The early November snow melted and turned to icy slush as the month drove towards its dark close. The sun remained mostly dim behind clouds that dumped more sleet and rain, and Cedric's mood matched the weather. McGonagall was still on him about becoming an Animagus, and Ed -- a bit panicked over the coming Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match -- kept up a steady stream of Quidditch talk that put Cedric out of sorts and made him avoid his friend. He also feared that Ed might ask him point blank if he planned to attend the next match since he hadn't attended the previous one. Cedric didn't want to say, 'No,' so he stayed out of the Hufflepuff common room.
On the last day of the month, a Wednesday, he found a quiet corner of the library to spread his books. It would be dinner soon but he was so buried under work that he needed every minute he could scrounge for lesson prep or the plethora of small things that always seemed to end on his desk or Violet's. He wondered if she were feeling as overwhelmed as he, and predictably, the increased stress caused flare-ups in his condition; he'd missed two days of lessons in the past two weeks. He couldn't afford to be laid out flat on his back again, drugged with Abdoleo. He had three major essays due, a project, a demonstration to prepare for, Snape's individual potion test, and all McGonagall's reading.
The irony, he realized, was that worrying about what would happen if he suffered another attack was only making it more likely to occur.
He lost track of time and didn't realize dinner was over until he felt small hands on his shoulders, sliding around to hug him. "Did you forget to eat?" Granger said against his neck. "Or did you eat early?"
"Bloody hell." He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. Too late now, but rather to his surprise, she laid a pair of pasties on a napkin in front of him. "I had a feeling it was the former."
"Bless you, poppet."
Kissing his cheek, she raised up to rub his shoulders. "Don't let Madam Pince see. She'll kill me. Why are you so tense, Ced?"
"If you saw my to-do list, you wouldn't be asking that."
Sighing, she let him go to pull out the seat beside his, unloading her own books. That night, there wasn't any sneaking off into the stacks to snog. He had far too much work and if usually more easy-going than Hermione, he took his responsibilities seriously, including lessons. She kept pausing in her own studies to rub his back or run a hand through his hair, trying to relax him a bit. Given how they could each over-worry matters, they might have been very bad for each other, feeding off each other's anxieties, but it seemed to work the other way. If she were worried, he could calm her, and vice versa.
At nine she left to do her rounds and saw him only briefly afterwards. "When are you going to bed?"
"When I'm done," he replied without looking up from his office desk, where he'd moved his work.
"Cedric, you need sleep, too, or you'll have another episode."
"Thank you, Healer Granger -- I can figure that out for myself." Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry."
"It's okay. Take a bath before bed, all right?"
He nodded. But in the end, it was after midnight before he returned to his rooms. Once there, he sighed and collapsed on the sofa, dropping his head against the back of it, too tired to get up again, let alone take a bath. He could bathe in the morning.
"Cedric."
He practically jumped off the cushions and his wand was out before he realized what he was doing. Recognizing the voice but not seeing anyone, he said, "Hermione? Where are you?"
The air above the chair in front of the sofa moved, then split, revealing Hermione beneath an . . . was that an invisibility cloak? "Where did you get that? How long have you had it?"
"It's Harry's, actually -- belonged to his dad. He let me borrow it."
"What are you doing in here? Do you have any idea how much trouble we'd both be in --"
"I know," she said. "But I was worried about you. I've never seen you like this."
"I get like this every term end."
Folding the cloak, she laid it on the chair and came over to sit beside him on the sofa, one hand on his knee but not otherwise touching him. "Are you going to take a bath? I came to make sure you did."
But he shook his head. "If I get in there now, I might fall asleep and drown." That made her laugh. "I'm serious, Granger. I'm just too tired."
"It's more than just lessons that's bothering you, isn't it?" He didn't reply, and she bent her head to peer up into his face. "Isn't it? You can talk to me, you know."
"It's not that easy."
"It's the game coming up; I know Ed's been after you. That on top of your extra lessons plus the DA and your duties. You've got too much on your plate. Dumbledore shouldn't have done this to you."
"Dumbledore didn't do anything. I did this to me -- too many irons in the fire." Abruptly, he bent over, elbows on knees, face in hands. "I am so stressed."
"I know. Do you have swimming trunks?"
"What?" Raising his face, he stared at her in confusion.
"Swimming trunks. Do you have any?"
"Not with me. Why would I have swimming trunks?"
She sighed. "Well, I guess shorts'll do. You do have shorts?"
He blinked at her. "They're in my wardrobe. Bottom drawer on the left. What are you on about?"
But she rose and went into his bedroom, coming back a minute later with his track shorts, and Esiban riding in her arms. He greeted the raccoon and eyed her. "Why am I putting on shorts?"
"Because we're going swimming. I'll make sure you don't drown, right?"
He laughed at her. "And I suppose you dragged your swimsuit with you to Scotland in winter?"
She opened the robe she was wearing to reveal skimpy shorts with pink cats on them and a strappy rose top -- probably summer pyjamas, Cedric decided. "It covers more than a bikini, I suppose." She was blushing. "And it's not as if I'll need to wear them to sleep in for a while. Besides," her blush deepened, "I've sort of been wanting to see you swim."
Grinning, he felt suddenly better despite the fact getting caught in the prefects' bath with his girlfriend after midnight -- clothes or no clothes -- could get them both expelled. Back on his feet, he headed for the bedroom. "Give me a few minutes to change."
When he was ready, he had her bring her things into his bedroom, stuffing them under his sheets. "I don't think Filch would come barging into my room, but better safe than sorry. And what if your roommates notice you're gone?"
"They're asleep and I put clothes in my bed to make it look like a person, then pulled the curtains to. No one will know I'm not there unless they try to wake me up."
They entered the bath via his toilet doorway and while the room wouldn't permit someone to enter while another was in there, nothing said two people couldn't slip in at once -- or two people and a pet, as it were. Esiban came along. She turned on the taps while he cast Silencing Spells in case Filch was passing on his nightly perambulations.
