It was Ron who told Hermione what the "line writing" during Harry's detentions with Umbridge really amounted to. She was horrified. "That absolute monster! We've got to tell Dumbledore!"

"Harry doesn't want to, Hermione."

"But --"

"You try to convince him, then. But you can't go over his head."

"McGonagall then."

"Same answer." Ron didn't even bother to look up as he worked on his dream diary, jotting down ideas for Harry as he went, probably to save Harry time later.

"Cedric?"

Ron finally glanced at her. "I thought you weren't talking to him?"

Hermione blushed. "Well . . . I wasn't. We weren't. Now we are." She lowered her voice though the others in the Gryffindor common room weren't really listening. "I needed to tell him the news from Sirius."

Ron had returned his attention to his diary, writing with a certain angry flourish. "You like him, don't you?"

"He's very nice --"

"You fancy him. And he fancies you."

Uncomfortable with this new conversational direction, she squirmed. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd harbored a crush on Ron, and had wondered sometimes if he might feel the same. Nor had she forgotten how vicious he'd been about Viktor because she'd gone to the Yule Ball with him. Yet she didn't want to lie. If she and Cedric weren't ready to go public to the rest of the school, Ron and Harry were her best friends. They deserved to know the truth. "Yes," she said now. "And before you ask, no, he did not break up with Cho for me."

He nodded, eyes on his writing. "So he's . . . he's treating you all right, then?"

"We just had a disagreement. We settled it." Or at least they'd buried it for the moment, and learned they could survive being angry with each other.

"What about?" Ron asked, as if genuinely curious.

"House-elves."

That won a snort. "He told you you're a nutter, didn't he?"

Opening her Astronomy text, she pretended interest in that. "He just needs to meet Dobby."

"He's not going to agree with you any more than I do, Hermione. They have a house-elf, you know."

She jerked her head up. "What! How do you know?"

"The Diggorys aren't poor. I mean, they're not Malfoys or Blacks or anything, but yeah. It's not like we knew them well, but I remember seeing their elf. She dotes on Diggory like a nanny."

Well that certainly explained a thing or two, Hermione thought. Of course he wouldn't be open to hearing about house-elf liberation if he was part of the slavery system, and even three days ago, this news might have left her furious. But she'd realized since that he just needed to hear the other side. Cedric had a kind heart. And if he did genuinely care about his elf, perhaps she could enlist that elf's aid in explaining it all to him.

Harry returned to the tower while she was on rounds and she didn't see him that night. Like the evening before, she made sure to present her report to Cedric in the company of others, but after their pleasant lunch date in the library (whatever the unpleasant topic of discussion), she wasn't prepared for the furious frown on his face or the shortness of his voice. On the way out, Ron muttered, "Who peed in his soup?"

"Umbridge," Ernie MacMillan replied even as Hannah Abbot asked, "You haven't seen The Evening Prophet?" She and Ron both shook their heads. Hannah's face was unusually hard. "Come down to the entrance hall." They followed the two Hufflepuffs, then waited while Hannah and Ernie disappeared into the Hufflepuff common room and returned, paper in hand. Hannah offered it up, already folded to the offending article.

Hermione sucked in breath as she read, feeling the blood drain out of her face. "What sort of rubbish is this?" Ron asked, reading over her shoulder.

Hermione thrust the paper at him and hurried off so that neither Hannah nor Ernie could see her fume -- or cry. She wished she could hang, draw and quarter Umbridge.

The next morning, the bandage on Harry's hand made her feel even worse. Umbridge was getting away with murder and no one seemed able to stop her. After breakfast, Hermione found herself running after Cedric even though they'd agreed not to reveal their relationship yet. But she wasn't seeking him out as her boyfriend. She was a prefect who wanted to see the Head Boy. "Cedric!" she called. Surprised, he turned. He was walking with his friend Peter, who peered at her curiously as she stopped beside them. "I need to speak with you about a student," she said to Cedric so Peter wouldn't make assumptions, but he shot Cedric a knowing look anyway and slapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Later."

"Later." To Hermione, Cedric said softly, "Do you really need to talk to me about a student?"

"Actually, yes," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "We can just stand here so no one sees us go off alone. Does Peter, um -- does he know? I mean, you know, about . . . " she trailed off.

"He suspects. Scott's figured it out. Ed . . . he's still a bit clueless."

"Ron asked; I told him. I didn't want to lie. And if Ron knows, Harry will know." She paused, then added, "I don't care if our friends know."

He shook his head. "I don't, either. Now, what student and what's going on?"

"It's Harry, actually. He's -- Cedric, you can't tell anybody, understand? Not even Harry himself. Ron told me, and then told me not to tell anybody else because Harry doesn't want anyone to know, but --" She pulled at her hair. "I can't bear it -- what that woman's doing!" It came out soft but harsh.

"What woman? Umbridge?" He seemed very concerned and had stepped closer to her.

"Yes. But give me your word you won't tell, first."

He frowned. "Hermione, if she's doing something that would seriously endanger his health or welfare, I'm honor bound to report it to Dumbledore. It's part of my job. And part of yours." He added that gently. "There are some things we have to report, even if it breaks a confidence."

"I know." She'd read her prefects' letter. "This isn't . . . it's awful, but it's not anything like that." She took a breath, then said, "She's been setting him lines for detention. At first, I didn't think that so bad. But it's not lines on parchment. She's got a magic quill that cuts the lines into his hand."

"Blimey -- a punishment quill," Cedric said, sucking in breath. "They're illegal. They've been illegal for . . . I don't know . . . half a century. Harry should report this. It might be enough to get rid of her."

Hermione looked him in the eye finally. "You know it wouldn't be. Fudge'll just pass some law that permits it, or overturn the old one."

