Finding a place to eat -- and talk -- proved to be a challenge. The Three Broomsticks was far too crowded at noon, and Cedric's semi-serious suggestion of Madam Puddifoot's resulted in a burst of giggles from Hermione -- and an expression of great relief from Cedric. "Cho liked the place," he confided, "but I'm none too fond of bows and lace." Then abruptly he made a face. "That sounded catty, didn't it?"

She shrugged. "It sounded honest. And as if you sometimes did something you didn't like for someone you did like." But she was secretly gleeful they agreed in their horror of frilly bad taste. Romantic Cedric was one thing -- she wore both his locket and the blue cloisonne hair clip today -- but there were limits on her tolerance for frippery.

Not to mention that she doubted he'd have an easy time getting into the tea shop. She may have struggled to sound matter-of-fact during their discussion in the street -- not make him feel even worse -- but his distress had troubled her. She worried sometimes that he worked too hard at keeping a stiff upper lip about it all. Cedric rarely complained, and she didn't know how to draw him out -- although she was fairly certain turning into a human hosepipe about 'his condition' wouldn't be welcome. He'd said as much, if not talking about her, thank goodness. She'd taken it to heart. Nonetheless, she wasn't always sure where the line lay between simple awareness and pity. And when she saw him struggle -- or in pain as the other night -- it broke her heart.

"What about Lumsden's Stewpot?" he asked.

"Oh, ick. Cedric, I'm not that fond of casseroles." More than once she'd privately bemoaned the fact the Wizarding World didn't seem to have discovered the glory of pizza. Hogsmeade could use a pizza place, or even a nice café. Instead they offered stew and haggis and steamed pudding.

"Which is why it won't be packed," he said, "but won't be as empty as the Hog's Head either."

Like the Hog's Head, Lumsden's Stewpot lay off High Street in a two-story building of time-darkened brick with steam rising out of a back kitchen chimney. It wasn't busy, but still busy enough that unlike the Hog's Head, Cedric had to return to the crutches to navigate between tables towards one near the rear. "It's all right," he said. "My leg's not bothering me as much now. It comes and goes." They sat on the same side of the table, partly to be cozy, but also to keep what they said more private. Once their casseroles were delivered -- squab pie for him and a vegetarian casserole for her ('I'm a bit dubious as to exactly what meat's in that') -- he pulled his wand and cast a Silencing spell.

"Teach me that?" she asked, watching with interest.

"Of course. Remind me later." And digging into his pie -- apparently unfazed by the mystery meat -- he related to her what his mother had told him about Umbridge.

"I can't say I'm surprised she doesn't like magical creatures or Muggleborns," Hermione said when he was done. "At first, it was clear she didn't know what to make of me. Now, I think I scare her a bit -- but she doesn't want to let me."

Cedric laughed at that. "You scare us all a bit, Granger." She frowned, and he went on, "You do. You have no idea how intimidating you are." He turned his head a little to smile at her. "You know more spells than I do, and you're two years behind me. Be glad I don't have an ego."

Blushing, she looked away. "First, I don't know more spells than you. Second, I'm not trying to embarrass anyone, least of all you."

"I know." He reached over to squeeze her hand briefly. "I'm teasing you. But you're still pretty amazing." She felt her blush deepen until she was sure her whole face was tomato red. "As for Umbridge, we'll keep what my mother said in mind."

She stirred her casserole so it could cool enough to eat. "I hate to make it sound as if your Common Room is just a decoy, but it is a public gesture, and maybe it could cover for Harry's class?"

"Not a bad thought," he replied. "If anyone does ask about that meeting this morning, let's say it had to do with getting more participation in the Common Room. Most of the people you had there are also people who still come to the room, give or take a few. That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. My mother had an idea to get Slytherin to participate."

"Nothing else useful about Umbridge?" she asked.

Still working on his pie, he frowned. "No, nothing worth pursuing."

"I've been thinking about your Common Room too," she said. "You need a lure to get people back. Harry told me that Dumbledore gave you the Triwizard Cup."

Cedric nodded. "He did."

"Did you bring it with you to Hogwarts?"

"No, it's back home in my room. It's not something I especially like to look at, Hermione."

There was an edge in his voice that she knew indicated a polite warning, but she barreled on anyway. "Bring it to Hogwarts. Put it in the Common Room over near the entry to the trophy room. People will come to see it. They're curious. And it won't hurt to remind them you did win it -- even if you say you tied with Harry. It wouldn't hurt them to remember Harry, either. You fought a dragon, Cedric --"

"I didn't fight her, just stole a fake egg from her."