Then they played in the bath, splashing or chasing each other while Esiban dashed back and forth along the marble pool edges. The hot water relaxed Cedric's muscles and Hermione's presence cheered him considerably, even if this meant he'd get even less sleep than he might have otherwise. He'd never expected to have her here with him, for her to see him free again of crutches and braces and chair. In the bath, he could stand up and hold her in his arms like a normal man. But if his track shorts were almost as good as swim trunks, her flimsy cotton outfit wasn't. It clung to her body a little too well, and the way her nipples poked through wet fabric made him hard in his shorts. He wanted to be a gentleman, he did, but there was a point past which it became difficult to think. And once, when he grabbed her from behind as she was trying to escape him in play, his hand accidentally came down on her breast -- which stopped the laughter in both their throats. He yanked his hand free as if burned and both her arms came up to cover herself protectively. "Sorry," he muttered. "That wasn't on purpose."
"I know." She was staring at his chest as hard as he was trying not to stare at hers and he couldn't erase the fleeting sensation of soft, yielding flesh under his hand.
"We should get out," he said.
"Probably."
They let the water drain while she fetched them towels and he put back on his braces. Then he said, "Go on back into my rooms and get changed. You did bring other clothes -- ?"
"Yes, of course. Give me a few minutes."
"All right."
He ditched his wet shorts and wrapped a dry towel around his waist as he waited politely, then opened his door to call, "You decent?"
"Yes." She hurried into the toilet to hold the door for him and Esiban, her eyes resolutely not dropping down to the towel, although she did pick up his wet clothes from the bath and carry them in for him.
Then she left him to put on his pyjama bottoms as she went to gather her cloak and robe from his bed. When he emerged from the toilet a minute later, he found her holding out her wet clothes in front of her, clearly perplexed as to how to carry them without getting her dry flannel pyjamas wet. "Banish them back to Gryffindor Tower," he suggested.
Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not very good with that spell yet. They could end up in the Black Lake." It made him laugh. "I should have thought to bring a plastic bag."
Eyebrow lifting, he grabbed his wand. "You mean like the Muggles use for shopping?" She nodded. "One plastic bag coming up." And he Conjured it for her.
Mouth open, she took it. "You are . . . quite good at that sort of thing. Transfigurations really is your best subject, isn't it?"
That only reminded him of the homework he'd more or less avoided. Flopping back on his bed, he said, "Right now, I think McGonagall is regretting taking me on for private study."
Shoving the clothes in the bag, she sat down next to him and laid her hand on his bare chest just below his ribcage, rubbing in little circles over the skin. He grabbed the hand because she had no idea what touching him there did, and lying as he was in loose pyjama bottoms, there was no hiding it. "That tickles," he lied.
"Sorry. Just like touching you. Why would McGonagall regret taking you on?"
"I'm not getting very far on the Animagus transformation. She insists I can do it but, well, I'm starting to wonder. Maybe she's wrong. Not everyone can be an Animagus."
"I still think you'd make a splendid dolphin." Grinning, she leaned across his chest to look down into his face, wet hair falling forward to tickle his cheeks and shoulders. Her eyes roved over his features, as if memorizing him for a painting, and he felt oddly exposed -- and not because he was shirtless.
Pushing her away, he sat up to run a hand through his hair. "Hermione, you should go."
She sat up as well, expression embarrassed. "You only use Hermione when you're upset with me."
"No." He shook his head. "Not only when I'm upset -- when I'm serious." He looked over at her. "Thank you for coming tonight -- really -- but we shouldn't do this again, pleasant as it was. We'd both be expelled if Umbridge caught us, and I'd never forgive myself for getting you into such trouble."
She frowned down at her hands. "It wasn't you who showed up unexpectedly in my room, Cedric Diggory. I can take responsibility for my own actions. And it's not as if I've never done something against the rules before. I needed to be certain you got in that bath tonight, and even laughed a bit. You've been on edge for two weeks." A smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Besides, I did want to see you swim." She looked up at him again. "I didn't expect we'd make a habit of it."
"Okay." Bending swiftly, he kissed her mouth, firm but brief. He didn't trust himself to do more. "Off to bed, poppet."
Gathering the invisibility cloak, she put it on and he took her to the door, stepping out into the hallway as if he'd heard something, lighted wand in hand with the crutches. "Who's there?" Of course there was no one, but it allowed her to sneak out behind him without a door opening and closing on nothing. He felt her hand beneath the cloak brush his back, and then she was gone.
That night, he fantasized about erect nipples under wet, rose cotton and the feel of her breast curving soft into his palm, and came hard.
Hermione thought about his hand on her breast too. In retrospect, she wished she'd reacted other than with a startled, prudish shock, but jerking her arms up to cover her chest had been instinctive. For just an instant, she'd feared he'd done it on purpose, but one look at his mortified face had told her otherwise.
And with it being truly accidental . . . well, curiosity had always been both her greatest virtue and fault. At the time, she'd been so surprised she'd registered nothing but that his hand was there. Now she found herself remembering how it had felt, the warmth of his palm on the heavy underside of her breast. She thought, too, of his smooth skin beneath her hands in the hot water, and of being held against his bare chest while he'd kissed her. The living Cedric was better than any painting, which was just oil and canvas. She preferred flesh and blood and young muscles that rippled across his back, the sweet curve of his shoulders, the bird-wing arch of his clavicles. He had light brown hair across the top of his chest and more leading from his shallow belly-button down in a line beneath the edge of his shorts. He had moles too, but no freckles, and she'd let her fingers trace constellations between the dark dots on his back. "What are you doing, Granger?" he'd asked, laughing and twisting to catch her in his arms. She wasn't used to him being able to hold her that way, squeezed so close she almost couldn't breathe. She'd wrapped her legs around his waist under the water, ankles crossed at the small of his spine, and kissed him fervently. Her shirt had floated, and his hands had been on the skin of her back beneath, stroking. "Want you," he'd muttered, then let out a breathy laugh. "Sorry. Bit out of line there."
