up." She had? "I wanted to know about previous Head Boys who'd been removed from office. There aren't many examples."
"I told you."
"But there are some." She leaned away from him long enough to snare her book bag and search through it. Finding whatever she was seeking, she pulled it out and handed it to him: a page of her notes. "There -- I made a list. Who they were and what they did. Only seven since Hogwarts started, but, well -- it should give you some idea."
He glanced through it. "Gaius Bickerman killed someone in a duel? Good heavens. Rupert Smythe got a girl pregnant -- and the Head Girl? Well, yeah, that would do it." He set the list aside. "Like I said, Granger -- it has to be something fairly serious, which I think that list shows. I'm not planning on murdering anybody, all right? Even Malfoy."
"The duel death was an accident," she pointed out, head turned just slightly where it rested against his shoulder. "And you picked out the two most extreme. There are other things on there."
"I know, I can read. They're still all serious infractions of the rules. Cheating -- three of those. I may pass notes in class" -- he winked down at her -- "but I've never cheated on a test." Well, knowing about the dragons might have constituted cheating, but all the champions had known so he didn't think that counted. "I'm a good boy," he added, wagging his eyebrows. "Good at a lot of things."
Unimpressed, she gave a sniff. "And you said Percy was full of himself."
"Yeah, well, Percy was serious about it."
She twisted in his arms so she should see his face fully. "Don't forget what they tried to do to Harry this summer -- they can trump something up. You're going to have to tread very carefully."
"I know," he said. "I know, Granger. Thank you for looking into all that." He pulled her against his shoulder and held her. She seemed content with that and they just breathed together. He could stay this way all afternoon but fished in his pocket for his watch, opening the front to look at it. "I have to leave in a few minutes to make it to class." She nodded against his shoulder but didn't speak. One of her hands had sneaked around his waist and her head was tucked under his chin again. Stroking her hair and pressing his mouth to the crown of her head, he felt both gut-wrenching excitement and a languid happiness, and sat with her five minutes longer than he should have, debating whether to try to kiss her. Despite everything, he felt a bit nervous about it, frozen with indecision.
Finally they parted so he could stand up. "How long should we wait, do you think?" she asked.
"Wait for what?" He wasn't sure what she was talking about.
She frowned. "People are already gossiping enough about you and Cho. We shouldn't give them more to tar and feather you with."
He sighed. A part of him didn't want to wait at all, but they'd just been discussing his need to tread carefully, and not only with Umbridge. Dumbledore had put him in charge to unite the Houses, not alienate his fellow students. At least she recognized as much, too. "Let's play it by ear," he replied, listening carefully before daring to stand up. The last thing they needed was to be caught huddled together on the floor behind a library table. Turning back, he smiled down at her. "Later, Granger."
Cedric's lesson with McGonagall was outside in the courtyard so they had some space, but it didn't go as well as it probably should have. He'd spent too much of his weekend with his mind on girls -- the one he wanted and the one he'd just broken up with -- not on Transfigurations. "This is not up to your usual standard, Mr. Diggory," McGonagall admonished him halfway through. "I'm disappointed."
Ashamed, he hung his head. "I know, I'm sorry." He could have offered excuses but didn't bother. McGonagall didn't accept them, for her students or herself.
She was watching him, as if trying to decide whether to say anything further. In the end she didn't, and they returned to the lesson. Before he left for supper, however, she made one almost offhand comment, "I realize that, at your age, Diggory, the opposite sex can be a bit distracting, and even intelligent boys notice intelligent girls. But do try to remember why you're here."
When he finally reached the Great Hall, still chagrined, it was only to be greeted by loud shouting. Angelina Johnson appeared ready to tear a strip or three off Harry. McGonagall, coming in behind him, swept past and down on the two in a rage. "Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!"
"But Professor -- he's gone and landed himself in detention again --"
What? Cedric clunked closer even as McGonagall echoed his question aloud, "What's this, Potter? Detention? From whom?"
Cedric was too far away to hear Harry's response, or McGonagall's reply but Hermione was standing near them and she turned to look at him, mouthing (if not obviously) 'Umbridge.'
Bloody hell. The stupid, temperamental git. Didn't he realize what was at stake here?