"Nevertheless. You and Harry both faced these . . . frightening tasks -- things most of us wouldn't dare try. Umbridge and The Daily Prophet can say what they like about you, but they can't take that from you. I know you don't like to flatter yourself, but bring the cup. Remind people. They need to be reminded. And it will be a lure. It might even be a lure for Slytherin -- the chance to see the real Triwizard Cup."

He didn't answer immediately, and she could see he was thinking it over. "It might work," he said finally. She didn't press; it was probably the best she'd get out of him right now.

"What was your mother's idea?" she asked.

"She says I've thought about the room all wrong to make it appeal to Slytherin. They've been isolated for hundreds of years -- never really thought of themselves as part of Hogwarts the same as the other Houses. Why would they be interested in a school Common Room? The only way to get them to participate is if it benefits them."

"Sounds like Slytherin," she said, blowing on her casserole to cool it further. "Completely self-centered. I know your mother was in that House, and I'm sorry, but -- "

"Many of them are like that," he agreed, "but not all. I think . . . I think it's easy to get an incomplete -- or even wrong -- idea about a House. Most people not in Hufflepuff don't understand us, either." He smiled at her. "Including you."

Slightly offended, she tucked in her chin. "I don't, don't I?"

He shook his head and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before he said, "You have no idea how often I hear things like, 'But you're too clever to be in Hufflepuff,' or 'You've got too much ambition to be in Hufflepuff,' or even" -- he grinned -- "'You're too lazy to be in Hufflepuff.' But none of those have anything to do with my being Sorted into Hufflepuff."

"So what does?" She was curious. They'd never really talked about their different Houses except in passing, or in humor. And whatever she'd just protested, it was true that she didn't understand Hufflepuff. It was the last House she'd ever have expected to fall for anyone in, and she sometimes felt a strange need to apologize about it, "I know he's in Hufflepuff, but . . . " She didn't think Cedric would appreciate having his House apologized for.

"We're stubborn," he said now. "We don't give up. We stick together, and we like to stick together. You'd never have to explain to my House why unity matters. We can't really understand why anyone would think it doesn't. People make fun of us because we don't come in first -- but that's because we don't leave anyone behind. As long as one of us has food, everyone has food. If one of us can stand, he'll pick everybody else up. That's my House, Hermione. We're strong. We can carry this whole school -- and we will, if we have to."

She blinked. 'Strong' wasn't an adjective she'd have applied to the 'Puffs, yet even as she opened her mouth to protest, she realized he was absolutely correct. Knock them down and they stood back up again. Gryffindor was brave, but Hufflepuff was tenacious. A bit Roman, that. And like a Rosetta stone, his description gave her the key to every Hufflepuff she knew -- even Zacharias Smith. It also explained why he refused to give in to his crippling, or to Umbridge, or to anything, really.

"There's a difference," she said slowly, just understanding it, "between 'winning' and 'not being beaten.'"

"Yes," he said, obviously pleased she'd understood him. "We don't always -- or even often -- care if we win. But we won't be beaten down.

"That's why it's both easier and harder for me to think like a Slytherin," he went on while she ate, still pondering what he'd said. "They've been on their own for centuries -- but they're not that different from us. They hunker down, too, and dig in, and you can't move them. They'll do whatever it takes for the group to survive. But they care more about winning. Notice when you play them in Quidditch. They cheat like nobody's business, but they cheat together. They cheat so the team wins, not just so one person looks good. If I may make a comparison -- Harry has that Firebolt, right? But the rest of his team's flying on whatever they can manage. When Draco went on the team, his father bought them all brooms."

"That was bribery!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, yes -- but a Seeker with a Nimbus 2001 would be bribery enough for some Houses. The goal was to supply the team with brooms that exceeded everybody else's. Lucius can afford it -- but it wasn't just for Draco, and the brooms won't leave with the team members. They belong to the House. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

She narrowed her eyes and thought about it. She didn't like it, but she was thinking about it. "You're saying they only cheat other Houses, not each other? But they do cheat each other!"

"Not really."

"But Draco orders around Crabbe and Goyle like . . . like his servants!"

"That's different. He'd probably sacrifice them, too, if it was his life or theirs. But he'd do it because he considers himself the one who needs to survive -- and they'd let him. What he wouldn't do is set them up to fall just to see them fall. He'd ask them to sacrifice themselves for him, but he also protects them. That's where Slytherin and Hufflepuff part ways. We don't have much hierarchy, even if sometimes it happens. I have a certain status there -- I'm honest enough to recognize it -- but part of why I have it is because I don't take it. It's a gift, not a birthright. Slytherin is different, more . . . medieval, I guess. You go into that House with rights of birth -- or not. You're an aristocrat or commoner, but there's an expectation that if you're an aristrocrat, you provide -- noblesse oblige."