He appeared frustrated but didn't, she noticed, argue. "All right," he said after a minute. "Listen -- find some solution of strained, pickled murtlap tentacles. Ask Angelina. As Quidditch Captain, she should have it. We get lots of scrapes and cuts playing and it's very effective. It'll help his hand, at least."

She nodded. "Thanks, Ced."

"Tell him to come and talk to me. I'll pretend I didn't know already."

She nodded again. "I'll see if he'll listen." And they parted for class.

At lunch as he passed behind where she sat at the Gryffindor table, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck beneath her pinned-up hair. The touch was brief -- he needed both hands to walk -- but it burned her like fire and put a completely dopey grin on her face. Harry and Ron stared at her quizzically until they saw who'd just passed behind her. Ron rolled his eyes and Harry frowned at his plate. Hermione left lunch early, and was a bit surprised when Harry followed her out, speaking to her softly, "Ron said that you and Cedric . . . The two of you, erm . . . " he trailed off, as if at a loss.

Hermione just nodded. "It's not public yet. He doesn't want to hurt Cho."

"Could've fooled me."

She stopped and turned to Harry, then grabbed a fistful of his robe and hauled him out into the courtyard. "I need to talk to you." When they'd found a spot under a tree away from anyone else, she sat down and he sat across from her. "Luna told me that Cho is saying that I stole Cedric from her, but that's rubbish; we never did anything until after they'd already broken up." It all burst out of her in one breath.

Harry's chin was set stubbornly. "What he did wasn't right. He just strung her along -- didn't even break up with her. She broke up with him. She told me."

Hermione frowned down at her hands where they gripped the book bag in her lap. "Maybe she just said the words first. I know he was planning to."

"How do you know what he was planning to do? You just said the two of you didn't do anything until after -- and I thought you weren't talking to him anyway?" His voice was rising slightly.

"Look, if you're going to go spare, I won't talk to you." She glanced down. "And I really need to talk to somebody, Harry. Somebody not Cedric."

His mood altered and the hard glint left his green eyes. "Sorry. All right, talk."

"We made up on Sunday. It was a stupid fight about house-elves. Well, maybe not so stupid, but I know he was going to break up with Cho because he told me then. But we didn't do anything -- honest." He'd held her hand for a moment, but that was all. "We never meant this to happen and I didn't steal him from Cho." She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eyes. "He never pretended he wasn't with her and I never tried to take him from her. We just . . . talked. He seems quiet, I know, but when he's interested in something, well" -- she smiled almost involuntarily -- "he can talk a lot. And as strange as it sounds, sometimes I think he's got the other half of my brain."

"There's a scary thought," Harry said, lips quirking up a little.

"That's how it started. We just . . . talked. For hours. We never ran out of things to say. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a bit more than friendship." She stared at Harry, feeling slightly helpless and hoping he'd understand. "You were the one joking this summer that we could break them up. You'd take Cho and I'd take Cedric. You can't be that upset Cho's free."

"Yeah, well -- he should've broken up with her when he got back here if he really wanted you."

She shook her head. "I don't think he knew what he wanted, or felt that breaking up immediately would be fair to Cho. He had to give her a chance."

"He said all that, did he?" Harry's voice was taking on that irritated tone again which signaled an advancing loss of temper.

"Not exactly." She frowned, unable to meet his eyes. "We didn't really talk about Cho, Harry. We talked about everything but Cho. I don't think he felt it was appropriate, and I didn't ask. Well, not much. I did ask him about the Yule Ball. And, um, you might find this part interesting -- he didn't have a crush on her when he asked her. He just did it because he was tired of being chased by other girls and the two of them were friends. They had a good time at the ball, so they started seeing each other afterwards."

Finally she looked up and eyed Harry thoughtfully. "You know, if you'd asked her first, I think she might have gone with you." She shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm not sure how much they ever really liked each other."

"She was his treasure in the lake."

"Yes, well -- I was Viktor's. I suspect Bagman, Crouch and Dumbledore were looking for someone nearby who each champion cared enough about to worry over a bit. You weren't still seeing Parvati, and Fleur didn't stay with Roger, so they picked more accurately for you two. For Cedric and Viktor, they defaulted to girlfriends. It's not that Cedric didn't care for Cho, but . . . " She shrugged again, unsure if she really believed her own rationale or was just trying to justify their altered feelings.

"Anyway," she went on, "I know you talk to Cho." Harry blushed at that. "Tell her . . . tell her I didn't steal him. Not on purpose. And I think he tried to make things work with her. That's why he didn't break up with her immediately. And we tried just to be friends, like I am with you."

"But you're more now."

"I suppose we are." She put a hand over her mouth to conceal a giggle. "He's never actually asked me. We just assumed it. Like I said, we seem to share a brain sometimes. But we're not going to make anything public yet and embarrass Cho. Also -- don't tell her we're together, all right? That's only for you to know."

'Maybe you should just tell people the truth."

"And you think they'd believe us? You know me -- and Cedric. You'll believe me if I say we didn't do anything, and didn't mean this to happen. But after everything else being said about him right now, Ced doesn't need this, too. It's better if we wait until it all blows over. I wanted you to know because . . . well, you're my friend. And if Cho says anything to you, I wanted you to know what really happened," she finished lamely.

Harry frowned and appeared to think it all over. Finally, he said, "I'm happy for you -- I mean that. But I still think Ced wasn't very good to her. He should have just come right out and told her."

Hermione didn't reply. Cedric probably should have, but she also didn't think Harry had a great deal of room to criticize. Instead, she reached out to take his bandaged hand and unwrap it to examine the thin bright red lines: I will not tell lies. "This makes me so angry," she said.

