Being gated was the worst punishment Hogwarts still allowed before expulsion. On Sunday morning, Cedric was called to Umbridge's office to be informed of the extent of his restrictions. They were predictably extreme, and he decided he'd have preferred one of Filch's vaunted floggings.
Throughout the next week, from Sunday until the following Saturday, his movements were to be restricted from the time he rose until he went to bed at night, when his door would be spelled shut by Umbridge herself -- including the door to the bath. Locked in. During the day, he had to have a card signed at breakfast and lunch by Umbridge, and after every class by that class's teacher, proving he was present. He wasn't allowed to eat dinner with his House; it was brought to his rooms, where he was then restricted for the evening and permitted no company. If he requested library time, he was escorted there by Umbridge and watched by Pince. He was still expected to keep up his duties as Head Boy, which meant overseeing Christmas decorations, taking report, and other responsibilities. Umbridge was always present, or Filch, watching him.
For someone who'd had a total of two detentions in his entire school career, it was humiliating and all but intolerable -- especially given the catcalls between class from Slytherin students. "Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her! Where's your swotty mudblood girlfriend, Diggory? She go back to Viktor Krum, the real champion? Ooo, woops -- said a bad word there, but I don't suppose you can give detention right now, can you?" Malfoy and his friends were having a field day, and even Zabini had backed off from any connection with Cedric -- who wasn't particularly surprised.
Nor was the slander restricted only to the school. Monday morning at breakfast, Umbridge hand delivered a copy of The Daily Prophet, opened to page 3, where a sidebar carried:
Scandal at Hogwarts:
Head Boy Caught Cheating?
Albus Dumbledore's hand-selected Head Boy, Cedric Diggory, has been accused of interfering with Saturday's Quidditch match between his House team, Hufflepuff, and their traditional rival, Ravenclaw. Diggory -- who excels at Charms -- is believed to have bewitched the Golden Snitch to keep it out of the hands of the Ravenclaw Seeker long enough for his own team to score sufficient points to win the match. Hogwart's Ministry-Appointed High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge, considered the circumstantial evidence against him to be so overwhelming that she gated Diggory.
Reactions to Diggory's exposure have been mixed. Formerly known for his honesty, Diggory may not be as honest as popular opinion at Hogwarts has painted him. "I think this calls a lot of assumptions about him into question," said Marius Montague, Slytherin's Quidditch Captain. "His reputation's always been a bit over-rated, if you know what I mean? No one's that bona fide; I reckoned he had to be hiding something. Makes me wonder how often he's cheated in the past and no one's even thought to question it because, well, he's Cedric Diggory. He doesn't cheat. I think we all know now that statue's got clay feet." And Ravenclaw's captain Roger Davies said, "I'm disappointed. I thought better of Diggory. It's a bit of a blow, you know? It would've been nice to think there was still one honest bloke out there."
Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore maintains his selected Head Boy's innocence and refuses to remove him from office. Nepotism?
Cedric felt quite literally sick after reading it. "It can't be nepotism," he ground out, "I'm not related to Dumbledore. They can't even use the right bloody word." And he flung the paper into the middle of the table. Peter picked it up and scanned the sidebar.
"Can't believe Davies said that. And the article's total hogwash. We all know the truth, Ced."
Jaw tight, Cedric glared at the high table for a moment. Umbridge was watching him with her sick smile -- watching, watching, always watching. "She's a fucking voyeur," he muttered.
"She really hates your guts, that's for sure," Peter agreed.
Cedric ignored his mail for the next three days. It was sifted, Umbridge delivering to him only those letters 'cleared' for his reading. He read one -- vitriolic and strident -- and threw all the rest into the fireplace in his rooms. Maybe a few had been supportive, but he doubted it. They just made him ill and dizzy again. He'd never received hate mail before.
The painting in the Main Entrance showed a new frame: a hard frost had come to the forest glade, icing tree limbs and crusting over the pond. The badgers huddled in their hole in the tree bole, the lion was gone, and the snake was nowhere to be seen. Cedric couldn't find the eagle either, but there was a shadow hidden in the undergrowth like the figure of something large.
On Tuesday, Roger Davies, of all people, approached Cedric before History of Magic started. He held out a hand to shake. Cedric refused to take it, just glared up from his seat.
"I know what the paper said," Davies began, running the ignored hand through his hair. "They quoted me out of context. Well, sort of." He pulled around a chair and faced Cedric over the desk. "Look, Diggory, on Saturday I didn't know what to think. It was pretty damn suspicious. I've talked to Cho since, and Violet, and I know you. I'd like to think I'm not that gullible to misjudge you so thoroughly for seven years. Besides, Violet told me that Dumbledore said there's no way you could've cast those spells in eagle form without a wand. I didn't think of that Saturday; I should have. I should've known that you cheating is pure codswallop."