"I didn't think we had princes?"

"Not princes, poppet, but aristocrats, certainly. Every society has aristocrats whether or not those families have titles. What do you think the Blacks are? Or the Crouches or the Malfoys -- or the Potters? Varying degrees of aristocrat."

"The Diggories?"

He grinned. "I'm as middle class as you are -- no titles for me."

"Upper middle class," she corrected.

He shrugged. "But Slytherin wants a leader, and not Plato's 'philosopher king,' either. It goes to the strongest -- Machiavellian. Have you ever read The Prince?" She shook her head. "My mother made me read it. It's about what works -- functionalism, not ideals. The key to understanding Slytherin is to remember that for them, functionalism is morality. If you can't make it work, what bloody use is it? Not a lot of room for impractical dreamers. If an ideal world isn't possible, then it's immoral to chase after an impossibility and ignore what's in front of you. You see?"

She blinked, and for the first time began to understand how his mother, Professor Snape, Draco and even Tom Riddle could have all been sorted into the same House -- and why Harry had elements of that House in him. She nodded slowly.

"So yes," Cedric said, "Slytherin cheats at Quidditch, but that's because Slytherin doesn't really know how to play games. I could say the same of Gryffindor." He smiled and she actually paused in eating, taken by surprise. "Neither your House nor theirs knows how to lose and not let it bother you. It's why we can always count on the Slytherin-Gryffindor match to get nasty. Slytherin can't lose because they have a hard time with the concept of 'game' in the first place -- if it really means nothing, it's a waste of time and energy. So they make it mean something. Gryffindor gets their pride involved and losing becomes a personal blow." She wanted to object -- but couldn't. She didn't care about winning the Quidditch Cup, but only because she didn't care much about Quidditch. Harry and Ron, Angelina and the twins were all a different matter.

"For Hufflepuff" -- he shrugged -- "we honestly don't care if we win or lose as long as it was fun. We'll try to win, but if winning means cheating or elevating one player over all the others -- it's not worth it."

"You see all this from a completely different angle, you know that?" she told him.

"Probably. And I've been thinking a lot about it lately."

"So what does all that have to do with Slytherin and the Common Room?"

"Well, a common room is to mingle with the masses, right?" He raised both eyebrows and she nodded. "So why go if you're an aristocrat when the 'masses' there don't mean anything to you? And the leader sets the tone for Slytherin. If he doesn't go, nobody does."

"You're saying the room has to offer something?"

"Exactly. And to figure out what, you have to figure out who the leader is."

"Well, Draco, I suppose."

"He's one."

"Only one? Who else then?"

"Blaise Zabini. He's the only real challenger to Draco in that House. His family's as old and well-born, but not historically British."

"Where's he from?" Hermione knew vaguely who Zabini was, but no more. Cedric, she'd discovered, knew quite a lot about various Wizarding families, more even than Ron . . . probably because he paid better attention.

"His mother's from Tanzania; she was a younger sister to the queen mother -- or whatever the proper term is, I'm not quite sure. His branch of the Bantu are matrilineal, so his mother matters, not his father. I think his father was half Italian or something unexpected."

"Draco and Blaise are the only aristocrats?"

"Not the only ones, no. But the two most important in Slytherin just now. And Zabini's royalty."

"But the Wizarding World doesn't have --"

"That's just Europe, Granger. Don't equate it with everywhere. There are a lot of different traditions and some of them do have royalty. As far as he's concerned, he's a prince and the rest of us are lesser mortals -- with a few exceptions. He has to acknowledge Draco, and he doesn't like it. More to the point, a lot of Slytherins don't like it. Zabini is probably the most talented wizard in that House, but who sets House policy? Draco Malfoy, because he's a Malfoy. A goodly portion of Slytherin would rather listen to Blaise. He's got more dignity, although sometimes he just comes off as haughty."

"All this because Draco is a Malfoy?"

"Yes. But if someone were to stand up for Zabini . . . "

"You could split the House."

"I'm not interested in splitting the House. I'm interested in helping someone stage a coup who owes me a favor -- and is no friend to Voldemort or Death Eaters. The obvious choice is Zabini."

She studied his face. "How are you going to do this, though? You're not in Slytherin even if your mother was."

Smiling faintly, he looked down. "That's the other thing I needed to tell you. I'd probably have told you soon anyway. It's not something . . . it's not something I've been hiding; it's not a secret, just . . . a closet skeleton, I suppose. I'm not proud of it."