She'd shaken her head against his shoulder. He wasn't out of line. She wanted him back, just didn't feel ready to follow through yet -- too bashful and ashamed, programmed by sixteen years of cultural conditioning. Experienced boys were lucky; experienced girls were cheap and sluttish. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" Only girls suffered ruined reputations from sex, and even her mother had warned her last year when Hermione had told her about Viktor's invitation to the Yule Ball: Boys expect you to put on the brakes. They don't have any brakes. You have to stay in control.
She didn't want to stay in control with Cedric -- not when she saw his pearl-pale skin and glorious smile and shivered under his hands. But she didn't know how to let go. Even his accidental touch on her breast had frozen her like a deer in headlights . . . yet the very accidental nature of it led her to turn it over in her mind, think about it, get used to the idea without feeling pressured.
The next day, she missed him at breakfast but they met in the courtyard between lessons. The day was sunny, the first break in the weather in more than a week, and he was smiling to match, waiting for her where he always did. They stared stupidly at each other for a full minute and she thought she might melt into a little puddle at his feet. It was unfair how quickly he could reduce her to senselessness, and he leaned in to brush his lips over hers, very lightly. "Get enough sleep?" he asked, his grin wicked.
"No," she told him honestly. "But I don't regret it. How are you feeling today?"
"Much, much better. Thanks to you." He kissed her softly again, which was quite distracting.
Behind them they heard mock choking, and turned, half expecting Scott. It was Fred and George instead. "The two of you --" George began.
"-- would give anybody a diabetic coronary," Fred finished, and they moved on, not waiting for a reply.
"Prats," Hermione muttered.
Cedric was laughing, but before he could say anything, hooting from overhead interrupted. They looked up. A small owl was winging frantically for the owlry -- chased by a large golden eagle. "Oh, no!" one of the girls nearby gasped.
"It'll be all right," Cedric said, and sure enough, the eagle banked sharply and flew above them, back towards the Scottish hills, its cry a high-pitched yelp. Hermione had been holding her breath, both in fear for the owl, and in delight at seeing an eagle. She knew some golden eagles nested in the hills nearby, but in her now five years at Hogwarts, she'd never been fortunate enough to see one. "The eagles sometimes come close to the castle in winter even though they don't like the forest," Cedric was saying. "They're hungry. Dumbledore put a charm on the owlry to protect the owls."
"It was huge," Hermione muttered, watching it disappear in the distance.
"She was." Cedric looked . . . enraptured.
"How do you know it's a 'she'?"
"Because she was big; males are smaller."
"Since when are you the expert on eagles? Have you seen them here before? I've never seen them. I knew they were up there, but I've never seen one."
He smiled and looked down at her. "I see them every year."
"You're lucky."
His eyes clouded as the bell rang. "Meet me in the library at lunch -- our spot. Bring food. I'll bring something else."
They parted and, curious, Hermione spent all of Runes wondering what he was bringing and hurried to the Great Hall to snitch whatever would fit in her pockets, sparing Ron and Harry a few words as she edged out . . . only to have Ed, Peter and Scott block her escape. "Where's Ced?" Ed demanded.
"Ah . . . studying, I think."
Ed frowned. "He's avoiding me."
"Well, he knows what you want, mate," Peter told him. "Stop pestering him about the match Saturday and he might stop avoiding you."
"He's got to stop avoiding the pitch -- "
Hermione slipped past them while they quarreled, dashing off before they could call her back. She made it to the library without further interruption, finding Cedric beneath the Butterfly Woman as promised. He had a wrapped bundle of some kind with him. She settled down across from him and he laid it between them, unwrapping it. This was nothing from the Wizarding World she knew. Inside lay a strange collection of things: a braided rope of what looked like reeds or grass, several small packets of calico cloth smelling of tobacco, a small turtle shell on a stick that rattled when it shifted, an abalone shell the size of her hand, a bit of red stone carved to look like a deer or elk, and a large feather of dark brown edged with gold and stark white, its quill beaded in white, yellow, red and black and fixed with leather ties.
"A golden eagle feather," Cedric said, picking it up reverently and staring down at it. "No one else knows I have it -- well, no one alive, not even my parents. I could get fined for it."
"Why?"
"It's illegal in the U.S. and Canada for a non-Indian to have a real eagle feather. I don't know that I'd get in trouble here; I doubt the Muggles have laws about it, but they might ask how I got it -- and that could get other people in trouble."
She nodded. "And all this -- ?" She peered again at the bundle.
"It was made for me by Leonard, things to honor the Manitou, the spirits. It's called a medicine bundle. This" -- he touched it -- "is power, Granger. Not ours -- well, not British -- but power all the same. This most of all." He smoothed the feather in his long fingers. "Every feather has a story. When it's given to you, you have to hear the story of how it came to you, and remember, for when you pass it on. To be given one -- it's a great honoring. Immense. That I have this . . . the only reason is that Leonard said it was meant for me. I'd done nothing to distinguish myself."
Hermione would have begged to differ, but didn't interrupt.
"This feather," he said, his voice changing slightly, adopting a formal tone like a storyteller, "This feather came to me from Leonard Whitecalf, and came to Leonard Whitecalf from the eagle himself, forty years ago, or thereabouts. Leonard was helping take care of wounded eagles. For Indians, eagles represent the Creator -- they're sacred -- and the Romans carried their image before the legions into battle. For Charlemagne, it was his royal symbol. Here in Britain, it means strength. The golden eagle is a hunter, and the one who gave this feather was wounded in a hunt. The feather came to Leonard the day the eagle was released. One way of looking at it is that the eagle was just molting, but that's not how Indians see things. The eagle gave the feather in thanks, and Leonard knew he'd recognize who it was meant for when he met him. He just didn't expect him to be a twelve-year-old British kid. Pretty irregular.
