Where were you last night?

She scribbled it on a bit of parchment and caught Ed Carpenter as he was leaving the Great Hall after breakfast. "Give it to Cedric, please?" Ed just nodded. Cedric's friends and hers had grown so used to playing owl, they didn't even bother to protest or complain any more.

Instead of sending a penned reply, he sat down beside her on the bench at the Gryffindor table at lunch -- although facing out instead of in, his crutches gathered between his knees. She looked up, startled. He'd never sat beside her before at a meal. "People might see . . . "

"Moot point tomorrow."

"True, ah, so --"

"I went into Hogsmeade last night," he said softly. "I'll explain later. Just wanted to apologize." He smiled. "I found out about the meeting only an hour and a half before I was expected and didn't see you on the way out. Should've thought to write you a note, though -- sorry." He slipped his arms back into the crutch braces. "I'll talk to you after report tonight, all right?"

As he stood and headed back to his table, she noticed both Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell watching from several seats away. Later as Angelina left the Great Hall, she bent to whisper, "Transfiguration homework my arse. I distinctly heard 'Hogsmeade.' We'll see who you show up with at the Hog's Head tomorrow."

Hermione wanted to protest -- he hadn't been talking about tomorrow. Except they were going to Hogsmeade together tomorrow, and she suspected that whatever he'd been doing there last night was Order business and not to be generally discussed.

Angelina's mention of the Hog's Head, however, reminded her of what she'd wanted to tell Cedric the previous evening. After speaking to Harry on Wednesday, she'd collared several others to discuss learning Defense Against the Dark Arts on their own, and her list of interested parties kept getting longer. Just that morning, Ginny had told her Michael Corner was bringing friends from Ravenclaw and she began to worry how many friends of friends would show up, and how big the crowd might be.

Yet it was entirely on the spur that she issued her most difficult invitation of all. Coming out of Arithmancy, she practically ran down Cho Chang heading in. In the last few weeks, they'd done their level best to avoid each other, but Harry's 'friendship' with Cho seemed to be growing much like hers had with Cedric earlier. It was, Hermione thought, a matter of time before Harry plucked up the courage to do something about his crush on Cho (assuming he could figure out what to do), and Hermione and Cedric would stop being hypothetical tomorrow.

It was time to face Cho, even if Cedric wouldn't. Taking a deep breath, Hermione refused to move out of Cho's way, although the other girl was looking at the ground and trying to get around her. "I need to talk to you," Hermione said.

Cho finally looked up, dark eyes hard. "I have class."

"So do I. This will only take a minute."

Cho breathed out. "All right." And she followed Hermione down the hall a little way where they couldn't be overheard. When Hermione turned, Cho started in even before Hermione could. "If this is about Cedric, I don't want to discuss him. I don't care anymore what the two of you do --"

"This isn't about Cedric. It's about Harry."

That silenced Cho and got her attention at once -- although she appeared even more defensive, if possible. "What about him?"

"He's going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." Cho's mouth fell open a little and she rocked back on her heels. "We're not learning anything in Umbridge's class," Hermione went on. "And I know you believe Harry -- and Cedric -- about what happened in the maze. You may be angry with Ced, but you've not said anything bad about him as Head Boy. And . . . thank you. Just thank you for that. It was very decent of you."

Cho laughed. It sounded a bit edgy. "What? You didn't think I could be decent?"

"I've never said that." Hermione felt her face grow hot. "I just wanted to thank you." She knew she was doing the right thing to speak to Cho, but it wasn't easy. Cho occupied the moral high ground here, even if she might have been milking it a bit. "But that's why I wanted to tell you about the meeting tomorrow. Whatever . . . whatever you think of me or Cedric, this goes beyond that. It would mean a great deal to Harry if you came, and it'd be good for you to learn how to defend yourself against You Know Who." She rubbed her forehead and avoided Cho's eyes. "So we're meeting at eleven in the Hog's Head to talk about how to study Defense Against the Dark Arts on our own."

Arms crossed, Cho asked, "It's Harry's meeting?"

"Sort of."

"You'll be there, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Cedric?"

"I don't know; I haven't actually spoken to him yet. Probably. There'll be a lot of people there though."

Cho fell silent, but only for a moment. "Fine. I'll be there. For Harry." And she started off.

"Cho." Guilt propelled Hermione to say something even if Cho had told her she didn't want to talk about Cedric. "I'm sorry about what happened. He didn't want to hurt you."

Spinning so fast it startled Hermione, Cho snapped, "How dare you presume to defend him to me. That's just . . . " She couldn't seem to think of an adjective, and trailed off, pale brown skin dark with rage. "Let's get something straight. I'll come to this meeting for Harry, and I'll fight against You Know Who for Harry, and because it's right. But I don't like you and I don't forgive you, or Cedric."

Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing came out and she felt close to tears even as she recognized she'd probably had this coming. Dropping her eyes, she said again, "He didn't want to hurt you, and neither did I. We never meant what happened to happen." Here, with Cho, Hermione couldn't bring herself to pretend at all, yet the protest she'd wanted to make to Cho for weeks spilled out of her in a breathless rush. "He never did anything inappropriate while he was seeing you, or pretended he wasn't dating you. He never kissed me or touched me. We just talked. That's all. He tried to stay loyal to you. I think he really tried --"

"And that should make me feel better?" Cho interrupted. "He tried but couldn't bring himself to stand me anymore? That does wonders for my ego, Hermione. Thank you! I'm the girl who just didn't measure up!" She stalked away, disappearing into the classroom.

Struck hard by Cho's final words, Hermione went to the girls' toilets and hid in one of the stalls. She didn't cry, just sat there, sick to her stomach and trembling. She wished she could believe that Cho had got her comeuppance, but the other girl had never been anything but nice last year, despite the fact she was pretty and popular and older. And now, she'd elected to stand by Harry -- and (despite everything) by Cedric -- when most of the school thought them off their rockers. Hermione could understand what Cedric had seen in Cho Chang, but wondered what he saw in her by comparison? Cho had called herself the girl who didn't measure up, but Hermione felt more that way at the moment and couldn't face Harry and Ron (or anybody else) in Charms. Later at dinner when both boys asked her where she'd been, she said she'd felt ill. She must have looked it, too, because Harry actually offered to let her copy his notes. It made her smile.

Still upset and subdued by report that evening, Hermione arrived early rather than late, then occupied one of the private desks in the prefects' lounge, studying. At one point, Violet Sykes left her office for a few minutes. Upon returning, she noticed Hermione and paused. The two of them stared at one another, then Violet disappeared back into her office. Hermione wasn't sure, but thought she might have shaken her head. She didn't see Violet again until all the reports were done and Violet left, spelling her door locked. Glancing at Hermione, she said, "You should go back to your common room."

"I will as soon as I finish this essay," Hermione replied without looking up. She was on her final conclusions and didn't appreciate being interrupted to be reminded to go to bed like a first year.

Violet looked now from her to Cedric's office and back to her. "I'm sure you will," she said.

It was the last straw for Hermione, who'd had it with all the assumptions and teasing -- good-natured or not. (And she didn't think Violet's particularly good-natured.) Slamming down her quill, she glared at the older girl. "You may believe whatever gossip or rumors you like, and if you really must know, yes, Cedric and I are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. But tonight, I am not here to see Cedric; I am here to finish my Potions essay, if you please."

Violet blinked and breathed out, glancing towards Cedric's office again, and Hermione was quite sure he'd heard the whole thing. When he appeared in the open doorway in his wheelchair a moment later, Violet said to him, "She's more honest than you are."

"You never asked me anything about her," Cedric pointed out, and Hermione couldn't tell if he were more amused or more annoyed. "How could I be dishonest?"

Violet just shook her head. "Never let the truth get in the way of the facts, Cedric?" And shouldering her book bag, she headed out, saying as she went, "I'd like to think I don't need to chaperone you."

"Sorry," Hermione said when Violet was gone, gesturing in frustration as she spoke, "but I've had it up to here with everybody staring and whispering and assuming." She picked up her quill again. "I really do have an essay to finish."

He rolled across to her desk but didn't interrupt her, just sat watching her write until, irritated, she put down her quill again. "Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Staring at me!"

"I like to watch you."

"It makes me nervous. Go back to your office. I'll come and talk to you when I've finished."

Raising both hands as if in surrender, he turned the chair and did as she ordered. She knew she was acting snappy but her mood was so extraordinarily bad, she couldn't be arsed to care. Finished finally (if unhappy with her concluding paragraph), she packed up and went to knock on his door, although it was open. He was reading a book on plant transfiguration and making notes to himself -- and perhaps he'd be the one too busy now to talk. It'd serve her right for her temper, and that thought depressed her further. Yet he looked up and smiled, closing the book, and seeing him so quick to give her his attention made her feel guilty on top of everything else. "Having a bad day, Granger?" Dropping her eyes, she frowned at the stone floor beneath her feet. "Come here," he said and she obeyed. With a wave of his hand, the door shut and he pulled her onto his lap in the chair as if she were a child.

"I didn't think you were supposed to shut your door with a girl in here."

"I'm not, really. But the door won't scream if I do. Violet's will. She found it out by accident." He grinned. "She had some young Ravenclaw boy in there who'd wanted to talk in private. She shut the door and it went off like a siren." He laughed. "Scared us all to death, and a bit silly if you ask me. Do they trust the girls more, or less, do you think?"

"It's about a sullied reputation, you know, not trust. The Wizarding World's a bit . . . old fashioned."

"What? You don't like my old-fashioned manners, Miss Granger?"

"I find your old-fashioned manners very charming, Mr. Diggory." She was smiling and amazed at how he could do that -- make her forget her irritations. Harry and Ron all too often only irritated her further. Now, she laid her head on Cedric's shoulder and let him hold her the way he did in the library on their rare meetings behind 'their' table. Passing notes was entertaining, and a bit thrilling, but words were no substitute for touch. After a few minutes, she raised her head and turned it at the same time he did. Their kiss came easy and without excess orchestration. They were getting better at reading each other's intentions. "Thank you," she said, pulling away.