Cedric regarded Davies a moment more, then bowed his head. "I didn't cheat. I give you my word."
"I believe you. But somebody did, yeah?"
"Yeah," Cedric agreed, lifting his eyes. "Somebody did. You're clever; figure it out, Davies." Binns appeared then through the chalkboard and the lesson began.
Perhaps predictably, Cedric's gating meant he wasn't permitted to transfigure, even when McGonagall tried to insist on it. "He needs to practice this new skill just like any other!"
"I think he aptly demonstrated his ability at the match on Saturday. He also did so outside his mentor's supervision and without yet having his registration formally cleared."
McGonagall pursed her lips and glanced at Cedric, who knew Umbridge had a point, but under the circumstances, McGonagall wasn't giving ground. "We sent the paperwork to the Improper Use of Magic office on Friday, Dolores -- as you know. His registration seems to be suspiciously late in being returned as recorded."
Umbridge fluttered fingers airily. "These things take time, Minerva. In any case, and until he's been notified that he's entered on the Register, he's not to transform." And she walked away, leaving him with McGonagall, who blew out in frustration and glared at him. He dropped his eyes to his shoes, shame eating his gut. As angry as he might be at Umbridge, as much as he realized he'd been set up, he also knew he'd left an opening for it and that's what infuriated him most. Unlike the matter of the Abdoleo, this was his fault.
"Chin up, Diggory," McGonagall told him. "And watch your Ps and Qs. Get through the week -- you're halfway there -- then there's only one more week before break."
His interaction with his mates was restricted to class, and Umbridge wouldn't let Hermione sit with him at breakfast or lunch. The most they could do was meet briefly in the hallways. And write. It was like their covert time at the year's beginning, but conducted with more care. Any misstep on Cedric's part would give Umbridge an excuse to lengthen his gating. At least she hadn't removed his title as Head Boy. Technically, she couldn't -- only the Headmaster could do that -- but Cedric didn't doubt she'd have found a way if she'd wanted to. He suspected her real reason was because she liked seeing him come forward in his badge to ask meekly for her signature on his gate card.
His punishment was over as of seven o'clock on Sunday morning. Cedric was awake, dressed and waiting in his rooms to have Umbridge arrive to unseal his doors. She didn't arrive until eight-thirty. "So sorry," she told him. "My alarm didn't go off.'
It was, he thought, her last swipe. After all, what could he do? An hour and a half wasn't enough to complain about, just enough to make him angry and anxious -- and to miss breakfast.
He finally made it downstairs at a quarter to nine to find Hermione waiting in the Main Entrance, chewing nails and looked distraught. Seeing him exit the antechamber where the lift was located, she came running, engulfing him in a bear hug. "I thought she'd changed her mind!"
"So did I," he whispered, pressing his chin hard into the top of her head because he couldn't hug her back. "She was just late -- stringing me along. As Merlin's my witness, I've missed you. Please tell me you don't have any homework to do today."
Laughing she pulled back. "All done already. You?"
"I've had nothing but time, Granger; I'm all caught up. Get me out of this castle, please."
"Aren't you hungry? And it snowed last night."
"Don't care; I'll eat later. Just get me out of here."
They headed for the covered bridge. Snow was still coming down, but not heavily and she melted a path for them. He walked with head down, although she didn't think it was just to see his way, and that worried her. One of the things she'd noticed about Cedric even before she'd known him well was that -- unlike many tall men -- he didn't slouch. He might slump in his seat over a book, but he walked with his back straight and chin up. The crutches hadn't changed that, except insofar as he couldn't fully straighten. He still walked with his chin raised, and even on crutches, he was imposing.
Not today. Head lowered like a winded horse, he dragged his feet more than usual. It went beyond posture. Hermione had seen him sad and angry in hospital that summer. She'd seem him frustrated, confused, and plain hurt earlier that year. Today there was a new darkness in him that worried her. He seemed . . . lost -- haunted, as if he weren't quite sure what to do with himself anymore. The past week had been just horrible; Umbridge had an uncanny knack for zeroing in on a person's weaknesses. With Harry, she'd taken advantage of his ignorance of the Wizarding World to use her punishment quill, knowing he wouldn't tell -- that pride would stop him from doing so. Then she'd taken his broom and his team participation. With Cedric, she'd isolated him and attacked his good name. To be accused of cheating before the whole Wizarding World, and for something as relatively unimportant as a Quidditch match . . .