He tried to pull the hand back but she wouldn't let him, rewrapping it herself. "Yeah, well, there's nothing anybody can do about it."

"Tell Cedric, Harry. I'd suggest telling Dumbledore, or McGonagall, but I know you won't. At least tell Cedric."

"What d'you think he could do about it? He's got no more power over her than we do. And he might go to Dumbledore whether I want him to or not."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't. As long as you weren't, you know, threatening suicide or something -- that we have to report -- he wouldn't tell if you asked him not to."

"I still don't see the point."

"So he'd know." Finished with the bandage, she looked up at him. "He may not have any formal power over her, but someone besides Ron and me needs to know what she's doing. Somebody with a bit of authority."

"You and Ron are prefects; that's a bit of authority. And after that article in the Prophet last night, you think anybody's going to believe him any more than us?" Harry's lips had thinned. "Whether or not he wants to be, he's stuck in our corner now."

Hermione breathed out softly at Harry's cynicism. "He wants to be. He couldn't have made any other choice, not and be Cedric." Then she added, "And if he's in our corner, then you should tell him what Umbridge is doing to you."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. It was probably the best she could hope for just then. She'd pester him again later if he didn't.

On Thursday, Cedric met with Dumbledore again after dinner. The Headmaster had sent him a note to come to the third floor, hall of armor, and Cedric had to admit a bit of disappointment (at least to himself). The armor gallery wasn't the sort of room he'd had in mind, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

When he reached the gallery, however, it was nothing like he remembered. Gone were the suits of armor that had lined the walls and the air of medieval chill. In their place were overstuffed couches in various states of comfortable broken-in-ness, stacked with pillows and throws. All the House colors were represented, and on the long walls hung tapestries with each of the House crests. One end of the hall opened on the trophy room, and the other was hung with a tapestry bearing the Hogwarts' crest itself. Plush rugs covered the stone floor and the cobweb-ridden torch sconces had been replaced by brass-tooled lamps on tables and two charming candled chandeliers. Long enough for two fireplaces, the room's couches had been grouped around one or the other. There were also proper tables and chairs for studying.

He gaped like an idiot and Dumbledore watched, smiling. "I found your idea inspiring, Cedric, and perhaps long overdue." He gestured around him. "What do you think?"

"It's . . . brilliant," Cedric replied looking all about. "Absolutely brilliant -- and more than I expected." He turned back to Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir. If I may ask -- why this room? I didn't mean you had to move anything." Much less decorate it so sumptuously, although Cedric suspected it had been far easier for Dumbledore than it would have been for him.

Dumbledore merely gestured to the far end of the hall. "I thought it appropriate to place the Hogwarts' common room next to the room that honors Hogwarts' students, past and present."

Cedric grinned. "Thank you again."

"Would you like me to announce the room's opening tomorrow at dinner?"

"Actually . . . no." Cedric had been thinking about that. "Under the circumstances, it might be best if this spreads by word of mouth."

"As you wish." Dumbledore executed a small bow. "I entrust the room to your care, Mr. Diggory." And he left.

Cedric spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes simply examining the place. The Headmaster had walked a fine line between something too extravagant to use and something too bare to appeal. The furniture was comfortable rather than fashionable. Every couch seemed to have come from a different era and style, ranging from the late 1800s to something from the 1980s. The hogpodge was rather charming, and Cedric wondered if the castle had some sort of old furniture store that Dumbledore had plundered? Not only were the couches a mix of styles, but a mix of House colors. After circling the room twice, he plopped himself down on a black couch with loud yellow cushions near the east marble fireplace and pointed his wand at it. Logs stacked themselves inside and the fire lit, crackling loudly in the empty hall. Cedric watched it and pondered how best to spread the word.

He was still sitting there half an hour later when three heads poked in the doorway. "What the hell is this?" Peter asked. "And where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you."

Grinning at them, he gestured expansively. "Come in. Actually, I'm glad to see you. I was just thinking about heading down to the Sett -- ask them to come up here."

"Where'd the armor go?" Ed wanted to know, winding among the furniture and tables.

"Moved."

"What is this place?" Peter asked again, wandering behind Ed. Scott just stood near the door and looked around at the walls, hands on hips. "Did you do this?" Peter went on.

"No -- Dumbledore did. I just asked for it."

"What is it?"

"A common room."

"Looks a bit . . . big, mate. And don't we already have one of those?"

"It's not ours," Scott explained.

"It is yours," Cedric replied. "It's just not Hufflepuff's."

"That's what I meant."

"It's not what you said," Cedric told him, smiling. Then, grabbing his crutches, he got to his feet. Turning a little so he could see Ed and Peter as well as Scott, he announced, "This is the Hogwart's common room and it's for everybody. Remember what the Sorting Hat said? I did something about it."

"Umbridge is gonna kill you, mate," was Scott's serious assessment. Then he gave that blinding grin. "I love it, me! Bloody brilliant revenge!"

"Not just revenge," Cedric said. "The school's needed this. There's been no place but the library, the great hall, or outside to meet if you've got friends in other Houses. It tends to discourage people from having friends in other Houses."

"You think people will use it?" Ed asked.

"I hope so."

"You'll get Hufflepuff," Peter said. "And probably some of Gryffindor with Hermione."

"More likely with Harry," Cedric corrected.

Scott snorted and Peter just shook his head. "Hermione," Scott emphasized.

"You may as well give up pretending," Ed advised.

Even Ed knew? "I'm not that obvious!" Surely.

Scott just laughed at him. "You failed at 'sneaky,' Ced. At least for this, and with us."

Cedric was a bit offended. He thought he did sneaky quite well. The other three must have found his expression amusing because they all burst out laughing. "Granger has you completely bewitched," Peter told him. "We decided to count, this morning, how often you mentioned her at breakfast." He glanced at Ed. "What was the final total?"