"When I got this, I didn't deserve it -- I'd done nothing brave -- and I've never worn it for that reason. Leonard couldn't say why it was meant for me, but told me I'd know one day." He frowned. "I've wondered -- did I get the feather because the Goblet of Fire would choose me? Or was I chosen because I hold an eagle feather?"
"Maybe neither," Hermione said softly and he looked up. "Maybe you got the feather because you saved someone's life -- that's something truly brave."
It was clear from his face that the notion startled him. "I spent the whole bloody Tournament trying to live up to having this feather." He turned it over in his hands, then abruptly held it out to her. "Bind it in my hair."
"What?"
"Tie it into my hair, Granger. I shouldn't do it myself. It should be done by someone close to me." He turned his head so she could reach the side, and leaning over, she did as he asked, separating a lock of honey-brown to tie the leather tightly. Sitting back then, feather swaying beside his face, he rewrapped the bundle and slipped it into his book bag, pushing to his feet and glancing around, but they were alone still. "I'll see you later."
She blinked after him. He'd seemed . . . very odd, caught up in the grip of something bigger than he was. He hadn't even kissed her goodbye.
Cedric had never grasped the whole native concept of walking between worlds until that morning in the courtyard. Seeing the eagle, something had grabbed a hold of him, yanking him out of himself, and talking to Hermione had only pushed him the rest of the way over. He didn't feel as if he were quite in the same castle with everybody else. He passed people in the halls without almost seeing them as he made his way up to McGonagall's office after leaving his bundle in his room. He still wore the feather.
McGonagall wasn't there. No doubt she had a class she'd shown up for -- unlike him. Turning away, he went to the only other person who might understand.
Dumbledore.
He had the password because he was Head Boy. "Chocolate Frogs." The stone griffin leapt aside to let the staircase carry him upwards and deposit him on the landing. Knocking on the door, he waited. It opened. "I'm ready," Cedric said.
Dumbledore said nothing. Maybe he recognized that Cedric was Walking, or maybe he didn't need to ask because he was an Legilimens. Whatever the reason, he stepped aside and let Cedric thump into his office. "I know you're not an Animagus," Cedric said. "But you taught Transfigurations. I'm ready to transform."
Inside the round office with its portraits, magical objects and the red-plumed phoenix -- who eyed him oddly -- Cedric turned to face the Headmaster. But Dumbledore had crossed to a window, unlatching it to push it wide. "Go," he said. "I don't need to tell you how. You've known all along."
Yes. He knew. There was a moment of shift, of dizziness, of world spinning, of seeing-not-seeing, of collapsing . . .
-- of flight.
Wings beat strongly in the room, stirring cloth and parchment, then tucked close as he burst from the building through Dumbledore's open window, out into an aquamarine sky. There, wings spread, he soared, emitting a high-pitched yelp of joy. He was free.
After Herbology, Hermione, Harry and Ron were headed back to the castle for supper. An almost familiar high-pitched yelp made Hermione glance up. "It's that eagle again," she said. Harry and Ron looked up, too. "It's after the owls. Cedric said it's hungry."
"After owls?" Harry asked.
"Didn't you see it this morning? It was chasing some poor little owl, but Cedric told me there's a charm on the owlry so the eagles can't get them."
"I didn't know there were eagles around here," Harry said.
"I've never seen them, but I read about it. The Scottish highlands are among the few places in Britain where they still live free."
"Of course you read about it," Ron retorted. "You know, that eagle doesn't look headed for the owlry. It's kind of . . . circling."
And it was. Hermione hadn't really been paying attention, running on what Cedric had told her before. Now she looked up again, hand shading her eyes.
Abruptly the eagle dove from several hundred feet -- straight at her. Screaming in terror, Hermione threw herself to the ground while Harry and Ron dashed in different directions. But she felt no tear of talons just a brush of wind from the wings. Cautiously, she peaked out through her fingers. The eagle was ascending again, but not so high, and it came around once more, yelping softly as it went over.
What on earth had she done to anger an eagle? Yet its legs were tucked against its body, not extended as if to seize, and it spun all around her in tight circles, its wild, low swooping drawing attention. Neville had stopped in his trek back to the castle, along with Seamus and Dean, Parvati and Lavender, Ernie, Hannah, Susan and Justin. All stood gaping. Harry had his wand out in case he needed to defend her from the bird. But it wasn't attempting to attack her and -- gingerly -- Hermione got to her feet.
It was . . . playing. It was playing. Awesome power contained, banked in delight.
And she understood -- recognized.
"Cedric?" she asked, then more loudly, "Cedric?" She held out her arms, not really sure how to offer a roost to an eagle, but trying. This close, he looked huge, wings spanning more than her standing height.
He circled a few more times, then abruptly hit her hard in the chest, his wings and the dangerous talons tucked. She scrabbled to hold onto him. He was heavy for a bird, and she didn't think this was how one was supposed to go about it, but she had him in both arms braced against her chest, only belatedly realizing he couldn't roost because he couldn't stand. Even so and despite the awkwardness of holding a very large raptor, she was laughing. "Cedric!"
The bird shifted, blurred, and grew . . . She let go abruptly and he was standing in front of her, braced on his crutches, the eagle feather still in his hair, his face bright with an indescribable joy.
"Merlin's beard," Susan Bones muttered from a few yards away. "You're an Animagus."
"I am now," Cedric replied. "I can fly again."
All Hufflepuff House (and half of Hogwarts) had heard about Cedric's transformation by the end of Thursday, and quite a few came out onto the lawn between classes on Friday afternoon to watch McGonagall and Dumbledore work with him. The first time he'd transfigured he'd been in the grip of instinct, but like anything, the Animagus Transformation took practice. To shift from standing on crutches to flying -- and back again -- was no easy task and Cedric wound up on the ground more than once, either as an eagle or a boy. He could have done without an audience for that. But by sunset, he'd at least mastered a smooth transition to eagle form, although his arms were so weak from the strain of flapping -- not an activity he was used to -- he could barely lift them to feed himself. It netted him a muscle massage from Hermione, once he'd stretched out on a sofa in the Common Room. Ernie, Scott and Peter ambled over to tease them, Scott pretending to have sore feet from walking around all day, which just earned him a kick in the shins. "Prickly little bird!" Scott accused her.