"For what?"

"Making me feel better."

He smiled, a bit shyly. "I don't like to see you unhappy. I know that probably sounds . . . clichéd, but, well -- I don't."

She stroked his cheek, feeling the faint roughness of day-end stubble under her fingers. So fascinating, boys' differences. Even after five years of friendship with Harry and Ron, being with Viktor, and now Cedric, had taught her new things. He turned his face so he could kiss her palm, then pressed the tip of his tongue there, sending a shock through her. She yanked her hand away and his shy smile turned sly. He'd known exactly what effect his tongue would have, and sometimes that worried her a bit. He knew things she didn't -- probably a lot of things, and not just facts. She knew the facts, including what a boy looked like below the belt and how everything functioned. But she hadn't known that a tongue against her palm could send electricity streaking along her nerves. That was a different sort of knowledge.

A kind he had and she didn't.

She pulled away, putting distance between her body and his and he seemed to guess a fly had landed in the ointment because his sly, smug look disappeared. To change the subject (or rather, to introduce a subject in the first place), she asked, "So why did you go into Hogsmeade last night?"

"I met with my mother and Remus Lupin. It's a bit of a story." He pulled his watch out of his pocket to check the time. "Damn, it's almost eleven. This'll have to be short or we'll both get into trouble. Can we talk about my meeting tomorrow? It's not that urgent."

She sighed but he was right, and she climbed off his lap, comfortable though it was. "You'd better open the door, just in case."

"All right."

With a wave of his hand, it opened and she went to glance out into the lounge. No one was there. Coming back, she knelt down by his chair but didn't return to his lap. Frowning, he bent to hear her whisper, "Harry, Ron and I have been talking about, well, trying to study Defense Against the Dark Arts on our own."

"I know," he said, which surprised her. How did he know? "Harry told me. He said you wanted him to teach it, and asked me to do it instead. I told him it's not among my better subjects."

"Nor mine, either. It is Harry's."

"Exactly. So what did you decide?"

"There's a meeting tomorrow for a couple of us in the Hog's Head." Well, rather more than a couple, but she found herself reluctant to tell Cedric the number of people coming. "It's at eleven. We'll need to be there -- well, I'll need to be there -- is that all right?"

"Of course," he replied. "I'll go with you."

The way he made it sound assumed caused her to smile and duck her head. She'd hoped he'd react that way but hadn't been sure. She'd assumed he'd join S.P.E.W., too. "There's one other thing you need to know. I -- ah -- invited Cho."

"What?" He looked completely startled.

"She's becoming friends with Harry, and well, maybe a little more. She's been supportive of him . . . and of you, too. Ginny says that Michael says Cho never speaks badly of you as Head Boy."

He blinked, as if processing that. "Michael who?"

"Corner."

"Oh." He blinked again and scratched the back of his head. "You talked to Cho?"

"Yes. Today."

"She didn't bite your head off?"

"Well, she did a bit." Hermione was blushing. "She's none too happy with us. And you should still talk to her. But this was important. For Harry."

"He really likes her?"

"Yes -- since last year."

He nodded, scratching the back of his head again. "I wouldn't be unhappy if she started seeing him."

"No?"

"Of course not. I'd like her to have somebody who'll really appreciate her." His expression turned rueful. "My guilt talking, I expect." His eyes met hers. "But it might be best if I'm not there tomorrow. If she's there, and Harry, and you, and me -- it won't be a good combination. I'll have a beer with Peter, Ed and Scott while you're having your meeting. They'll be jealous if I don't do something with them. You can tell me about it all later. I still think it's a splendid idea."

She opened her mouth to protest, but didn't. She suspected his backing out had more to do with a fear of facing Cho, but he might be right anyway. "Would you come to the lessons?"

He was shaking his head. "Hermione, I don't know . . . "

"You need to work on things, too. You're not afraid of Umbridge are you? I've checked everything I can think of and there are no school rules against study groups, and --"

"Bugger Umbridge," he interrupted, startling her at the crudeness, and she felt immediately guilty for assuming that he -- of all people -- might be reluctant to defy Umbridge and the Ministry.

"Sorry, I shouldn't even have suggested such a --"

"I just don't think it would be a good idea to put you, me and Cho at the same table to study. And it's more important for her than for me."

"You've got NEWTs!"

"Hermione -- I know." His irritation was increasing, and she began to realize he'd been burying his own feelings in order to cheer her up. This couldn't have been a good week for him. " But Cho's a year behind me, and you're two years. I'm the logical one to opt out."

Abruptly, she rose to a kneeling position and hugged him. "If there were more people than just Harry, Ron, me and Cho, would that change your mind?"