"Sixteen times." And they went off into gales of laughter again.

"Besotted!" Peter declared. "Just ask her out, for goodness sake, so the rest of us can get some relief."

Annoyed, Cedric glared back. "First, I think it rather crass to ask out one girl two days after breaking it off with another. Second, I can't believe you counted!" He was torn between indignation and astonishment.

Peter wiped his eyes and got his laughter under control. "To hell with being crass. Cho's not going to forgive you for months. Please don't wait that long. We can't take all this mooning around after a Gryffindor."

"I'm not mooning around." They just laughed harder. If he hadn't required the crutches, he'd have crossed his arms. "And I'm not asking her out yet."

Scott feigned choking, Ed shook his head and Peter just walked over to slap his shoulder. "Then go snog her in a cupboard, but please do something about it, right? You need a girl, Ced. You're a right moody git unless you've got one."

"That Diggory Charm never fails when it comes to pulling in a girl," Scott pointed out.

"Piss off," Cedric said, thoroughly put out. It did absolutely nothing to quell their amusement.

Dousing the fire in the fireplace, they all went down to the Sett. "I need everybody," Cedric said once there, propping himself on the edge of a table in the common room while Scott, Ed and Peter dispersed to round people up. They rarely called a whole-House meeting and he was sure several were missing, in the library or elsewhere, but soon the room was packed with Hufflepuffs on chairs, couches, or the floor. Around them pressed the stone walls of the Sett, covered with its bright paintings and tapestries, and the old wooden wine racks -- used now as small cubby holes for personal items such as spare quills or parchment, or to pin up notices. It felt close and cosy, and they waited to see what Cedric had to say, their faces turned up to him expectantly. He was struck by the collective power of their faith in him, and hoped he wouldn't let them down. The badge on his chest weighed heavy.

"How many of you remember the gist of the Sorting Hat song?" he asked them.

About three-quarters raised hands.

"And how many of you were angry over what it said about Hufflepuff?"

That time, every hand went up. "We're not bloody doormats!" Zacharias Smith called from his spot off to the side on a yellow couch arm.

Cedric grinned. "No, we're not. We're the House that got it right from the beginning."

Complete silence followed and he lowered his voice to confide, "We know the secret." He paused. "We stand or fall together -- and I mean together. The rest of them don't understand that, not like we do." He glanced down at the first years gathered on the carpet to his left. "Don't be ashamed to be Hufflepuff, ever. Helga didn't take 'the rest.' She took everybody. People say our house has no distinction. That's a lie. We have more variety than any other because we recognize it's necessary. We can't be all hands or feet -- or heads or hearts. It takes all kinds. We throw no one out, reject nobody, and every voice has the right to speak here. If you belong to the Sett, you belong. End of story. The only thing we ask is that you show the same loyalty. Betrayal isn't something we forgive."

He looked back then to the rest of them. "We need to teach that to everybody else now -- especially now. A snake's invaded our home and the only way to keep her at bay is if we're united. And not just against her. You've heard, I'm sure, that Voldemort is back."

There were indrawn breaths all around at his use of the name and Smith burst out, "We've heard that you've said he is." As usual, he was the one to vocalize what at least some of the rest were thinking. "But that's all we've heard. Why do you think so, except that Potter and Dumbledore say it?"

"Are you calling Ced a liar -- ?" Ed asked, turning on Smith. They'd never got along, either on the Quidditch field or off. Now, Peter put a hand on Ed's shoulder, but Cedric wasn't sure whether it was to hold him back or urge him on.

"It's a fair question," Cedric replied to halt a fight. "As for why I say so -- I saw him myself. You can call me a tosser or a drug-addled idiot if you wish" -- there were a few snickers at that -- "but I saw him, Zach. He's alive again." Whispers were racing around the room and more than a few faces appeared anxious. "It is frightening," he went on, addressing them all once more. "It's easier to believe he's not back, to believe the Ministry's lies. They're scared, too; that's why they're trying so hard to convince everyone there's nothing to worry about. They don't know what to do either.

"But it's creating exactly the atmosphere You Know Who wants. He makes people afraid, suspicious of each other -- divides them. Then he attacks when his targets are alone.

"In Hufflepuff, we don't abandon each other. And there's no House he fears more than ours -- yes, really. He hates Gryffindor -- but he fears us. Funny to think on, isn't it? He fears us because we do know the secret. We stand together. And we -- together -- are stronger than he is."

That earned him the start of applause but he held up a hand. "That wasn't a pep talk. I'm telling you an important fact. Voldemort's Death Eaters stay with him because they fear him, not because they love him. Love and loyalty isn't something he understands. We do, and we need to remind the rest of them. It's not enough just to stick together in the Sett. We need all the Houses now: everybody. Remember that Helga took everyone, and she never meant us to reject the rest, even if they think they're better than we are. She meant us to embrace them -- Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and -- yes -- Slytherin."

The mutters now were darker; they didn't like that idea so much. It was time, he thought, to tell a little secret. He held up a hand again and the murmurs died away. "You think Slytherin despises us -- and we despise them. You think a Slytherin could never love or respect a Hufflepuff, right?"

They were watching him, curious, but not suspecting.

"My mother was in Slytherin."

Dead silence. They looked at each other, flummoxed. All but the youngest had witnessed last year how his mother loved him. "That's right," he said. "Slytherin -- and my father was in Gryffindor. Here I am in Hufflepuff and I've never doubted I was sorted into the right House. It is possible, you know, for the Houses to work together. Voldemort" -- gasps -- "and Umbridge, too, expect us to pull apart. We in Hufflepuff can't let that happen. We know the truth. We have to hold together, or they can isolate and attack us.