She wished he'd talk to her, but didn't know how to pry it out of him anymore than she could pry it out of Harry (at least out of Harry at anything less than a shout). Cedric wasn't free with the deep-down things, especially his fears and sorrows and griefs. He was far too damnably male. So she spent all Saturday trying to think of things to win his smile, make him happy. The smiles came, but she suspected he was giving them to please her, not because he felt them. She finally lured him back inside out of the cold but the enclosure of a roof and walls seemed to cause him to stoop further. She remembered him free in the sky the Saturday before. "Why don't you go flying?" It might be the one thing that would cheer him up.
"Can't," he said shortly. "Not allowed to transfigure again until confirmation comes back that I'm in the Register."
"But I thought you sent that over a week ago?"
"We did."
"Cedric, it can't take them that long --"
"I'm sure Umbridge is delaying it somehow," he cut her off. "Whatever the case, I'm grounded."
It was a wonder, Hermione thought, that steam didn't spurt from her ears. "The confirmation letter just means you're entered, right?"
"Yes." He frowned.
"Once you're entered, you can transfigure legally?"
"Yes."
She nodded once. "Then we'll make a query to prove you're in there."
He snorted. "And you assume Umbridge won't read your mail?"
"Oh, I assume she will, but it's a perfectly legal query. And if I don't hear back, I'll just send another letter. And then another."
Finally his lips tipped up, but he was still frowning faintly. "You're a stubborn girl, Granger."
"You like me stubborn," she told him, which made him chuckle. A real laugh, finally.
"I do," he replied. "As long as you're not being pig-headed in the bargain."
Her mouth opened. "When am I ever pig-headed?"
"Frequently." But he was still grinning so she didn't quarrel with him about it. Instead she walked with him down towards the Great Hall. It was almost dinnertime. As they passed his mother's painting, she paused and stared at it. He paused too.
A doe was peering out of the sparse foliage, her reddish coat heavy for winter, her ears twitching, head up, scenting for danger. Beside Hermione, Cedric drew in a sharp breath and approached the painting. Hermione expected the doe to dash off, but instead, she came forward until she and Cedric stood practically nose to nose. There was something unsettling about her, but Hermione couldn't put her finger on it.
"Her eyes are as dark as yours, Granger," Cedric said softly. "You have deer eyes."
"You have a funny way of giving a girl a compliment." She tilted her head, then realized what she found so odd about the deer. "She looks . . . really pregnant."
"She'll give birth on the twenty-first of December."
Hermione frowned. "But I thought deer were born in the spring? You know, so they can get enough growth before autumn? Wouldn't a fawn born in winter have a really poor chance?"
He threw back his head and just laughed. It made the doe start and leap back several bounds, oddly awkward and graceful at once. But she didn't flee further, just kept looking at him. "It's a myth, Granger!" Cedric said. "Not zoology!"
"Well," Hermione replied, nonplussed, "shouldn't a myth make some sort of sense?"
Turning to look at her, he just shook his head, then they headed on to the Great Hall. "The god is born at midwinter," Cedric explained, "lies with the goddess at Beltane, and dies at midsummer, his blood fertilizing the fields. He's born again to his mother-lover the next midwinter."
"I know that." She frowned. "But wait." She counted rapidly on her fingers. "That's only seven months from the first of May. How can it take only seven months for a baby?"
"You're overanalyzing, Granger. It's a myth. M.Y.T.H. It doesn't have to make sense to make sense, right?"
"You're not making sense now," she told him, but fondly, her fingers curling into his back belt loop.
Monday, Cedric couldn't get out of bed. The entire week he'd been under Umbridge's thumb, he'd managed to hold another attack at bay. So naturally, on Monday he succumbed. He was starting to grow . . . not used these episodes, but acquainted with them. They were going to be a fact of his life from that point on. "I hate this," he muttered to Hermione when she arrived to check his water and be sure he'd taken his potions at the right time (when he'd taken a lot of the Abdoleo, he wasn't entirely sure of the hour). "I hate being helpless so fucking much."
"I know," Hermione said. "Sit up and drink some juice. You'll get dehydrated otherwise." He obeyed and let her finish taking care of him because she did so with a matter-of-factness that was all he could bear at these times, no apologies, no tearful Weltschmerz. She just did what was necessary -- even emptied his bedside urinal, which should probably have horrified him but she didn't ask first and he was too high to protest. Coming back to sit on the side of his bed, she rubbed his back until he fell asleep.
Tuesday morning, he was grumpy. "It's never going to go away," he snarled when she turned up outside his door to see if he was ready (and able) to go down for breakfast.