He seemed a bit nervous and she felt a sudden tendril of alarm. "What are you going on about?"

"Well, Zabini might ally himself with me because of who my mother is. Remember that for him, my mother matters more than my father. And my mother makes me the one person able to challenge Draco for status."

She'd known his mother was related to Sirius and a pureblood, but she honestly hadn't thought too much beyond that. Her grasp of important Wizarding families was tenuous even after five years. "Who's your mother?" she asked softly.

"Lucretia Malfoy." He took a deep breath and looked up at her. "She was born Lucretia Malfoy."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Oh, my God. She -- You -- Lucius Malfoy is your uncle? You're Draco's cousin? But Lucius cursed you! He made you like this!"

He held up a hand. "First, he's not my uncle. He and my mother are cousins, no more. Hers is the senior branch, actually, and the house Draco grew up in is the same one my mother grew up in. It belonged to her father, and his father before him back to the 1700s. It only passed to Lucius when my mother's father died." Hermione noticed Cedric didn't call him 'grandfather.' "Second, Lucius cursed me because I'm my mother's son. There's not exactly a lot of love lost there."

Hermione stared at her unfinished lunch and felt the heavy food congeal in her stomach. She knew it shouldn't matter. Sirius was a Black, and by all accounts, that family was no better than the Malfoys. Yet no Blacks had harassed her for five years, called her 'mudblood' or other nasty insults. The name 'Malfoy' occupied a special dark place in her heart. She'd learned to find it hateful.

And what must he feel? she asked herself. He'd said he wasn't proud of it, and certainly she'd never heard his mother trade on her ancestry, or even her full name. She was Lucy Diggory now. Like Sirius, she must find her family unbearable. And like Tonks, Cedric had to bear the cross of his mother's ancestry.

"Having second thoughts about me, Granger?" he asked. It was said lightly, but she could feel the tension in him where he sat beside her.

"Of course not," she told him. "I'm just surprised. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"If your mother was related to some Muggle murderer or rapist, would you be quick to tell people?"

She slipped her arm through his and hugged it, laid her head on his shoulder. "No, I guess not."

He freed the arm to stretch it across the back of her chair and she snuggled down against his side as best she could with the two of them in separate seats. Their lunch was finished, or as much of it as she could eat. "You can have the rest of my casserole, if you want," she told him.

She watched him consider, then shake his head. "It's cold now." There was a pause. "So you're all right with it?" She knew he wasn't talking about refusing her food.

"It doesn't change anything. You don't judge me for being a mudblood."

He physically flinched. "Don't use that word."

She turned in her chair to face him. "You are Cedric Diggory, and even if you were Cedric Malfoy, it wouldn't matter." She raised a hand to stroke his cheek and he kissed her fingers. "Does Draco know? He supported you last year, but this year . . . "

"He knows now. And he supported me last year because I wasn't Harry. I'm under no illusions he'd have been all that supportive otherwise."

She snorted. "It must just kill him that you're in Hufflepuff and can still do magic in circles around him."

"I expect so. That's why Lucius hated my mother, too. She was stronger than him -- although Lucius is powerful or he wouldn't have risen so high with Voldemort. Yet to become a Master Painter, you have to be stellar in three subjects: Potions, Charms and Transfiguration. Top marks in every one."

She settled back into the arc of his arm. "So what are you going to do -- with Blaise, I mean?"

"Talk to him. My support may not be enough to lure him. He has to think he could realistically replace Draco as the power in Slytherin -- otherwise, he's setting himself up to be shunned. I don't know that I have enough influence to make it worth his while. All I can do is try. But I can't lose this, poppet. Everything rides on it working."

"You won't lose. Hufflepuff may not win often, but you don't lose."

That made him chuckle. "So you listen to me sometimes, at least."

The rest of that Saturday and all of Sunday, Cedric spent glued to Hermione. Now that they'd stopped pretending, he threw moderation to the wind and followed her about like a love-sick puppy. They spent Sunday either by the lake or in the Common Room and if he couldn't hold hands with her when they walked, he found plenty of other excuses to touch her and even took a nap with his head in her lap at one point. By the end of Sunday, they'd grown so easy with each other physically that she'd taken to pacing beside him down a hall with her thumb tucked in his back belt loop or her fingers tangled in his robes -- no hesitation or shyness. He was hers to claim, and in some bizarre time warp, they went from 'newly dating' to 'firmly established couple' in under 48 hours. It might have left them both with emotional whiplash except, of course, they'd been building up to it for weeks.