"We've become the guardians of this school. The rest of them may not think we're clever, or brave, or ambitious enough -- but it's up to us to save them."

So that had sounded pompous, but this was the pep talk part. He needed them to believe in their own worth.

"We're the strong House, you see. We may not always come in first, but we'll be the last to go down. We're not the school doormats. We're tough. Stubborn. Powerful. Most of all, we're united. And Voldemort is scared shitless of that."

That got a few laughs and he resettled himself. He had their complete attention. "There is a room -- a new room -- in the castle. It's a common room for all of us -- every House. The Hogwart's Common Room. And I need you to haul everybody you call a friend from a different House in there. Show them how to be comfortable with people who aren't like them -- how to belong. How to be united. Make them feel welcome. I need you, badgers. Don't let me down, all right?"

And he trailed off into silence. There was some shuffling. "Where is this room?" Ernie asked.

"Where the hall of armor used to be. Third floor, near the trophy room." He grinned. "I don't think it'll be hard to recognize when you get there. You can go and look now, if you like."

People glanced at each other, then, somewhat to Cedric's surprise, Susan Bones rose to her feet and headed for the exit. "Well, I want to see, at least."

She started a mass exodus. Hufflepuffs trailed behind her like chicks behind the hen. Cedric watched them go, but didn't follow. Ed, Peter and Scott had come over. "Think it'll work?" Peter asked.

"I have no idea, but it's the best I could think of."

Ed was looking a bit wistful. "She's a brave bird," he said.

Cedric, Peter and Scott all turned to him. "Who?"

"Susan," he replied, as if they were daft. Cedric and Scott exchanged a grin.

"Well, you've been up there to the room," Cedric said.

"Why don't you go with them?" Scott suggested.

"Make sure they don't get lost," Cedric added.

Ed tilted his head. "Maybe I should."

"Go on." Peter pushed at him. Ed went. As soon as the door was shut, leaving the three of them alone in the room, they sputtered into laughter. Cedric felt relieved to be among the ones amused this time, not the focal point of it.

Hermione diligently avoided Cedric all week because when they did pass in the hall, big, silly grins stole onto their faces and she feared they'd give themselves away if they risked anything more. Gossip about him and Cho continued to run rampant, but by Friday, it slipped in favor of whispers regarding a 'Hogwarts Common Room.'

"What the ruddy hell is a 'Hogwarts Common Room'?" Ron asked as they tramped back to the castle after Herbology. "There's no such thing."

"There is now," said someone behind them -- Ernie MacMillan. Ron's voice must have carried, as Harry, Hermione, and Ron suddenly found themselves interwoven by Ernie, Hannah and Justin. "It used to be the hall of armor," Ernie went on. "Now it's got chairs and couches and tables for studying, and a big board for notices -- just like all the other common rooms but about three times their size."

"Why would we want another common room?" Harry asked.

"Haven't you ever needed to study with somebody from another House, but Pince chased you out of the library?" Hannah asked. "Or you just wanted to visit with somebody when it was raining outside -- but you couldn't go to their room and they couldn't come to yours?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really."

"I have," Hermione said. "I had that big project in Arithmancy last year with two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff and we had an awful time scheduling meetings." The idea of a school common room sounded rather overdue to her.

"Couldn't you just use a classroom for that?" Ron asked.

"Well, we could -- and did -- but then we had to schedule the classroom, too. It was quite a mess."

"See?" Hannah said. "You won't ever have a problem like that again. Come up after dinner. Justin's mother sent him a big tin of popcorn and he's promised to show us how to roast it over the fireplace."

And Hermione experienced one of those odd moments of cultural disconnect. They happened less frequently now than in her first years, but still cropped up occasionally, born from a casual comment. Glancing at Hannah, she said, "Haven't you ever had popcorn before?"

"Nope," Ernie replied. "I've heard of it, sure, but it's kind of an American thing, isn't it?"

"They don't exactly go to cinema," Justin pointed out to her. "So they're a little behind on some stuff." To Ernie, he said, "You can get it in any grocery shop, you know. It's not exotic. Couscous is exotic, not popcorn."

"What's couscous?" Hannah asked.

Hermione could see Harry grinning and shaking his head.

After supper, Harry had to go to his final detention with Umbridge, but Hermione and Ron headed upstairs with Dean, Seamus, Neville, Ginny and -- to their surprise -- Luna Lovegood, who appeared to have attached herself to them as they'd left the Great Hall.

The room was noisy with talk, both fireplaces going and -- as promised -- Justin was attempting to show his friends how to make popcorn in an old-fashioned, long-handled iron popper held above the flames. She wondered where on earth he'd found that? An antique shop?

She was watching the adventures in corn popping when she heard a soft voice behind her ask, "What do you think of my version of fighting back?"

Turning, she found Cedric standing there. He wore one of his positively devilish grins, and his raccoon was perched atop his head. It made her break out in giggles. He always looked so ridiculous with Esiban balanced up there, but she'd come to understand that Cedric found looking ridiculous amusing -- as long as it was on his own terms.

"This was your idea?" But as soon as she asked it, she realized it must be. It had 'Cedric' written all over it.

He just nodded. "We shouldn't talk long," he said, glancing around. "I wanted to tell you last night when you reported, but you came in with a bunch of other people."

"I've been trying to do that."

"I noticed." He raised an eyebrow. "Might be a bit of overkill."

"Better safe than sorry." She surveyed the chattering people. "It's like a party in here."

"That was the idea. It'll calm down later. Unfortunately, the party involves only three Houses. Got an idea how to lure in the fourth?"

"You want Slytherin?"

"We need Slytherin."

She sighed, because he was right. "I'll think about it." Looking at him once more, his face all alight with the success of what he'd managed so far, she couldn't help but grin, too. "Have you had popcorn?"