She felt him shrug. "Maybe." He pulled his watch again and glanced at it as she let his neck go. "You should leave, poppet. It's late. I may not have denmates to notice what time I get to bed, but your situation isn't the same. People will ask questions about what you're doing in my office half an hour past report. I'll see you in the morning."

She got to her feet and he followed, expanding his crutches and collapsing his chair into his hand so he could pocket it. She was moving around from behind his desk, headed for the door when she heard a terrible hiss of pain behind her and turned in time to see Cedric go down, his right leg crumpling beneath him. She rushed back as he lay half on his side, his leg spasming so much even she could see it jerk. "Oh, no, oh, no," she said, completely at a loss as to what to do. "I'll fetch Madam Pomfrey!"

"No!" he said through clenched teeth. "Give it a minute. It'll stop." He'd dropped both crutches and was holding onto his leg, rocking back and forth a little as if that could help him bear the pain. He wasn't whimpering, but she could see the sweat on his forehead.

Abruptly, she remembered his pain potion. "Where's your Abdoleo?"

"Pocket of my robes."

She dug for it and got it open. He took it from her and drank -- more than usual -- then handed it back. She put it away and waited, letting him grip her hand in his, strong and calloused. Her fingers felt bruised from the pressure, but she didn't protest. After two or three minutes, she felt his grip relax and he'd unclenched his teeth. "Worse than usual?" she asked, trying to sound casual. In fact, she'd never seen an episode like this and wondered how often he suffered them.

"Pretty bad, yeah," he agreed, and glanced at her, a bit guilty. "Sorry."

"For what?" she asked rubbing his leg, more because she needed to do something than because she thought it would help. The real cause of his pain lay in the nerves not muscles. "You've nothing to apologize for, so don't. I just wish I knew some spell to make it stop." She could feel the tears prick her eyes, and wiped at them with a free hand. She cared for him, and he hurt, and she couldn't fix it.

"Just having you touch me helps," he whispered, as if half afraid to admit it. He struggled to get his feet back under him. "I need to go -- and so do you."

"Nonsense. I'm walking you up to your rooms, and you're going there in the wheelchair. Don't even bother to argue. Then I'll fetch Madam Pomfrey, and you're not going to argue about that, either, understand?"

And he didn't argue, which worried her. She saw him up to his suite as promised, then fetched the Mediwitch and didn't get to bed until after midnight, yet between worry over the meeting tomorrow and Cedric's condition, she didn't sleep well. In the morning, she went directly to his room after breakfast, knocking. There was no answer and she'd almost given up, thinking he might already be downstairs, but the door opened when she was ten steps away. "Cedric?" She hurried back.

"I was getting dressed," he said. And indeed, his hair was still wet from the bath and he wore only his trousers.

She dropped her eyes from more skin than she'd been quite prepared for, muttering, "I'll wait out here. I just wanted to see if you were feeling up to the trip."

"I'm much better this morning, thanks," he told her, his tone amused. She didn't have to see his face (assuming she could get her eyes past his bare chest) to know he was grinning. "Why, Granger, you're blushing."

"Would you go and put some clothes on?"

"I have clothes on. I just don't have a shirt on."

She ignored that. "Go and get dressed before Filch reckons everybody who's going has left!" She finally raised her eyes again -- and indeed, they didn't get past his chest. It was a very nice chest, well-muscled from the exercise of crutches and chair, and swimming. He wasn't quick to shut the door either, she noticed. She didn't think he minded being admired, the peacock.

When he emerged five minutes later, he wore gray trousers and a bright blue fisherman's sweater that, somewhat ironically, matched her top -- but she couldn't get the image of half-naked Cedric out of her mind's eye, and thought he knew it. Like the tongue in her palm yesterday, it reminded her -- yet again -- that what she knew and what he knewweren't the same. But he gave her a very chaste kiss on the lips and asked, "Ready to face the gossip mongers, Granger?"

"I suppose. You're bringing your chair, aren't you? After yesterday --"

"It's in my pocket. Let's go."

There had been a few double-takes as they'd passed up and down the Hogsmeade pavements, but rather less whispering than Cedric had expected. Of course, that might have owed to the fact people weren't entirely sure whether he and Hermione were together or just in each other's company like they'd been off and on for the past week. After all, they couldn't stroll down High Street hand in hand.

And that frustrated him. Enormously. When they'd had to suppress their feelings, then conceal them, it hadn't mattered. Now it did. He needed both hands to walk with the crutches, and when he went into the chair, he needed his hands to wheel it. Every time he saw another couple pass them by arm-in-arm, his resentment rose another notch. To make it worse, moving side-by-side was virtually impossible as his chair with its slung-slant wheels took up most of the narrow, old pavements by itself. She wound up pacing behind him most of the time, which made talking difficult. They tried a few shops, but doors proved too narrow without a Squeeze Charm, and the interiors too crowded or cluttered for him to navigate well. He kept running into things, not to mention there were steps and kerbs to get around. Any one obstacle he could deal with, but they piled up to the point where by the time eleven arrived, his mood was so dark he almost told her to go to her meeting and he'd see her later at the castle. Except if he did say that, she'd probably blame herself, and she wasn't the one making this a lousy date. What bright, clever, pretty whole girl would want to put up long term with a boyfriend in a wheelchair? Nothing would ever be normal for him. He wasn't a catch. He was an awkward, crippled freak.