On Sunday, after report, they spent fifteen minutes in his office, door not open but not entirely shut, body-sunk in the physical. It was all about lips and tongues and the soft skin of her white throat beneath his mouth, and it required a superhuman effort to keep his hands from wandering. His cock felt as hard as wood by the time she left. They'd kissed and caressed heavily before, but he'd always had a chance after to get his wits and blood both back in their proper places like a winded runner walking himself cool. Sunday, she hurried out with apologies when she realized it was almost eleven, and sexually stranded, he motioned the door shut, unzipped, and wanked, which didn't take long in his tense state. Afterwards, he Banished the evidence and sat in his chair behind the desk, worrying over how soon the differences in their previous experience would become an issue. He wanted to do things with her right now that she wasn't ready for. "Bloody hell," he whispered and rubbed his eyes.

Monday morning, he'd no sooner reached the main entrance than both Ernie and Hannah accosted him, whispering, "Cedric, you've got to see this," and pulling him towards the stairway down to the Hufflepuff basement. He followed and they steered him inside the common room up to a notice tacked to one of the old wine racks, very official-looking with a wax seal and dangling ribbon.

"She knows," Ernie said, face blanched white.

Cedric read over the sign quickly.

-- By Order of --
 THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with
Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four

Umbridge had signed it.

Cedric's initial reaction was a similar panic to Ernie's. Somebody in the Hog's Head -- or Hermione's group of poorly screened candidates -- had talked. Then common sense reasserted itself. "She knows something," he told Ernie, motioning for Ernie and Hannah to follow him over to a spot in the room that wasn't full of younger students gaping at the notice. Zach and Susan joined them, as did Ed and Peter. "But I don't think she knows what exactly. If she did, we'd all have been hauled in yesterday."

"Maybe Umbridge couldn't," Susan said. "Hermione told me that she checked everywhere for a rule against what we were doing, and there wasn't one."

Cedric shook his head. "I think all Umbridge knows is that a bunch of students met in the Hog's Head yesterday. I doubt she heard what we said."

"Why not?" Ernie asked. "We weren't especially quiet."

"No, you weren't," Cedric replied, glancing at Smith, who just raised his hands. "But I cast a Silencing Spell on the group. After a certain point, anyone listening wouldn't have known exactly what we were talking about. And --" He paused, frowning, "Where are Scott and Justin?"

"Justin went looking for you, mate," Ernie said.

"Same," Peter agreed. "We sent Scott for you right after we saw it."

"Well, tell them, too, Hermione and I have an idea. If anyone should ask about the meeting yesterday, say it was about the Common Room and how to get people back into it. And Hannah . . . would you tell Cho the same?"

Hannah gave him a knowing look even as Ernie asked, "You still plan to do this Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"

"I'm not about to back down now," Cedric replied and looked at all of them. "We're badgers. We hold on. Umbridge has no idea who she's dealing with."

He didn't see Hermione until lunch and drew her off into a corner. They stood with heads bent close, faces inches apart. "You heard?" she asked and he nodded; she went on, "Harry's owl was attacked."

"What?"

"She came back this morning wounded -- had a message from Snuffles, although I doubt anybody who might have read it would have understood it."

"What'd it say?"

"'Today, same time, same place.'" She crooked her finger and he bent even closer. She whispered against his mouth, "Gryffindor common room fireplace, very late."

"He's off his head," Cedric whispered back, then drew away slightly. "You'll tell me tomorrow?" She nodded and they turned away from each other to head for their respective tables. His eyes swept the Head Table, and saw Umbridge staring at him with a strange intensity. It made him shiver all over as he settled on the bench beside Peter and listened to Ed wax indignant that Educational Degree Number Twenty-Four covered Quidditch teams and he had to ask Umbridge's permission to reform. "Be glad I'm not still captain then," Cedric told them. "She'd give me permission when hell freezes over."

Yet he wasn't the least surprised to hear that Slytherin already had permission, and by supper, Ravenclaw did, too. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were not given permission. Umbridge 'needed a bit of time to consider.' That only cemented Cedric's certainty that somebody in the Hog's Head had counted scarf and tie color yesterday. Of Hermione's thirty-two students, only six came from Ravenclaw. The resistance centered on Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and Umbridge knew it.

In their Transfiguration lesson, McGonagall -- somewhat uncharacteristically -- decided to fish. "I don't suppose you could shed any light for me on this most recent decree?" she asked him. "I understand there was a meeting in the Hog's Head on Saturday. Something about an independent study group . . . "

And Cedric was stuck. He knew very well a member of the Order had been there, watching and perhaps listening for as much as could be heard -- and McGonagall was in the Order. Little point in lying. But, "The less you know, perhaps the better, professor."