"Have I . . . what?" He appeared completely confused.

"Had popcorn?" She nodded to Justin, Hannah, Ernie and Susan.

He followed the direction of her nod. "Oh -- that. Yes, I've had popcorn, but it's not a very Wizarding thing." Shifting his weight to balance on one arm, he reached up to pull Esiban off his head. The raccoon dropped from his shoulder to the floor and scampered off, weaving among people, some of whom squeaked in surprise when they realized it wasn't a cat.

"You've never been to the cinema, then?"

He smiled at her. "No, I haven't. Although I do know what it is."

"Would you like to go sometime? I mean, I don't know when, but . . . sometime?"

"Are you asking me for a date, Granger?"

"Rather vague timing for a date," she replied, eyes avoiding his. It seemed less like they were flirting this way. They were just standing here, talking, several feet between their bodies.

"I tell you what, I'll go to the cinema with you if you'll come to the first Hogsmeade weekend with me. And that is asking for a date."

Surprised she looked around, but he wasn't looking at her, either. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I've been told I failed sneaky. And I need to put an end time on this charade. It'll have been a month by then, more or less."

Her common sense was telling her to turn him down but her mouth said, "Yes, I'd love to go with you."

If possible, his smile turned even more luminescent.

"Hey, I heard about the new common room," Harry said, slipping in beside Cedric at the Hufflepuff table for Sunday lunch. Cedric was, for once, eating alone. "I hope it gives Umbridge indigestion."

"Me too," Cedric replied, turning back to his soup. He hadn't missed the bandage on Harry's hand and remembered what Hermione had told him. "What happened to you?"

"What?"

"The hand."

"Oh, um, nothing."

Cedric stopped eating to stare at him. "Really, nothing," Harry insisted. "I hurt it playing Quidditch."

Frustrated, Cedric returned to his soup; he couldn't force Harry to tell him. "Listen," Harry was saying. "Two things. First, before I forget, Ginny insisted that I tell you Tuesday is Hermione's birthday."

Startled, Cedric dropped his spoon into the soup bowl. "Tuesday! I can't get anything by Tuesday!"

"Well, uh -- she wouldn't expect you to know, so why does it matter?"

Cedric just stared at him; was the kid really that dim when it came to girls? Maybe there was a reason Potter didn't have a girlfriend. Cedric shook his head. "She'll be, what -- sixteen?" He hadn't realized she was that old, but felt relieved -- and less like a cradle snatcher.

"Sixteen, yes," Harry confirmed.

Cedric's mind raced, trying to think of something he could do at such short notice. After a moment, he realized Harry was still sitting there. "What was the other thing?" he asked, since Harry seemed to need prompting.

"Ah, well -- it's kind of stupid, really."

Cedric glanced over. Harry had his head bowed and was frowning as he played with the bandage around his hand. "Come on, what is it?" Cedric asked.

"Hermione had this mad notion," Harry began, then stopped. Cedric didn't reply but let the silence draw Harry out. "She says we should learn Dark Arts ourselves since Umbridge isn't teaching us a damn thing, frankly." Cedric still didn't say anything and after a moment, Harry stumbled on, "The idea of studying on our own might not be so batty but, um, she, um . . . shethinksIshouldteachit."

Cedric's eyebrows went up, but he still didn't reply.

"It's really annoying when you don't say anything, you know?"

"I'm waiting for you to finish."

Harry glared. "I can't teach it. What do I know? I wondered if, well -- if maybe you could?"

And that did startle a response from him. "Me?" He shook his head. "Are you out of your mind? I've no real skill in Dark Arts. Transfiguration, sure, or even Charms. But I barely scraped an O in Dark Arts for my OWLs and I'm just hoping to pass with an A in NEWTs. You're better at it than I am."

Harry frowned, as if not expecting that. "But you're supposed to be the best in your year."

"Not in Dark Arts, and I think Roger Davies could probably make a fairer claim to being the best in our year overall. Not all magic's the same, Harry," Cedric explained. "Hexes and jinxes are the opposite of charms. Most people tend to be better at one or the other. Doesn't mean you can't do the other, but it's a bit like a see-saw, I suppose." He cocked his head. "You've faced Voldemort, and more than once. You can perform a Patronus Charm. I can't do that. And you were as much the Triwizard Champion as I was. We took the cup together, remember?"

Harry was shaking his head almost violently. "I had help. The fake Moody helped me. Then you helped me."

"You told me about the dragons --"

"Yes, but Hagrid told me. You figured out the egg yourself and then told me, and you figured out the Bubblehead Charm on your own; I had help with the gillyweed. Half the time I didn't know what I was doing -- got by on plain luck -- and the whole thing was rigged so I'd win. The fact you tied with me anyway makes you the real winner. That's why I told Dumbledore last summer that you should have the cup. You earned it."

Cedric frowned. "Actually, the fake Moody told me about the egg." The praise made him uncomfortable, but he was also honest enough to realize that Harry had a point. Harry was quite clever and capable enough, but the age restriction had been set in place for a reason. Without assistance, Harry probably wouldn't have made it past the first task because he'd simply lacked the spell knowledge. "I still have no business teaching Dark Arts to fellow students. Scott's better at it than I am -- and you're better than Scott. You think well on your feet in a pinch. You showed that in the graveyard -- sheer guts, that's what I saw. I was terrified --"

"So was I!"

"But you didn't let it freeze you up. And that's not something anybody can teach you in a class. I don't think we ever really know what we'll do in a crisis until we're in one. You were able to keep thinking -- I just overthought. When we were together behind that gravestone, I couldn't make up my mind what to do until you told me. Then I just followed your orders like a good little soldier." He smiled at the younger boy. "You saved my life. You're going to be quite something some day, Harry."