"I know," she said in the same tone she'd used all the day before. "Do you have your books?"
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, I did. These episodes will never go away. I understand that. Let's go to breakfast."
He started to tell her she should find somebody whole and healthy, but the truth was he didn't want her to. Selfish as it might have been, he didn't want Hermione to leave him, so he made sure he had his book bag and they headed for the lift. He was in his wheelchair that day to put less strain on his lower body, and despite his initial bad temper (or perhaps because of it) he was especially good to her all through breakfast, whispering, "Love you," before she departed.
She kissed his cheek and whispered back, "Harry just told me -- DA tomorrow. Usual time. Ta."
At 7:30 Wednesday, Harry came by with the Maurader's Map to collect him and they made their way up to the seventh floor in the lift, then consulted the map to be sure no one was in the hallway. They found the room unexpectedly decorated for the holidays with gold baubles and mistletoe and greenery. Cedric laughed when he saw what was written on the balls: Have a Very Harry Christmas! Harry turned beet red and started pulling them down. "Dobby did this," he muttered. "Not me."
"I didn't reckon it was you. Who's Dobby?"
"The house-elf I told you about? He's, er, a bit of a fan."
"Oh, yes -- the Malfoy's elf."
Harry paused to eye Cedric speculatively and Cedric could guess what he was thinking. "I'm not a Malfoy, Harry. Just my mother. And the elf's been freed anyway."
"How does that work?" Harry asked as he pulled down the offending baubles. Cedric helped as best he could from the chair. "I mean, all I know is what Dobby's told me. And Hermione. And a little from Sirius, who hates his elf."
Cedric smiled. He doubted any of those was a good source. "A house-elf is bound by vows to the family he or she serves. It's . . . supposed to be a symbiotic relationship, like the feudal system. We give them a place to stay and protect them, and they take care of us."
"D'you think it's really fair though?" Harry asked, not in the tone Hermione used but as if he were wondering about it himself. "I mean, I saw how Lucius Malfoy treated Dobby. And Dobby seems happy to be free. But Winky isn't. And the others here -- well, I didn't tell Hermione, and don't you either, but Dobby took all the hats she knitted before she stopped. The other elves wouldn't go near Gryffindor Tower as long as she was doing that. Dobby told me they were insulted." Cedric's smile deepened. He wasn't at all surprised to hear that.
"Hermione means well," Cedric said, "I get that, I do, but she doesn't understand." He tossed the last of the baubles into the box Harry had found to hide them. "Look at your house-elf, Dobby --"
"He's not my house-elf, Ced."
"Yes, he is. He serves you because he wants to. That's how it began, I think. Different creatures seem to have certain . . . instincts, I suppose. House-elves may be intelligent, but they're not like us. That's what I was trying to get across to Hermione. They want to serve . . . need to. If they don't have service already determined for them, they'll find someone to serve -- like Dobby and you. He may not be bound to you by magical vows, but I dare say he'd do pretty much anything you asked him to."
Harry frowned. "But he doesn't have to. That's the difference. Hermione's a little, er, intense sometimes but I can't say I really disagree with her." Harry looked over at Cedric, frowning slightly. "I appreciate what Dobby does . . . well" -- he held up one of the decorations -- "not for stuff like this, but you know what I mean. Still, I don't make him. He doesn't have to. I wouldn't want that. Ron says you have an elf. Doesn't it bother you, owning somebody?"
Breathing out, Cedric spun his chair to face Harry. "You don't understand, either."
Harry was frowning. "I guess I don't. I'm not trying to criticize, I just . . . don't understand. The feudal system went out a couple centuries ago."
"When it works right, Harry, everybody benefits. Everybody is happy."
"What about when it doesn't? What about when an elf beats himself up for trying to save me because he's breaking his master's orders, but his master is evil and he hates him? There's something wrong with that picture, isn't there?"
Frowning, Cedric looked away. "Maybe that's what Hermione should be concentrating on." He didn't want to talk about it. Harry had valid points, and perhaps because he hadn't raised them the way Hermione had, Cedric found himself more disturbed. Or maybe he'd just begun to question a lot of things of late that he hadn't questioned before.
In any case, he and Harry had no more time for discussion, as Luna Lovegood had arrived and was talking to Harry about the nargles in the mistletoe. Cedric turned away to conceal his grin. Life without Luna would be so much less interesting.
This final DA meeting before the holidays amounted to review, and for a change, Cedric paired himself with Hermione. They'd been working privately on her speed, and he was inordinately pleased when she managed to disarm him at least once and almost twice. She was never going to be exceptionally fast, but she could, at least, hold her own against a more experienced wizard.