As for Ed, he spent most of Friday night in the library, of all places, seeking some loophole in Quidditch rules that would allow Cedric back on the House Quidditch Team. Cedric went up there after evening report was done in an attempt to dislodge his friend. Peter and Scott tagged along. Sitting down across from Ed, Cedric reached over to close whatever book Ed was reading. "Forget it," he said. "It's against the rules -- no wiggle room."
"But Summerby's lousy compared to you . . . "
"Summerby is good enough, and your Seeker. You can't put an eagle on your team, Ed. It's not bloody fair. No flying Animagus has ever been allowed on a team in animal form. Period."
Ed buried his head in his arms. "We're going to lose . . . " he moaned.
"Bank on your strengths. Two years ago, I put together the best set of Chasers Hufflepuff has seen in two decades." He grinned at his friend -- who was one of those three magical Chasers. "Got my inspiration from the Irish, I guess. Use that. So Summerby isn't a great Seeker; he'll learn. Rack up points, Ed. Rack them up fast and high. You could still win even if Cho gets the Snitch, and she probably will. She's got a bit of a score to settle, I think. Expect her at the top of her form."
Ed looked up at him. "Will you come? To watch?"
Cedric nodded. "Absolutely." He no longer felt the gut-shrinking aversion. And indeed, the next morning he was up early, down in the Great Hall with the team, standing by Ed as he tried to give a pep talk and encourage everybody to eat breakfast (even if he wasn't eating himself). "Come down to the changing rooms with us," Ed told Cedric.
"I'm not --"
"You're ours, Ced. Maybe not on the team formally, but we still see you as ours."
So he went with them, pausing behind Hermione on the way out to wrap his own scarf around her neck atop the Gryffindor colors she already sported. "Wear it for me?"
She smiled up at him and nodded as Harry and Ron rose to shake Ed's hand. "Good luck," they told him, but Cedric had seen Harry throw a look over his shoulder to where Cho, dressed in Ravenclaw blue, was eating.
The tension in the changing room was ridiculous; Ravenclaw was to Hufflepuff what Slytherin was to Gryffindor, and any amelioration that might have come once from the union of the teams' two Seekers last year was not only negated now but the rivalry was made worse by Cho and Cedric's breakup. Ravenclaw was bound and determined to have badger hide today, and Hufflepuff hadn't been a confident team since they'd lost Cedric --
-- until Thursday, when their former captain had turned himself into a golden eagle . . . Ravenclaw's mascot.
There were, Cedric supposed, several ways of interpreting that, but the team had decided it meant they'd own Ravenclaw on the pitch today. Team and House spirit were high, and as the underdogs, Hufflepuff had school sympathy. Most of Gryffindor was cheering for yellow-and-black, or that's what it had looked like to Cedric at breakfast. Slytherin was, as always, insulated and haughty and more inclined to side with Ravenclaw, but the internal civil war had begun to show the cracks on the surface, and if Draco Malfoy cheered for Ravenclaw, then Blaise Zabini and his supporters would not. No self-respecting Slytherin would cheer for Hufflepuff outright, but the non-support of Zabini's crowd left less blue in the stands than yellow.
"Fly out with us?" Ed asked Cedric now as Hooch blew her five minute warning.
"It's not --"
"You're using 'not' a lot today," Ed interrupted. "You can't fly as Seeker -- all right, I fucking got that. I'm not asking you to cheat for us, Ced -- just . . . fly out with us. You can see the game better from the sky anyway."
"You're asking me to play reverse mascot," Cedric said.
Ed grinned. "Maybe. I want everybody to see we've got the eagle today, yeah?"
Cedric didn't reply, debating the wisdom of emerging with the team even if he immediately separated, and doing it without Hooch's approval. "It could earn us a penalty."
"I'll take my chances," Ed answered. He was, Cedric thought, sounding more and more like the Captain, not Cedric's fill-in, and that decided Cedric.
"All right. But I'm going straight up after. I don't want Hooch even to wonder if I'm helping you. You can tell her I said that. I'll stay a couple hundred feet above the top of the stands."
"Deal," Ed said, grinning.
Hooch's whistle went off again and the team lined up near the doors. In the distance, Cedric could hear Lee Jordan in his role as announcer, introducing the Hufflepuff team as the doors opened. All seven of them shot out into the sky above the pitch. Cedric hesitated, then Transfigured and shot out after them, wings beating, angling up to circle the entire field once above the team doing the same, then banked and dipped, weaving around Ed. To his credit, Ed didn't flinch -- seemed to enjoy playing tag with an eagle. The Hufflepuff stands were roaring as Cedric turned and rose skyward as he'd promised.
Far below, Hermione shaded her eyes to watch Cedric dark against gray clouds, sailing above the pitch and trying not to draw more attention to himself.
He'd drawn enough. When -- all unexpected -- he'd come streaking out of the changing rooms behind his team, Hermione had thought the whole of Hufflepuff would go spare, shrieking and clapping and jumping up and down like lunatics. He must have decided he'd served his purpose and was now circling above, out of the way of the team.
On the field, Hooch was shaking a finger at Ed Carpenter who just grinned back and shrugged, pointed up and said something. With a nod, Hooch replied, which earned an obviously angry protest from Davies. "What's going on, do you think?" Hermione asked Harry, who sat between her and Ron.
"I think Carpenter's trying to convince Hooch that Ced's not going to interfere. Davies doesn't believe him. Or actually, he probably does believe him -- Ced's known for not cheating -- but he wants Hooch to penalize Hufflepuff anyway."