She glared at him, although it wasn't entirely unkind. "Watch your step, Mr. Diggory. This could be very, very dangerous."

"They're going ahead with it anyway. I reckon they need looking after, you know?" He leaned forward. "But I do have a question. Could you teach me to cast a Fidelius Charm?"

Her expression was startled. "Cedric, that is . . . extremely complicated magic."

"I know. I looked into it on Sunday. That's why I need help. There are portions of that spell I don't think I can do yet."

"Not surprising," she told him, and sighed. "I fear it's beyond you -- and you know how highly I think of your talent. But you are still a student, Diggory. That's a charm most adult wizards can't cast. Aim lower." She scribbled something onto a bit of parchment and handed it to him. "You might find that useful." He studied the book title she'd written there: Concealment Spells and Obscurification Objects. It was, he noticed, in the Restricted Section.

"I'll need a note --" He looked up to see her holding out another piece of parchment. He took it and blinked when he saw the contents. "This is . . . unlimited access."

"I'll be assigning you several books from that section for our class, so unlimited access is convenient. I don't want to waste my time writing you a note for every book. And you may find it a useful section of the library, Diggory -- but be careful what you pick up in there. I trust you to demonstrate some discretion. Yet as you say, some need looking after. Now, let's get to work."

Grinning, he pocketed the note. He'd show it to Harry later. He needed to talk to the boy anyway.

However alarming Umbridge's new decree, there was one silver lining. Students had more important things to discuss than Cedric's now public relationship with Hermione Granger. Nevertheless, and after the weekend, there was gossip and he fielded more than a few questions: "Yes, I'm seeing Hermione," "No, I didn't break up with Cho because of Hermione," and "I met Hermione through Harry," were usually sufficient as answers.

But before History of Magic, Adrian Pucey of Slytherin pointed out that Hermione had been through every Triwizard Champion but one. "She must have some pretty extraordinary talents of her own," he said with a suggestive leer. "Care to pass her on to me when you're tired of her, Diggory-Dog?"

Ed was forced to hold down Cedric's wand hand to prevent him from casting something very nasty. "Bastard," Cedric hissed under his breath, getting out his quill as Binns arrived through the blackboard. After class, he cornered his three friends. "Who else is saying stuff like that about Hermione?"

Scott shook his head, Ed shrugged, but Peter looked down at his feet. "Well, there was that article in The Prophet last year . . . "

"That was utterly ridiculous. I didn't even know her then and I didn't believe it."

"I don't think most people did," Scott assured him. "At least, not around here. Granger's reputation as a swot's a bit too well-earned."

But Peter was shaking his head now. "That's the problem, though. It left people asking how she got Krum's attention. She'd been friends with Potter, but Viktor Krum -- ? Come on, there were people who assumed she was putting out. Now she's got Cedric and they're asking the same thing."

"No way," Scott said. "Ced here's the Good Boy. With me, that'd be a safe bet, but not with him."

"I didn't say it was a lot of people," Peter defended. "But Ced asked who, and there are some -- and it's not just Slytherin." Peter looked back at him. "Not a lot you can do about it, mate, so don't beat yourself up; they'll figure it out. You are the one with the straight-up reputation." Abruptly, he grinned. "Even if we know what you were doing with Zoë Smythe in the Hufflepuff locker room two years ago. Or with Cho in the owlery, for that matter. You're not so lily-white."

"Sod off," Cedric told him, but without much heat.

After dinner, he went looking for Blaise Zabini when he heard Zabini had gone to the library to work on a Charms essay. Finding him in a section sometimes called 'Slytherin Corner,' he sat down across from him at the table. Zabini ignored him although the deliberate care of his writing told Cedric he was far from unaware of being watched.

Like his mother, Blaise was startlingly attractive with high cheekbones and slanted eyes. If his hair had a sleeker look than usual in an African, his skin was still a smooth black ink because his mother's was so very, very dark. It would take more than a little Italian coffee to lighten it. For sheer perfect arrangement of feature, he was handsomer than Cedric, but as those features were foreign, the girls trailed him less. The fact he was haughtier than anyone else at Hogwarts and generally regarded as unattainable also contributed.

Cedric, however, was a more patient hunter and sat waiting. Finally Zabini gave up his pretense at indifference and put down his quill. "What do you want, Diggory?"

"Didn't really want anything. Just musing to myself."

Zabini frowned. "I somehow doubt that, but I'll humor you and ask what you were musing about?"

"Wondering how long you're going to let Draco Malfoy dictate Slytherin policy?"