Harry was blushing, but also, Cedric thought, a bit pleased. "You saved mine later. And, well, you don't keep getting detentions from Umbridge."

Chuckling, he nudged Harry with his elbow. "We all have our skills, right? You face down dark wizards. I just stay out of detention."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the comparison had won the smile Cedric had hoped for. "So you agree with her?" Harry asked. "Hermione, I mean?"

"I think the basic idea has merit, yes. View it this way if it's easier to swallow -- anything's better than sitting around reading that book, even if it's just to get together and practice what we already know."

"I'll think about it," Harry conceded.

"You do that." In the meantime, Cedric needed to think about birthday presents. Could he get a letter to his mother in time for her to do some shopping for him?

Aside from evening report, which she stubbornly continued to make in the company of others, Hermione didn't see Cedric again until Tuesday after supper. Tuesday, her birthday. Harry had given her a nice, useful book of household charms that she'd wanted badly but was really a bit expensive, Ginny had come up with pearl earrings that changed color -- and Ron had completely forgotten. That was par for the course, but he was full of pink-cheeked apologies and pretty autumn flowers (obviously picked from the field near Hagrid's hut) and a promise to do her rounds all week. Taking her rounds deprived her of an excuse to see Cedric, but it also didn't cost him anything, and she worried about Ron feeling financially inadequate.

"You going to the library?" Harry asked her after dinner.

"I hadn't really planned to. I'd thought perhaps we could study in the common room -- the new common room."

"Well, uh . . . Ron and I were planning to get in a bit of Quidditch practice. So maybe you ought to go to the library after all."

Puzzled, she studied his face. "I could still work in the common room and when you're done -- "

"No need!" It came a bit too fast. "I, um, I promised Ron we'd do this and it might take a while. I know you don't care about watching Quidditch, so . . . "

Shaking her head, she threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll go to the library."

The library was crowded, as it turned out. When she entered, she spotted Cedric sitting at a large round table with friends -- all seventh years -- including a blonde girl she didn't know and two other boys besides Scott and Peter. The blonde girl was rather pretty with a porcelain doll face and soft curls, and she was clearly flirting with Cedric. Then again, he was free now as far as the rest of the school knew. She'd seen several girls orbiting him that past week, and it presented a sober reminder of who he was in the eyes of others. The breakup with Cho might have temporarily cast him in a negative light, but it had also made him available. And despite his crippling or the article in the Prophet, Cedric Diggory was still Head Boy, Triwizard Champion, clever and good looking -- in short, the most eligible seventh year male at Hogwarts.

And he was taking her to Hogsmeade in just two weeks. It left her with the same sense of unreality as the day Viktor Krum had finally worked up the nerve to approach her in the library, inviting her to the Yule Ball.

Cedric had seen her enter; their eyes met briefly before she scampered off to a sequestered desk where she could study alone . . . but keep him in her line of sight. Spreading her books around her, she concentrated on an essay for History of Magic, but stole glances at him over the desk top. She thought he knew it. His gestures had become more expansive, his quick grin wider, and he kept running fingers through his hair until it was a charming mess.

Then again, he might not be putting on a show for her. The pretty blonde sat right in front of him and the more Hermione thought about that, the more insecure she became. What if he changed his mind about her now that he was free again, and other girls -- girls his own age and much prettier than she -- were letting him know they found him desirable? Had he turned to her only because he'd thought those girls wouldn't want him any more, being on crutches? Obviously, the crutches were no deterrent for the blonde making eyes at him right now.

Hermione returned to her essay and tried not to look at him any more. Twenty minutes later, a miniature parchment plane sailed over the top of her desk, looped once, and landed neatly on her essay.

Startled, she looked around, but couldn't see anyone. Glancing towards the table where Cedric had been sitting, she found it empty. All the seventh years had left and several much younger students occupied it now. Baffled, she opened the tiny plane.

Magical plants. 587.12

There was no signature, nothing but a call number, yet she knew the handwriting. What was he up to?

Leaving her desk, she found the appropriate section and book. Tucked in beside it was a pink double tulip with a note tied to it. Laughing, she picked it up.

Like my new trick? It won't go back, either. Put it in some water. Magical creatures. 973.21

The lunatic. Smiling, tulip in hand, she went to the next shelf. A butterfly waited for her -- brilliant peacock blue and perched atop another note.

I'm afraid this one will go back to its original form in a few minutes. I hope you like the original almost as well. Charms. 502.86

What on earth was this about? She stared at the butterfly where it rested (a bit passively for a butterfly) on her fingers. As promised, within a few minutes it began to solidify and she found herself holding a blue cloisonne butterfly hairslip. Sliding the slip into her hair, she headed for the charms section. He couldn't possibly know what today was, could he?

As it turned out, the charms section was occupied and she dawdled until the other two students left, then hurried down to the 500s. It took a few minutes to find what he'd left this time -- just a bit of parchment slipped into a book's pages. But when she opened it, a small explosion of silver and gold stars shot out all around her, glittering like fireworks. She laughed in simple delight and looked down at what he'd written.

I'd give you the moon and stars if I could. Transfigurations. Oversized, 500s

This time, she found him, not a note. Propped on his crutches, he leaned up against a shelf, a small smile on his face. There was no one else there, but then, most people didn't bother with this corner. "Happy birthday," he said, handing her a small package.

"Who told you?" she asked, setting down the tulip to rip through the gold paper.

"Ginny, via Harry. But he didn't tell me soon enough for me to do much."

Inside lay a locket, gold like the wrapping. She sucked in breath and laid it across her palm. It was simple and dainty. "Is there anything in it?"