Cedric stomped down the length of the Hufflepuff table, his back to Gryffindor. He didn't want to talk to Harry right now; he didn't feel particularly sympathetic. But what awaited him at dinner was no better. He'd barely sat down and filled his plate when Susan Bones appeared beside him, slipping him a copy of The Evening Prophet, opened to an inner page. The Prophet's evening edition was given somewhat more to 'human interest' stories than the news-focused morning printing. Now, he took the paper from Susan and read what she'd found. It wasn't long. It didn't need to be.
Cedric Diggory's Personal Tragedy
When the famed Triwizard Tournament ended last June with that shocking attack on two Champions due to an appalling oversight by Albus Dumbledore, we all knew that Cedric Diggory, 17, son of Ministry employee Amos Diggory and Master Painter Lucy Diggory, had been severely wounded. What wasn't known yet was the full extent of young Diggory's incapacitation.
Suffering from irreversible spell damage, Britain's Triwizard Champion went from a bright, promising, athletic student and Quidditch Captain to a permanently handicapped victim of Dumbledore's incompetence, with a lifelong dependency on potions, including the restricted Abdoleo for pain management.
"Abdoleo is on the list of restricted potions because it's a highly addictive narcotic that dulls physical sensation," explained medi-wizard Patrick Johnston of St. Mungo's --
Who the ruddy hell was Johnston? He'd never had a healer named Johnston. The Prophet must have cornered the first person they could find, certainly not anybody who actually knew anything about Cedric's condition.
"It deadens pain, of course, but it deadens all physical sensation. Potions aren't as specific as we'd like them to be." Johnston went on to add, "It can also interfere with a patient's ability to think and reason to his full capacity. It's an inevitable side effect of narcotics of this type."
"Mr. Diggory has gone from an O-student to passing notes in class with more unsavory sorts," said Ministry-appointed Hogwart's High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge (see the story in our morning edition). "It's terribly sad."
Cedric let out a laugh. Looking up at Peter, Ed and Scott, he said, "You lot are 'unsavory' now."
This autumn, Diggory -- in his final year at Hogwarts -- was appointed by Dumbledore to the much-coveted position of Head Boy, perhaps as a gesture of apology, or to secure his silence. In any case, it seems cruel to place someone so chronically ill and dependent on medication in a position of such high stress and responsibility. We only hope that Diggory hasn't been asked for more than he can bear.
Cedric tossed the paper on the table. "Brilliant," he said.
That won him startled looks from Susan, and Ernie, Justin and Hannah, too, who'd followed her over. They must all have read it. Scott had it now, scanning it quickly with Peter and Ed reading over his shoulder. "Cedric," Susan began, "how can you say -- "
"In five paragraphs, Fudge's lackeys at the paper have managed to completely undermine my authority and provide a perfect reason to dismiss anything I say that they don't want taken seriously." He stabbed at his pork chop and cut into it ruthlessly. "I'm a brain-addled drug addict. How could I possibly know what's going on? Like I said -- it's a brilliant piece of writing."
Abruptly he dropped his utensils with a clatter, snarling softly so that no one beyond them could hear, "That bloody bitch."
"Hey mate," Peter said, "half the seventh-year class -- and Umbridge -- saw you pull a hawk out of your wand today when we couldn't even get songbirds. If that's drug-addled, I'll take some of what you're having."
"Shut up, Pete," Scott told him before Cedric could. Scott was frowning at the paper. "This may be shite, but it's dangerous shite. We know what he can do because we know him. That's the point. It's people who don't know him who'll pay attention to this. Parents, other students --"
Cedric abruptly pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry." Getting to his feet, he left the hall. People watched him go, most in confusion, but a few with knowing glances. The Evening Prophet wasn't that widely read, but he was sure that by tomorrow morning, everybody in the school would have either seen or heard a summary of the article.
The more he thought about it, the more enraged he became. Always a good and quiet student, he'd had little experience with attacks on his reputation. First had been the gossip about Cho, but, well -- he knew himself at least partly guilty as charged. But this? He wanted nothing more than to Conjure an entire pack of wolves into Umbridge's office. And he'd thought ill of Harry for getting more detentions? Right now, he doubted he could face Umbridge without unleashing such a string of profanity he'd earn a month of them. How had Dumbledore stood attacks like this all summer?
As if Conjured (unlike the wolves), Dumbledore was waiting in the Entrance Hall as Cedric clumped into it. Halting, Cedric just glared. The headmaster approached, appearing solemn and more troubled than Cedric could ever recall seeing him. "I am . . . truly sorry. When I asked you, this summer --"
"-- you asked, I said yes," Cedric interrupted, though he knew it terribly rude of him. He didn't want apologies from Dumbledore. He wanted revenge on Umbridge.