Hermione had picked up on his growing irritation but didn't know the cause of it -- because, of course, he was too humiliated to tell her, and he suspected she was blaming herself exactly as he'd feared. Her shoulders had slumped and once or twice, he caught her lip tremble, which made him feel awful and turned his mood all the more peevish. It became a nasty cycle and the only way he could think of to break it was to let her get rid of him for an hour. They stopped in the road outside the Hog's Head, where he'd arranged to meet Scott, Peter and Ed -- who were there waiting as promised. Along with a quite a crowd. Ed was talking to Susan Bones, who stood with Ernie, Justin, Hannah and Zacharias, not to mention Harry, Ron, the twins, all three Gryffindor chasers and Lee Jordan.

This was not the 'couple of people' he'd been led to believe she'd be meeting, and even as they stood there, Ginny arrived with three Ravenclaw boys Cedric vaguely knew, then Cho showed up with Marietta Edgecomb. Both the girls glared daggers at him until Peter moved in front of him.

Cedric was too busy being astonished -- and worried -- to care. And Harry looked almost as alarmed as Cedric felt. Reaching out, Cedric grabbed Hermione's hand to pull her to him. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked softly. "You can't go in there with this crowd. A handful of students sitting and talking at a table is one thing. But this? Umbridge'll think you're plotting a bloody revolution!"

"How would she hear about it?" Hermione asked, chin up, stubborn. He knew that look and it didn't bode well. Not in his current mood or hers. "Besides, as you can see, the idea was quite popular."

With great effort, he got his temper under control. "At least go somewhere busier."

"Why? This place is almost always almost empty!"

"Exactly. And students rarely go here. You'll stand out like a sore thumb. Go back to the Three Broomsticks. I'll talk to Rosmerta. Maybe she can . . . get us a room."

"No." Her chin rose another half inch. "This is where I told people to come and we're not all here, and how would they know where to go, and --"

"Bloody hell, Hermione! This is not meeting up for a butterbeer!"

The shy chatter of the other students cut off at that and he felt himself flush. He hadn't meant to make their clash the center of everybody's attention. She'd turned a brilliant scarlet and he had two choices: stand by her or humiliate her in front of her friends. He might upbraid her in private, but that was between them, not everybody else. "Come on, let's go inside. We can't stand around in the street till noon. It looks bloody suspicious." With a wave of his hand, he opened the door. The other students hesitated, then preceded him inside, even Cho and her friend.

Hermione stayed outside along with Ed, Peter and Scott. "I thought you weren't planning to attend?" she asked, voice suddenly hopeful but dubious at once.

"Changed my mind," he muttered. "You didn't tell me your 'little' meeting was the size of a Quidditch match. You need looking after, poppet. You wouldn't know 'covert' if it bit you on the arse."

Her lips thinned and behind him, Scott muttered, "Ooo -- way to go, Ced. You are not getting any hot snogging behind the broomshed after that crack."

"Shut up," he and she said together, which only made Scott laugh.

"Even when they're fighting they share a brain," he pointed out.

"Go on," Cedric told Hermione as they entered the pub. "We'll take a table on the other side of the room, keep an eye on things."

"We will?" Peter asked as Hermione stalked off. "As I recall, this place is none too sanitary."

"It's sanitary enough," Cedric replied, "if we order something with alcohol -- which is what I need about now." He rubbed his forehead. "How can somebody that brilliant do something so stupid?"

"You said it yourself," Scott replied as they found a table at a little distance from the group of students seated with Harry and Hermione. "She wouldn't know covert if it bit her pretty arse. Then again, after the show you two've given the school over the past month, I'd've reckoned you already knew that, mate."

"Piss off," Cedric replied.

The gray-haired barman seemed astonished to find his pub suddenly the focus of so much student attention -- and all at once. "He probably thinks there's some sort of wager on," Ed said, then rose with Peter to get them something to drink. Cedric was watching the crowded set of tables on the pub's other side. The door had opened and more students arrived -- five Gryffindors he barely knew and Luna Lovegood who, seeing him, waved to Hermione and drifted towards him. Beside him, Scott muttered behind a hand, "Loony alert. Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo." Cedric kicked him under the table -- hard with the braces on. "Ow! Fuck!"

"Hullo, Cedric," Luna said. "You aren't here for the meeting?"

"I'm keeping an eye on things," he told her. "How are you?"

"Very well, thanks. Are you going out with Hermione now?"

He blinked at the Firebolt-fast leap of topic and Scott was struggling very hard not to laugh. Luna frowned at Scott. "What?" she asked him.

"Nothing," Cedric said before Scott could make an even bigger prat of himself. "And yes, I am."