"Ah." Hermione didn't ask how Harry could guess all that, but Hooch was blowing her whistle and tossing the Quaffle. The game had begun. Hermione watched with the half-hearted interest of someone who cared about the players, not the game, her attention divided between the field and the circling eagle above. Cedric's flight was a steady glide, riding updrafts. She hoped he didn't strain himself again. Beating those huge wings took a lot of effort.
Hufflepuff racked up points quickly. "Is the Ravenclaw Keeper that bad?" she asked Harry in a whisper so Ron wouldn't overhear.
Harry shook his head. "No, the Hufflepuff Chasers are that bloody good. Better than ours." He frowned. "I hope Angelina's watching. We have to play them come spring." Hermione didn't miss that Harry still spoke of the team as if he were on it. He also seemed unsure who to root for. Cedric was his friend, but Cho was flying for Ravenclaw.
Hufflepuff notched up 100 points while Ravenclaw stood at only 20. It appeared to be a massacre. Then a collective gasp went up from the stands around her and Harry was practically bouncing in his seat. "Cho's seen the Snitch!"
Indeed, the small figure of Cho Chang in blue robes was streaking across the field like a girl on a mission. Hufflepuff's Summerby had noticed too, and took off after her, but lagged yards behind. Ed spotted Chang, and motioned with his hand, his Chasers redoubling their efforts to earn them 30 more points inside ten minutes. Cho still hadn't snagged the Snitch. "Come on!" Harry was muttering from beside Hermione. "Come on, Cho!" If she caught the Snitch now, even Hufflepuff's ridiculous lead in points wouldn't save them from defeat.
Hermione glanced up. Cedric was still circling. If he could see the Snitch from there -- and his eagle eyes probably could -- he was giving no sign of it.
Apparently, the Snitch had outwitted Cho, disappearing again as her headlong drive suddenly halted and she looked around. Summerby appeared just as confounded, and Hufflepuff scored another ten points. Ravenclaw couldn't seem to keep hold of the Quaffle long enough to get near the Hufflepuff hoops, and the Hufflepuff Keeper looked bored compared to the Ravenclaw Keeper, who was harassed and ready to have a fit.
Hufflepuff continued to score, yet every time they were within sight of being 160 up -- what they'd need to win without the Snitch -- Ravenclaw managed to get that one extra goal. Their Keeper had finally got the hang of blocking Ed, Zacharias Smith, and the other Chaser, Alex Aubry (who was an Alexandra, one of Hufflepuff's only two female players), although he still let in more shots than he kept out.
Then it happened. The Snitch reappeared high in the air and Cho darted after it even as the Ravenclaw Chasers scored yet another goal to put Hufflepuff under again. Cho went after the Snitch with the same single-minded determination Ed was putting into keeping the Quaffle in Hufflepuff hands. He made a run at the goal rings but the Ravenclaw Keeper knocked the Quaffle aside, making a victory fist. Ed shot him the two-fingered salute as he sailed past -- receiving an angry blast from Hooch's whistle even as Lee Jordan (laughing into the megaphone) said, "This is turning into a real battle, it is. Hufflepuff 's still just ten points from winning with or without the Snitch, and Chang is on its tail. She has to catch it before Carpenter, Aubrey and Smith can make another drive or two since -- as we've all seen -- those lads don't often miss!"
The Golden Snitch had apparently decided (if magical items could be said to 'decide' anything) that escape lay in altitude. If a Snitch never strayed far from a pitch, they did sometimes hide under stands or sail high above the field. It was just such a maneuver on the Snitch's part that had brought Harry into contact with the dementors two years ago.
Now the Snitch was rising as if headed for Cedric. He flapped off towards the west to put a fair distance between himself and it -- but the Snitch followed. "What the bleedin' hell . . . ?" Ron said on Harry's other side, raising his omnioculars. Cho Chang was flying straight for the Snitch and Cedric, Summerby on her heels. It made for quite a bizarre little chase. Cedric was clearly just trying to get out of the way, but it seemed as if every time he moved, the Snitch followed him --
"Harry, is the Snitch bewitched?" It seemed that several other students were wondering the same thing, muttering all around them.
Harry turned to stare at her. "Why would anybody bewitch the Snitch to follow Ced?"
But as soon as he asked, they both had an inkling of the answer, and Hermione snatched Ron's omnioculars as Harry raised his own to peer across into the stands on the other side where several teachers were sitting, including Umbridge. She stared up along with everybody else -- smiling, and fingering her short, fat wand.
On the field below, almost forgotten, the Hufflepuff Chasers had scored the necessary ten points to win, had, in fact, scored twenty because the Ravenclaw Keeper was distracted. Above, Cho had grown furious at the Snitch's behavior and had quit flying to avoid Cedric. She charged right at the Snitch, and because Cedric was probably as confused as anybody else, he banked only slightly, again just trying to stay out of the players' way. Cho clipped one of his wings at breakneck speed as she sailed past, fingers outstretched, itching for the little golden ball . . . closing over it.
She had it. But Lee Jordan wasn't crowing the game's end into the megaphone. Instead, the crowd all gaped up in horror. The eagle no longer glided effortlessly. One wing was beating in desperation while the other hung uselessly and he spiraled downward. Hermione wasn't even aware of moving but she was up and shoving her way through the crowd to get down from the Gryffindor Box 5 -- good seats normally, but far too high when Cedric was falling.
The entire incident had taken perhaps three minutes at most, and Cedric wasn't the first student to fall from the sky in a Quidditch match, even to fall from such a height. He was doing his best to break his own downward plunge. On his feet, wand out, Dumbledore halted Cedric's spiral as if the air itself around him had grown cushy, and he settled onto the grass. Hooch was blowing her whistle as Hufflepuff players zipped over to their former Captain. Ravenclaw had surrounded Cho with the Snitch still in her fist. "She hit him on purpose!" Hermione hissed as she pattered down steps, only dimly aware of Harry and Ron behind her. "She broke his wing! Arm! Whatever!"
"I don't think she was trying to break his wing," Harry defended, chasing breathlessly after Hermione.