Still looking troubled, Dumbledore shook his head. "Shall we walk?"
Cedric nodded and they headed out the main entrance, Dumbledore tapping his staff almost absently on the steps to make a flat ramp for Cedric. It wasn't quite dark yet, though the moon was up. Glancing towards the Forbidden Forest, Cedric saw a pair of dark-winged horses rise above the tree line, and remembered the strange animals pulling the carriages. Almost, he opened his mouth to ask about them, but didn't. Was there some truth to the accusations of being addle-headed if he were seeing things?
Dumbledore glanced over at him, face pulled into a knowing expression. "You've spotted some of our thestrals, I see."
"Thestrals!" Of course. "There are thestrals in the forest?"
"Indeed. Hagrid has built up quite a herd."
"Isn't that . . . dangerous? To have them pulling the carriages? They were pulling the carriages, weren't they? They're not precisely tame."
"Nor are many things that are, nonetheless, beautiful and useful."
He couldn't argue with that. "I can see them . . . "
"Because you witnessed a death, yes. I find it reassuring that, even in such times as these, so few of our students can see them. I hope it will always be so, but fear I may be overly optimistic." He stopped walking then and turned to face Cedric. "Despite what you said a moment ago, I must still apologize to you, Mr. Diggory. In my need this summer, I asked you for something I don't believe you could, then, fully grasp the ramifications of. Although to be fair, I never expected such a direct attack on a student. To cast aspersions on me is one thing. To humiliate and insult a boy --"
"I'll be eighteen in two weeks, sir. I'm not a boy."
Dumbledore considered him through the half-moon spectacles. "In many ways, you are not, or I would never have placed you in this position at all. Nonetheless. There is something of a difference between eighteen and one hundred and fifty five, so I hope you will forgive me if I still call you a boy." He said it with a kind smile, and the reminder mollified Cedric a bit. "It by no means reflects a lack of respect for your integrity or your talent -- or your ability to reason. I hope you do understand that making you Head Boy was far from a guilty apology. If I'd pitied you, I would have made certain you suffered no strain at all this year. Instead, I might be asking more of you than I've ever asked of any Head Boy. You may be disabled, Cedric, but you are far from handicapped, not in any way that matters."
Cedric blushed and ducked his head, pleased by the compliment even if he also recognized it for a pep talk. "I know why you picked me. I can do what the Sorting Hat said we need. I can unify them." Then he realized how arrogant that had sounded and felt the blood scald his ears and neck. "Merlin, that was cheeky."
"No, that was clear-sighted and honest," Dumbledore said. "Modesty has its place. But so does a fair appraisal of your own abilities and value. You represent all the strengths of your House -- one of which is unity. You understand why it matters, and are able to accomplish things that I, in my exalted position" -- he grinned at that -- "cannot. I wish I could say personal attacks against you will cease after this."
"But they won't. They're just starting."
"I fear so. The way to divide us is by causing us to doubt one another."
"Then I'll have to fight back." He'd said as much to Hermione before, but hadn't any clear notion then how to do it. Now a fledgling idea came to him. "Sir, may I have a room in the castle? An empty one? Preferably in a central location -- on the ground floor, or near the library, perhaps?"
"I suppose I could locate an empty room for you, Mr. Diggory. May I inquire as to how you plan to use it?"
"If Umbridge -- and Voldemort -- want to divide us to make us weaker, it's time we stopped helping them by segregating ourselves. The Sorting Hat thinks sorting's a bad idea, so I want to unSort us. I want to make a Hogwarts common room where anyone, of any House, will be welcome."
Dumbledore's head came up and Cedric had the impression he might actually have managed to surprise the headmaster. "That is a magnificent idea, Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore said after a moment, smiling slyly.
Notes: Yes, there are several references in various chapters to Goblet of Fire scenes as shown in the movie, not the book, but I like that pedestrian bridge. Please remember this novel is a mix of sources. I also altered the timing of the shouting match between Angelina and Harry; in the book, it occurs Tuesday morning, not Monday night.
Thanks again to the lovely folks who've left feedback anonymously that I can't respond to. I very much appreciate it! Those who leave signed comments will always receive a reply.