"I thought so."

She drifted away then towards the table full of students. Scott said, "I don't know how you put up with her, mate. She doesn't have a screw loose, she's flat got six or seven missing."

Cedric watched her go. "She's not had a happy life. She lost her mum pretty young. I've told you before, lay off her."

"Whatever."

Ed and Peter had come back with ale. "I made him put a cleaning spell on the glasses," Peter said. "I don't think he appreciated it, but he did."

"What'd the Loony want?" Ed asked, looking over at the table where Luna had seated herself -- not far from Susan Bones.

"Stop calling her that. Her name is Luna. And she just -- "

" -- wanted to know if Romeo here had finally asked out Hermione." Scott was grinning.

"Did he tell her the truth?"

"Yup. She left."

"Thank God," Peter muttered. "She gives me the creeps."

Cedric shook his head -- they could be halfwits sometimes -- and busied himself cataloguing pub patrons: a strange assortment, but that seemed par for the course here. Just now there were two cloaked Yorkshiremen at a window table, a man wrapped entirely in bandages by the bar gulping firewhisky (and Cedric wondered what he'd done to himself to require the bandages or the stream of whisky taken neat before noon), as well as a veiled witch by the fireplace. Something about the witch set off alarm bells in his head. "What do you think of that woman?" he asked his friends, nodding towards her.

"That she's probably bloody ugly," Ed replied. "Look at that hooked nose."

"She's not looked at Harry's table once," he said.

"So? That's a good thing," Peter told him. "Everybody else staring is making me nervous."

"They're curious and not hiding it. The witch, though. She's watching without letting on." Cedric took a gulp of ale and kept his eyes on her. "And I'm watching her. Maybe I'll make her nervous enough she'll leave."

"That's not a woman," Scott said.

"What?" All three of them looked at him.

He tapped next to his eyes. "I know a woman when I see one --"

"You are so full of shite --" Peter began.

"I'm not joking around. He doesn't move like a woman. That's a bloke trying to pass himself off."

"I think he's right," Cedric said. "Look at the hands. Pretty big hands for a woman."

The witch seemed to have realized the four boys were watching, but instead of making her nervous as Cedric had hoped, she just raised a hand to wave -- and make a slight gesture that Cedric recognized. Lupin and his mother had shown it to him two night ago. He coughed on ale. "Actually, we don't need to worry about the witch." The other three stared at him. "Just trust me on this."

"Why?" Scott asked.

"Please don't ask. Just . . . trust me. I can't tell you yet. When I can, I will."

And he would, but he had to get Dumbledore's permission first. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't a game, and if Voldemort had taken away his choice last June, that didn't apply to Peter, Ed and Scott. Yet a choice meant a choice, and they didn't have one if it wasn't offered to them. Cedric was coming to understand that he'd underestimated his friends -- perhaps because he hadn't needed them so much before. He could think of worse people to have at his back in a fight against the Dark Lord.

His attention and that of the other three were drawn back abruptly to Harry's table when they heard Smith's distinctive voice call out, "So why's Diggory over there, then? You say You Know Who's back, and so did Cedric the other night, but he's not over here, is he?"

"Somebody strangle that pathetic excuse for a badger," Scott muttered, pressing the glass of ale to his forehead.

"He's not so bad, just a bit thick," Cedric said, then added in a voice meant to carry: "Bugger off, Zach. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Drinking ale?"

"That's right."

"So why aren't you over here then? You think this idea is cracked, don't you?"

"Oh, fuck," Scott swore softly and Peter had put his head in his arms.

"We may as well give up and go over there," Ed said. "He's just going to get louder. Besides, I'm sort of curious."

Cedric suspected it was more that he 'sort of' wanted to get closer to Susan, but they went to join the rest anyway. As they approached, Harry moved aside, nudging Ron too, so Cedric could maneuver his chair into a spot beside Hermione, cramped as it was. She stiffened -- still angry -- but didn't move her own chair away from him. Very deliberately, he laid his left arm on her chair, his hand resting on her back. If anyone had questions about where his loyalties lay -- or whether they were seeing each other -- he was answering. Beneath the table, he pulled his wand with his other hand and silently cast the Muffliato Spell his mother had taught him the other night. Perhaps he should have done it earlier but it would have been rather obvious, and he wasn't exactly sure how wide an area he could dampen anyway. He'd never seen it used on a crowd this size.

"Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?" Susan was asking Harry. Her question elicited a mutter all around the table and Cedric smiled to himself. Susan already knew the answer. She was setting Harry up.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

Harry peered at her. "Er -- you don't know a Madam Bones, do you?"

Susan smiled and Cedric started to explain, but Ed beat him to the punch, declaring proudly, "Amelia Bones is Susan's aunt."

"So it's really true? You can create a stag Patronus?" Susan asked -- making her point.

"Yes," Harry said, and it elicited exactly the response Susan had known it would: impressed noises from the rest.

"Blimey, Harry!" Lee said, "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around." Fred grinned at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it is."