Lee Jordan had recovered too, and was announcing, "And Hufflepuff wins! The Snitch goes to Chang, but Hufflepuff wins by twenty points!"
Hufflepuff was cheering -- but weakly. They were more concerned with their own lying on the field, back in his human form now, surrounded by the team and Hooch. Hermione wasn't sure she was allowed out there -- she'd been turned back two years ago when it had been Harry -- but she'd like to see someone stop her. No one tried, although Harry and Ron didn't attempt to follow as she thrust Ron's omnioculars into Harry's hand and charged across the green towards Cedric, sitting up now, his right arm held against his body, his jaw clenched. Hooch was saying, "I'm tempted to tell you it's your own bloody fault for putting yourself above the field, Diggory."
"I wasn't exactly in the normal playing arena!"
Hooch was examining Cedric's arm as Hermione slipped past Zacharias Smith to settle down at his side. He shot her a tight smile. Hooch didn't. Her yellow cat eyes grew even more annoyed. "You are not a player, Granger."
"Technically, neither's Cedric."
Dumbledore and Sprout had hurried up as well, Sprout holding onto her hat to keep it from spinning off. "What on earth was the matter with that Snitch?" she asked Hooch. "I'd swear it was following Cedric!"
"I was rather wondering the same thing," said another voice. They all looked around to find Umbridge there, too. "I find it very . . . curious . . . that the Snitch decided to home in on Mr. Diggory so the little Ravenclaw Seeker was forced to slow down in order to avoid hitting him -- allowing Hufflepuff time to score those extra goals and win."
"What?" and "But --" and "That's not what happened!" came from Hufflepuff throats.
Cedric's mouth just hung open. Hermione gripped his arm, glaring at Umbridge who she still suspected lay behind it all. Umbridge went on, "I've been told you excel at Charms, Mr. Diggory -- as you aptly demonstrated in class the day I evaluated Professor Flitwick. A subtly cast Accio Charm combined with a Confundus just before the Snitch reached you, to keep it unclear what you were up to -- ? For a young wizard of your obvious talent, not a terribly difficult trick to pull off . . . "
"Ced doesn't cheat!" Ed bellowed. Cedric seemed too stunned to respond at all.
"Dolores," Dumbledore broke in, face smoothed for diplomatic intervention, "you know a new Animagus is rarely able to cast voiceless, wandless spells just a day or two after -- "
Speaking at once, both Sprout and Hooch interrupted him, unheeding in their indignation. "Cedric wouldn't do such a thing!" Sprout said as Hooch declared, "Diggory has a reputation for honesty in Quidditch, Professor Umbridge. I might believe what you're suggesting of virtually any player on any team before I'd believe it of Diggory! Two years ago --"
"People change," Umbridge interrupted smoothly, returning her eyes to Cedric, whose face had gone from consternation to hard, cold, white-faced fury. Hermione tightened her grip, willing him not to explode like Harry would have. "People can change a great deal," Umbridge was saying, "when they've suffered such a . . . tragic loss. The Mr. Diggory of two years ago isn't Mr. Diggory today."
"I still can't believe it!" Sprout insisted.
"'Can't' or won't?" Umbridge asked sweetly. "How else would you explain what happened?"
"I . . . don't know how to explain it," Sprout replied, glancing first at Hooch, whose mouth was set in a stubborn line, then back at Cedric himself.
"I didn't bewitch the Snitch," Cedric told Sprout levelly, but not calmly. Every muscle in him was tense with outrage and pain. He still gripped his broken arm. "But I agree -- it acted as if it were bewitched. Maybe someone else did it?" His eyebrows went up. "Someone who'd benefit if I came off badly?"
Dumbledore smiled in approval. Had Hermione not been looking right at him, she'd have missed it. Hooch was nodding and Sprout gave a firm jerk of her chin, as if vindicated. Umbridge appeared annoyed. "I can't imagine who'd want to damage your reputation, Mr. Diggory."
"You can't?" he bit off, tone aggressive. For just a breath, their eyes locked and Hermione was sure that like her, Cedric also suspected Umbridge. "I fear I've made a few enemies as Head Boy."
"So who do you think did it, Mr. Diggory?"
"I don't know. I'd say someone who doesn't care if Ravenclaw loses as long as my reputation's damaged. Even if it can't be proven, doubt remains -- right? For some, doubt's enough. A person's guilty till proven innocent, yeah?"
Umbridge's smile was back. "How very . . . Byzantine. I prefer Occam's Razor. The simple answer is often the right one." Abruptly, she glanced from him to the stands. People milled. The game might be over but they were reluctant to depart, waiting to see what would happen next. Equally curious, the Ravenclaw team remained on the other side of the field.
Pulling her wand, Umbridge set it to her throat and muttered, "Sonorus." Her high voice boomed across the pitch. "In light of the peculiar behavior of the Snitch and the . . . dubious nature of the Hufflepuff victory, in my capacity as Hogwart's High Inquisitor, I hereby reverse the decision. The match goes to Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw team and stands erupted in elated shrieking even as Hufflepuff erupted in yells of outrage. "No!" Ed bellowed, spinning on Hooch. "She can't do that!" Hermione hadn't seen such ugly looks on Hufflepuff faces since Harry's name had come out of the Goblet last year. Cedric himself had bowed his head and looked, for a moment, utterly defeated. Hermione wrapped careful arms around his shoulders and glanced towards the Ravenclaw team again. Cho wasn't celebrating. She was staring across the dead winter grass at the circle around Cedric.
Umbridge turned back to the mutinous Hufflepuffs. "Do you want me to disband your entire team for unsportsmanlike behavior?" she asked.
"You don't have the right to decide a Quidditch match!" Ed thundered. "Your authority doesn't extend to refereeing!"