"Who says I let him do it now?"

Cedric turned his head slightly to eye Zabini sidewise. "Come on, who was chosen prefect? I know who's in charge in Slytherin. We all do. A white ferret not the black panther."

And that ruffled Zabini's fur just as Cedric had hoped. "That spoiled brat doesn't rule me. Only fools and posers follow him."

Cedric shrugged, careful to make it seem both unconcerned and dubious at once. "If you say so."

Leaning forward, Zabini studied Cedric in turn with the same intensity Cedric had studied him earlier. Cedric let him, even met his eyes and smiled a little. "You want something," Zabini said. "What, I can't imagine. I didn't think Hufflepuff liked Slytherin."

"I didn't think Slytherin liked anybody."

"Slytherin doesn't need anybody."

Abruptly, Cedric grinned. "Too bad, that." Grabbing his crutches he got to his feet, shuffling off and leaving Zabini (hopefully) to ponder what he'd meant. He'd sowed the seeds. For now, that would do.

Somewhat unexpectedly, he ran into Harry -- alone -- in one of the hallways. "Ced!" Then Harry paused as if unsure what else to say, and Cedric realized that things had suddenly got very complicated between them again.

"How's your owl?" he asked.

Harry blinked, as if surprised that Cedric knew. "I gave her to Professor Grubbly-Plank to see to."

Cedric nodded. "I need to talk to you. Come to my office?"

"All right."

Harry paced him down to the concealed lift and remarked, as they descended, "Wow. Handy."

"A bit."

When they reached Cedric's office, Cedric propped himself on his desk and Harry paced around, asking, "What did you want?"

"Look at this." Cedric held out the parchment McGonagall had given him.

Taking it, Harry glanced at it. "Wow. That means . . . "

"I can research spells. She knows, Harry. About the classes. This is tantamount to her blessing. There was a member of the Order in the pub on Saturday."

Harry seemed startled and Cedric wondered why Hermione hadn't told him. "Who?"

"Have no idea -- somebody male. I know about the note from Snuffles, too."

"Hermione told you."

"Yeah."

And Harry suddenly wasn't looking at Cedric. Although Harry and Ron had spent some time with Cedric and Hermione on Sunday, it had been a bit . . . awkward. "Listen," Harry said suddenly, "this feels weird, but, well, I've got to say it. She hasn't got a brother, so I guess I'm it. Treat her right. It's not that I don't think you will, but --"

Cedric found himself grinning. "I'd think less of you if you didn't say it," he told the younger boy. "And I'll treat her well, don't worry." He paused, suddenly blurting out, "I think I love her."

Harry didn't reply, just blinked at him owlishly for a moment from behind the glasses. "Really? How . . . I mean, how do you know? When you love somebody?" He rubbed his scar. "I'm not challenging you, I'd just . . . really like to know, uh, how you know?"

"Have no idea. Never been in love before."

"Not with Cho -- ?" Harry was blushing furiously.

"No. Liked her? A lot. Loved her? No."

"But Hermione?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Wow."

"Yeah, scares me a bit too. Don't tell her, all right?" He felt himself blushing as well, and wasn't sure why he felt able to tell Harry what he'd barely even admitted to himself, but Harry was different. They were silent then, caught up in their awkwardness. "You're still going to do the class?" he asked finally.

"I think so, yeah," Harry replied.

"Good."

More silence. Harry stood. "I should go, I suppose."

"Harry." Harry stopped and looked back. "I need you to know something because it may come out in the next few weeks. I don't want you to be startled. I told Hermione. It's not a secret exactly, but, well -- you need to know. As you're close to . . . Snuffles . . . I expect you'll understand." Harry continued to stare. Cedric swallowed. Hermione had accepted the news well enough, but Harry wasn't Hermione. "My mother is a cousin to Lucius Malfoy."

Harry's mouth fell open; he looked a bit foolish. "You're a Malfoy?"

"Technically. On my mother's side."

Harry ran a hand into his hair. "Uh, yeah." He looked up at Cedric again. "Is that why Lucius . . . to you -- ?"

"Yes." It was odd how he and Harry seemed to have these conversations half-composed of half-finished sentences. Yet they never seemed to be confused about what the other meant.

"Snuffles knows, I assume?"

"Oh, yeah. Like I said, it's not really a secret. It's just that nobody on either side really wants to talk about it now. My mother embarrasses the family, and the family embarrasses me."

"Not her?"

"Not as much. She's . . . not quite like Snuffles. Not everybody in Slytherin is bad, Harry."

He frowned. "I want to believe that."

"Then try harder. You're a Parselmouth. Does it make you evil?"