"She's not wrong," Harry muttered and after the previous year, Cedric could empathize. He'd learned there was such a thing as too much attention.

The questions went on, flying at Harry, asking him to relate what he'd done in previous years. Harry answered simply and truthfully, with occasional input from others, some of whom Cedric didn't know although he was fairly certain at least one of them was the Longbottoms' son, Neville. Cedric kept his silence and let his hand move from between Hermione's shoulder blades up under her hair to stroke his thumb along the back of her neck. At first, she tensed, all irritated, but he kept at it until she relaxed back imperceptibly into him.

Their earlier tiff wasn't resolved, but he thought it might be forgiven.

Cho's voice piped up, distracting him. "And that's not to mention all the tasks Harry had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year -- getting past dragons and merpeople and --"

"Cedric did the same." But it wasn't Hermione who spoke, or even Harry. It was Zacharias Smith.

"Cedric" -- said Cedric mildly -- "can't produce a Patronus and has never killed a basilisk. I appreciate the support, Zach, but Harry's done more than me. And in the graveyard, he stood up to Voldemort in a duel. I didn't."

There were more murmurs. Harry was blushing and Hermione had turned to look at him, at once grateful but also a bit . . . dissenting, if he read that expression correctly. Before she could speak, however, Harry said, "Thanks, but the only reason I'm alive is that he wanted to make a show of killing me. You brought Dumbledore first, then saved me from Lucius Malfoy, who cursed you for it."

Cedric winced inwardly. Lucius had cursed him for a lot of things, rescuing Harry only a part of it.

"And look," Harry went on, almost stammering, "I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything . . . but I had a lot of help with all that stuff . . . "

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," Corner cut him off. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying . . . "

"Yeah, well -- " Harry began but was interrupted again, by Susan this time.

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer."

"No, no okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is --"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Smith demanded.

"Here's an idea," Ron told him, leaning over the table, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," Smith protested. "I think Cedric should teach. He's older."

"We didn't come here to learn from Diggory," one of the twins snarled back. "And Harry didn't say he can't do what he said he did; he said he had help. Or didn't you listen?"

The other twin had pulled something that looked rather long and dangerous from a Zonko's bag. "Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?"

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this."

"Bugger off," Zach replied.

"That's enough," Cedric said, diverting attention. "I'm not teaching Dark Arts. Harry knows more than I do about it and I'm just as interested in learning from him as the rest of you are -- maybe more so. After all, I saw what he did last June."

That brought silence and Hermione spoke nervously into it, "Yes, well, moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed to take lessons from Harry?"

Cedric raised his hand quickly. "I am." He wanted to keep this meeting on track and get them all the hell out of the pub. Perhaps Hermione was right that there were no school rules about groups of this sort, but Cedric didn't think Umbridge would do nothing if she learned what Hermione was up to here. It wasn't just a few people getting together to practice and research spells in private.

Yet no sooner did Hermione get down to the brass tacks of meeting times than new problems arose with scheduling. Gryffindor's entire Quidditch team was here as well as a portion of Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's including two Quidditch captains, and everyone was worried about practice times, Ed and Angelina loudly so. Cedric sat back and let Hermione handle them, with some pompous 'assistance' from Ernie MacMillan who declared these classes were the most important thing he'd do all year. Maybe so, but Cedric shared a grin with Scott and Peter; Ernie was also a bit full of himself.

Details partly ironed out, Hermione promised to resolve the rest, then retrieved a parchment and quill from her bag. He could feel her shoulders tight beneath his hand and began to rub the back of her neck again to calm her. "I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge -- or anybody else outside this group -- what we're up to."

Almost before she was done speaking, one of the twins had snatched the parchment, signing quickly and passing it to the other. The parchment went round, but not everybody seemed to want to sign it. "I -- well, we're prefects," Ernie was saying, "And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out --"

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do all year," Harry reminded him harshly.

"I -- yes, yes, I do believe that, it's just . . . "

"Ernie," Hermione asked him, "do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?"

"Give it to me." Cedric leaned past Hermione, hand outstretched to Ernie, who passed over the parchment. Cedric signed his name. "There, make you feel better?" He handed it back, and Ernie signed now without hesitation. So did everyone else, and the meeting broke up. Cedric and Hermione watched everybody go. Harry and Ron hesitated, as did Cedric's friends, but not receiving any encouragement from either Cedric or Hermione, they departed finally.

When everybody was gone, Cedric leaned in to pick up his ale glass. Butterbeer bottles littered the table, some only half finished. "I think that went well," Hermione said.

"The witch in the corner is in the Order," he told her softly. "The other three I don't know about. You weren't careful, Hermione."

She glared at him and shook his hand off her neck. "I was very careful." But he knew her well enough by now to know she didn't believe her own words.

"Hermione --"

"You only call me that when you're angry with me."

He smiled faintly. "I call you Hermione all the time -- just not when addressing you."

"You're avoiding the issue. And how did you know about the witch in the corner?"