"Shut up, Ed," Cedric whispered in a voice only Hermione could hear even as Dumbledore said, "Calm yourself, Mr. Carpenter. I believe this can be resolved amicably." He turned to Umbridge. "Professor, as I was saying -- "
Umbridge simply ignored him, speaking to Ed, not Dumbledore, "Mr. Carpenter, this isn't a referee decision, but a disciplinary action, and Educational Decree Number 25 gives me ultimate authority in deciding punishments. In this case, for cheating."
"But Ced told you he didn't charm that Snitch --"
"Mr. Diggory offered a complex theory involving personal vendettas against him hatched by some unknown fellow student -- an unnecessarily complex explanation. A simple one serves better: Mr. Diggory is the culprit. I'll extend your team the benefit of the doubt, assuming Diggory acted on his own, rather than revoke Hufflepuff's right to play. But I simply must insist that Hufflepuff default. As for you, Mr. Diggory -- you'll be gated all next week. And to think I have to gate the Head Boy! What's Hogwarts coming to?"
Hermione didn't know what it was coming to, but did know what it was going to -- the dogs. Or the toads, as the case would be.
"Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore snapped in a new tone -- far less polite -- that riveted attention. "As I have been trying to say, talented as he is, Mr. Diggory simply could not have cast the spells of which he's been accused -- not while in his new Animagus form. It's impossible. Logic therefore argues he can't be our culprit and we must look elsewhere."
Appearing suddenly discomfitted, Umbridge frowned. "Lacking a more likely suspect, I'm afraid I must disagree, Professor Dumbledore. I don't see who else it could have been, and therefore, won't reverse my decision." And she waddled away.
Sprout and Hooch gaped after her, while the team and Hermione looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore ignored everybody but Cedric. Kneeling down, he laid a hand on Cedric's shoulder and withdrew his wand. "You've been very brave, Mr. Diggory," he said, touching the wand to the broken part of Cedric's lower arm. "This isn't too bad." And he raised his eyes to meet Cedric's. "It's repairable."
Somehow, Hermione didn't think Dumbledore was talking about Cedric's arm.
The Headmaster muttered a spell and Cedric dropped his eyes, fisting his hand and twisting the arm, checking to be certain everything worked right. "It's my fault," he said. "I shouldn't have transfigured."
"I begged you to, mate," Ed said, dismissing his team to the showers before squatting down by Cedric. "Team morale and all, right?"
"I should have refused."
Professor Sprout had knelt too, although Hooch had gone off with an angry shake of her head. "You did it for the House. And no one will believe such nasty accusations."
He laughed bitterly. "That's just it, professor -- I'm afraid they will."
"Cedric, no! Your reputation --"
"Reputations can be ruined, and Professor Umbridge has done a lot of damage to mine lately. What makes me so angry" -- he swallowed -- "is that this time it was my own stupid ego that gave her the chance. I just had to show off."
"I said I begged you to!" Ed protested, clearly growing distraught at the fact Cedric was blaming himself for something Ed considered to be his decision.
"I could have turned you down!" Cedric snapped. "I should have! But no! I wanted . . . I just wanted to fly with the team one more time. I cost you the match, and now I've played right into her hands."
Hermione wanted to weep at the self-hatred she could hear in his voice. Dumbledore must have heard it too, as he spoke again, although he'd been quiet, listening. "Cedric, you are, after all, human, and hindsight is always twenty-twenty. A battle may have been lost, but the war is far from over." And patting Cedric's leg, he got to his feet, sighing as his bones creaked. "I believe that Mending Spell will do well enough to get you back to the castle, but you should still see Madam Pomfrey."
"Yes, sir."
Leaning in, Sprout grabbed Cedric by the back of the head and kissed his cheek, then rose, too. "I need to get back to the Sett before there's a riot."
That left just Ed, Hermione and Cedric. In the distance, Hermione could see Ron and Harry standing by, watching. Hermione waved them away and they turned, heading back to the castle. She didn't think Cedric wanted to be mobbed just now. Peter and Scott were also standing on the sidelines but Ed raised a hand to beckon them over. Cedric reached out to shove the hand down. "No. Just -- leave me alone for a little, all right? I just want to be alone."
"Ced, you know none of this is your fault."
"Yes, it is!" he practically shouted. "It's all my fault, fundamentally! I made the decision to tell the truth about Voldemort." Ed flinched at the name. "Dumbledore warned me this could happen, but I did it anyway. And I'd do it again!" He glared defiantly at Ed. "It's the truth. Everything I said happened really happened! But they're going to destroy me if they can for telling the fucking truth. If you, Peter and Scott have any damn sense, you'll stay as far away from me as you can."
Ed's whole expression changed, darkening to angry red, and he leaned in, got right in Cedric's face. "Now you listen, Diggory -- you're mental if you think we're abandoning you. Right off your rocker. You didn't want company last June -- all right, fine, I made Peter honor that and stay clear. We reckoned it was pride. I understand pride; I'd have been the same, in your shoes. But you're not driving us off this time -- you got that, you stubborn bastard?"
And in that moment, Hermione loved Ed Carpenter. She also -- finally -- understood why Cedric's mates hadn't come to see him over the summer. Cedric hadn't wanted it. Out of pride. And Ed maybe more than the others had understood.
"You're stuck with us," Ed added now.
Cedric laughed -- to keep from crying, Hermione suspected; he was a bit emotional sometimes. Pulling Ed in, he hugged him, then shoved him away. "Get out of here. Go talk to the team." His face hardened again. "Umbridge may have won this round, but we're not done yet."
"That sounds more like you, mate." Getting to his feet, Ed headed off.
Cedric turned to look at Hermione. The field was slowly emptying. "Think you can get away with hanging around just by being quiet, Granger?"
"It's working, isn't it?" she pointed out.
"What if I said I really want to be alone?"
"I'd tell you to go jump in the lake." Her reply made him laugh soundlessly in cynical amusement. "Being alone is the last thing you need right now. Let's just sit here."
So they sat under gray clouds on the dry grass of the pitch and waited for everybody to clear out as the sun dipped towards the horizon. She held his hand.