He shook his head. "That's for you to choose. It's for the lady to fill the locket, or that's what my grandmother always told me."

Smiling impishly, she reached up to snag several strands of his mussed hair, yanking it out. "Ouch," he said, but didn't otherwise protest as she curled it in her fingers, opened the locket, and tucked it inside. There was probably something more magical she could have selected, but this was what she wanted, and she could feel the silly smile that wouldn't leave her face. Handing it to him then, she turned her back and raised her hair so he could put it on her. "Hermione," he said, "I need both hands. I can't -- "

Horrified at herself for forgetting, she turned back to take the locket from him again. "I'm so sorry! I'm so thoughtless. I didn't mean -- "

"Shh." But he sounded sad. "I'd put it on you if we were sitting down."

Her error, however unconscious, sapped the sparkle, turning things awkward and coldly real. He'd never be able to walk down a hall holding her hand, or embrace her standing up without magical aid, or put an arm over her shoulders casually as they strolled -- things other couples took for granted.

To change the subject, she asked, "When's your birthday?" It had to be soon, or he wouldn't have been able to enter the Triwizard Tournament last year.

"Next Wednesday," he said.

Sooner than she'd expected, but at least she hadn't missed it. "We're both September babies then."

"So we are."

They stared at one another and, gradually, the heat seeped back between them. She could hear her own heartbeat and his eyes were black in the dim light. They changed like the Scottish sky -- clear and light when he was happy, but stormy when some strong emotion took him. He wasn't watching her eyes but her mouth, and she knew that look. Viktor had done the same when about to kiss her.

Except Cedric wasn't kissing her. He was just . . . standing there, as if he didn't know what to do next. "Do I have to issue you an invitation?" she asked, brows arching.

"An invitation to what?" For such a clever boy, he was sometimes clueless.

"Kiss me, you dolt."

His eyes flicked up to hers and now they were alight again with laughter. "Bossy, aren't we, poppet?"

"Don't call me poppet."

His grin was positively wicked now. "But I like it -- it suits you." He'd leaned in further, mouth just an inch from hers.

"It sounds ridiculous."

Annoyingly, he moved back instead of closer -- still grinning. "So what do you want me to call you?"

"Hermione?"

"Everybody calls you Hermione." He leaned close again. "I want something that's just mine."

"How possessive."

He pulled away once more, damn him, and looked down at her with raised brows. "What? You're not mine?"

She blushed. "I didn't say that. But are you mine? You've had a fan club all week; the girls fancy you."

"Jealous, Granger?"

"Should I be?"

He leaned back in and she really wished he'd just kiss her. She could feel his breath on her lips as he said, "Not in the least. Why do you think I asked you to Hogsmeade? Maybe they'll leave me alone when they see I'm already very, very . . . very . . . taken."

And she felt his mouth brush hers, faint as butterfly wings. It almost wasn't a kiss, but it shook her from the roots of her hair to the ends of her toes. Then he was pulling away yet again. "Don't do that," she said, reaching out to grip the back of his neck and yank his head down forcefully. This time, there was no almost touch. His mouth hit hers hard; he'd nearly overbalanced and had to recover himself. Then she forgot about books and lockets and nicknames, and everything, really. Cedric Diggory knew how to give a kiss, all lips, a little tongue and complete immersion in the moment. It was very different from kissing Viktor. (And maybe she shouldn't compare them, but couldn't help it.) Viktor had kissed like a Seeker, and she was the Snitch -- elusive, precious, delicate . . . but his goal. His passion had overwhelmed, even if she'd never felt pressured to give him more than kisses. She'd felt flattered, swept off her feet, but not quite his equal, really.

Cedric kissed like it was a conversation -- give and take, exploratory, sensual, even a bit sloppy because he wasn't thinking of how it looked, only how it felt. He tried things that might have made her laugh -- like sucking her tongue or nibbling her lower lip -- but which turned her inside out instead. Cedric kissed like somebody who wanted to be kissed back.

The kiss could have gone on longer but -- to her complete shock -- she heard, "Pince alert!" behind her and jumped away, spinning about. It was Peter, standing in the aisle behind them. He disappeared again, leaving them to themselves.

"Look busy, Granger." Cedric had turned to the shelves.

She bent to examine the lowest one on the opposite side even as Madam Pince stalked around the corner, eying them suspiciously. But she was used to seeing Hermione in the library, and was probably used to seeing Cedric there, too, so she said nothing and passed on. Hermione let twenty breaths pass before speaking again. "I don't believe you had someone standing guard! Was he watching us?"

"Of course not! But would you rather be caught snogging in the stacks? Pince likes me, but I don't think she'd like that. She's a bit of a prune."

"Cedric!"

"Well, she is!"

Giggling because she felt too blissful to stay annoyed with him, she stood again. He appeared as happy as she, and bent one more time to brush her lips with his, but close-mouthed and brief. "Been wanting to do that for ages, you know," he confessed.

"Same here. But you're an awful tease about it."

"And you're a bossy little thing."

"You like me bossy," she said, lips curled.

"You like me awful."

They parted then and she returned to her studies, but kept reaching up all evening to touch the locket, or her tulip, or her mouth. It hadn't been her first kiss, but it had been the one she'd wanted the most. It only occurred to her later when she returned to the Gryffindor common room to find Harry and Ron working at the table that Harry must have been in on it, too. He was grinning at her. "Nice locket."

Rolling her eyes, she sailed past both of them and up the stairs to her dormitory.


Notes: Despite what I said about defaulting to actor appearances, Harry's eyes are green. Rowling emphasizes it too much to be ignored in favor of Dan's blue eyes. The library cataloguing system is Dewey Decimal. I figure they're a bit old fashioned there, so they're using neither the UKMARC or the new MARC 21.