"Actually, she's a he. And it was a hand signal."

"There's a hand signal?"

"Look under the table."

She did so and he demonstrated, appearing to flick something off his trousers but with only three fingers, thumb and forefinger forming an O.

"I couldn't change my plans midstream," she said. "I really had no idea it was going to get this large, but I think that's a good thing --"

"On one level, yes. But on another? The more people, especially unscreened, the more difficult it is to keep it under wraps -- and I'm pretty sure you didn't know everybody here. You need to cast a Fidelius Charm."

"I couldn't cast a spell that difficult yet, and isn't a Secret Keeper a bit much? I knew the core people; they vouched for the rest."

"Not a good way to work -- and I don't think I'm exaggerating the danger."

"And you know so much more than I do? I'm just some stupid, foolish little girl you --"

"Stop it," he told her before he lost his temper. "Or you will look foolish. You're brilliant, poppet -- but you're not sneaky. I just . . . wish you'd told me everything last night. I know I got distracted focusing on Cho, but . . . I really wish you'd told me the rest. I could have helped you better. You don't have to go it alone. I'd like to stand with you."

"Like you did with S.P.E.W.?"

"I didn't agree with you about that."

"And what if you hadn't agreed with me about this? What if --"

"Would you rather" -- he leaned in so his face was only a few inches from hers -- "have a boyfriend who fawns on you like a dog, or somebody who'll challenge you if he thinks you're wrong because he cares about you? You know if I say I'm with you, I'm with you. It's not lip service. And I am with you on this -- but you're going to have to be shrewder and not let things get out of your control . . . like the size of this meeting." She dropped her head and he reached up to stroke the back of her neck again, as if gentling a nervy, prize race horse. "You really are brilliant, and I know what that parchment we signed was. Clever maneuver, Granger. But like I said, you're not naturally sneaky."

"And you are, oh, so much more sneaky, my dear Hufflepuff?"

He snorted and finished his ale in a long swallow. "You might say I come by it naturally." He looked at her. "I need to talk to you about Thursday night, but not in here."

They left the pub, and she asked, "Where do you want to go?" as they re-entered High Street.

"I have no bloody idea," he replied, some of his morning frustration returning. "I don't seem able to get anywhere easily now, do I? I'm not a lot of fun."

Hands on hips, she stopped there in the middle of the street and he wheeled his chair about to face her. "Is that what was bothering you all morning?" she demanded.

She made it seem as if he were being ridiculous, and he felt his blood boil. "It matters to me." As it was noon, most everybody had gone in somewhere for lunch, and he was glad the street was empty. "Do you think I like being tied to the damn chair? But this is how it is for me. This is how it'll be for the rest of my life, and I wonder sometimes if you're off your head wanting anything to do with me."

That sounded so pathetic, even he recognized it. The meeting had temporarily sidelined his earlier dark mood but now it returned with a vengeance and he felt supremely sorry for himself, embarrassed to feel so, and resentful that she'd dismiss it as somehow absurd.

She blew out forcefully. "Cedric, I came with you today because I want to be with you. I don't care where we go, or if we go anywhere. We could sit in the sweet-shop garden for all it matters to me, although I admit, I am rather hungry and would prefer to go where we can get something to eat."

He blinked. Her response was impatient and bracing and matter-of-fact, but she wasn't laughing at him. She just refused to take his self-pity seriously. Perhaps it was what he'd needed; he found it easier to believe her. "I wanted you to have a good time today, but --"

"Then stop brooding if you want me to have a good time! If you're upset because you want to go in those shops and can't, that's one thing, but if you're upset because you think I particularly like shopping, I can promise you I don't. I just want to be with you, all right?"

He blinked at her. "Really?"

And she laughed. "You idiot -- of course." Coming over, she stroked his shoulder almost absently as if needing to touch him. "Don't ever, ever apologize to me again because you're in the chair or on the crutches and it makes things difficult. Just tell me if there's something I can do to make it easier. I was afraid to ask earlier -- I didn't want to insult you. But, well, you told me that I didn't have to go it alone. You don't either. If you need me to move something out of your way, just say so. If you don't want to go somewhere because it's a royal pain, we don't have to go. I just don't necessarily know, and I don't want to assume -- so you have to tell me, all right?"

"I don't always know either," he admitted, catching her hand in his and looking up at her. "I had no idea today would be so awkward. I've been here so often, I didn't think about how it would be different." Unable to articulate his gratitude, he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand and hoped she could guess. She smiled even as a small group of third or fourth years emerged from Zonko's, hurrying past in the street -- all turning to gape at the two of them holding hands and staring at each other with such intensity there in the middle of the road. "Cat's out of the bag now," he told her.

"I think it got out earlier."

"I'm not sure most people were sure we were here together, not just together, if you follow?"

She grinned. "Can we find lunch now? Then you can tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me." And they headed off down High Street towards the Three Broomsticks, she with her hand resting on the back of his chair as he wheeled along. If it wasn't holding hands like other couples, it would do.