Harry glared. "I'm not in Slytherin."

"So? Did the Hat suggest putting you there?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded.

"Me, too," Cedric admitted. "It suggested Slytherin first, in fact. It was a test. I'm where I belong."

"So am I."

Cedric nodded in wordless agreement. Harry was where he belonged.

Another stretch of silence. "That's all you wanted to tell me?" Harry asked.

"Mostly, yeah. I didn't want you to be surprised -- if it comes out."

"Thanks."

Harry turned for the office door and Cedric hesitated, then called after him, "Harry -- ask out Cho before somebody else does."

Startled, Harry glanced back. "What? I mean -- why?"

Cedric smiled. "She likes you. Trust me on that."

And Harry's face flushed deeply. "I . . . uh . . . " But he fled out the door without completing that thought, leaving Cedric to scratch the back of his head and wonder if they'd cleared the air or not.

The next morning, it was pouring down rain, so in the break between classes, Cedric sought out Hermione sitting with Ron and Harry in one of the first-floor classrooms. "Well?" he asked, lowering himself into a desk beside her. She reached over to lace her fingers into his, but otherwise appeared somewhat distracted. So did Ron, who stared at their clasped hands.

But after the discussion the night before, Harry took it in his stride and bent closer as Cedric pulled his wand and cast Muffliato. "You have to teach me that," Harry said, echoing Hermione from Saturday.

"I will, but not here."

Harry nodded and related what Sirius had said, including a message from Cedric's mother. If Molly Weasley had forbidden Ron to take part in the class -- an order that Ron appeared quite ready to ignore -- Cedric's own mother was mostly annoyed with him for taking so long to cast the Silencing spell.

"Mundungus, was it?" Cedric asked when Harry had finished. "And he says the spell worked for the whole group?"

"After a certain point he couldn't hear anything but bees buzzing. But he heard enough before that."

Cedric thought his mother probably right to chastize him for being so slow, and he glanced over at Hermione, who'd been strangely silent. Now, she was staring out a window. "What's up, poppet?"

She looked around at him. "What? Oh -- nothing, really. I was just thinking . . . I suppose we're doing the right thing . . . I think . . . aren't we?"

"Well, that clears that up," said Ron. "It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly."

Cedric glared at Weasley but Hermione seemed to come back to herself and went on in a stronger voice, "I was just wondering whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defense Against the Dark Arts group."

"What?" both younger boys said together, and Ron added, "Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!"

Cedric was silent. He thought he might understand. They were breaking the rules quite severely and he'd never done anything like this before either. Of course, he'd never been faced by the likes of Umbridge . . . and Voldemort.

"I know," Hermione was saying, "but after talking to Snuffles . . . "

"But he's all for it!" Harry pointed out.

"Yes. Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all . . . "

Peeves the Poltergeist floated above them with a peashooter for ink pellets. They all ducked and raised book bags. "Damn ghost," Cedric muttered. "I wish Dumbledore would get rid of him."

Harry and Ron ignored that to focus on Hermione. "Let's get this straight," Harry was saying. "Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it anymore?"

Cedric could feel Hermione's hand tighten on his. "Do you honestly trust his judgment?"

"Yes, I do!" Harry snapped back. "He's always given us great advice!"

Before Hermione or anybody else could reply, Peeves had hit Katie Bell with an ink pellet and in a rage -- everybody seemed to be tense these days -- she leapt up to fling anything at Peeves she could lay hands on. Cedric took the momentary distraction to free his hand from Hermione's and slip an arm around the back of her seat, his fingers on the nape of her neck, stroking as he had in the Hog's Head on Saturday. "Relax," he whispered to her.

She shot him a little smile, but turned back to Harry, who was obviously chewing over her words. "You don't think he's become . . . sort of . . . reckless . . . since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place?" she asked. "You don't think he's . . . kind of . . . living through us?"

"What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harry demanded.

"I mean . . . well, I think he'd love to be forming secret defense societies right under the nose of somebody from the Ministry . . . I think he's frustrated at how little he can do where he is . . . so I think he's keen to kind of . . . egg us on."

Ron and Harry appeared torn and troubled, and slightly annoyed. Ron said, "Sirius is right -- you do sound just like my mother."

"Hermione," Cedric said, turning to face her, his hand still rubbing the nape of her neck soothingly. "My mother actually agrees with Sirius on this." She looked over at him, half relieved, half dubious. Ron and Harry appeared triumphant. "But," Cedric added, "we've got to be more careful from here on out -- a lot more careful."

All three of them stared at him with wide eyes, but nodded. The bell rang for their next classes.