At the end of the evening, Harry sent off the DA members in ones and twos as usual. It was clear that Cho was trying to hang around for a moment alone with Harry, and even though Cedric usually came and went with the younger boy, this time, he headed for the door alone. "Ced, you can wait," Harry told him. "I mean, I know it's easier for you --"
"Just tell me where Filch and Mrs. Norris are. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked. Cho was looking exasperated and Cedric resisted putting a hand over his face. The boy was utterly clueless.
"Just let me see the map," Cedric said, motioning Harry closer to whisper, "You idiot, Cho wants you to stay. Hang out a while, then walk her back to Ravenclaw Tower and avoid the prefects. No reason to waste perfectly good mistletoe." Harry's green eyes widened, as if he were terrified at the thought.
Filch was nowhere nearby, so Cedric wheeled out, glad Cho was rather a forward girl. If left to Harry, Cedric doubted anything would ever happen.
As per usual, Hermione dropped by his office after report. "Have you seen Harry? Ron said he didn't come back to the Gryffindor common room. You don't think --"
"He's with Cho."
"What?"
Cedric grinned and looked up at her. "He's with Cho."
Both Hermione's eyebrows went up and she came all the way into his office, pushing the door to but not closing it. Grinning in delight, she slipped around his desk to settle in his lap. "I hope he knows what to do now that he's finally got her alone."
"If he doesn't, Cho will."
"Boys are so hopeless."
He grinned. "Some of them. Not all of them." And he pulled her head down to kiss her. "I'd like to think I'm not that bad."
"Who practically required a gilt-edged invitation to kiss me the first time?"
"Well, I didn't want to get slapped."
She ran her hand fondly down his face. "Like you really thought you were in danger of being slapped after all that led up to it?"
He smiled. "It's a bit nerve wracking, you know, for a boy. Trying to figure out whether she really wants to be kissed, or you just think she does."
"Well it's not so much better for the girl, wondering what she's got to do to get the bloke to just kiss her."
"Boss him around in your case."
Giggling, she leaned back against him in the chair. "Fine then. Kiss me, I command you."
He turned his head to do so, shifting up at the last moment to kiss the end of her nose rather than her mouth. "You berk," she said, laughing, then laughing harder and wiggling on his lap when he tickled her.
"You're a wicked little witch." Her wiggles were rather arousing, and he wasn't sure if she were doing that on purpose, but she wasn't quite the innocent little thing she'd been even two months ago.
"Ah -- am I interrupting?"
They both jumped and spun, breathing hard. Harry stood in Cedric's office doorway, looking between them with flaming cheeks. "You're, ah, sort of loud. Might want to use that spell, Ced."
Now they were all blushing and it wasn't a terribly comfortable moment for any of them. Standing, Hermione asked Harry, "Looking for me?"
"Actually, no. I wanted, um, I mean I wondered if perhaps I could talk to Cedric?"
Her mouth made a silent 'Oh,' and Cedric squeezed her hand, which he was still holding, looking up at her. "I'll see you tomorrow." Nodding, she slipped out past Harry. "Come in," Cedric said to Harry, and noticed how -- now that the embarrassing moment was past -- Harry's face had shifted from flaming to simply glowing. Cedric stifled a grin. "So?" he asked.
"She, ah -- yeah. Um, well . . . " The boy was practically stuttering and for all that Cedric was amused (and a bit sympathetic), he also wondered why Harry was sitting here, not off in Gryffindor Tower telling Ron all about it. "We talked," Harry said finally. "Cho and I, I mean. For a while."
"That's all?"
Harry didn't have to answer; his face did it for him, flushing scarlet to the roots of his hair. Cedric had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as laughing wasn't what Harry needed right now. "And?" Cedric prompted again.
"And, well -- are you really all right with this?" Harry asked. "I mean, I know you told me to stay, and you told me before to ask her out before someone else did, but, well, er, I just . . . I had to ask. If you're not all right with it --"
"It's fine, Harry." Cedric thought he understood now what Harry was doing here. It wasn't to gloat, or share excitement. Harry's sense of honor required that he clear the air. "I'm really glad," Cedric added now, smiling a bit ruefully. "And that's not just my guilt talking."
Harry nodded, started to rise, then blurted out, "Is it always that wet? Kissing, I mean?" Then he seemed to realize what he'd just asked -- and of whom -- and turned that same brilliant scarlet.
Cedric couldn't hold it back anymore. Leaning over his desk, he just laughed -- quietly, but still. Harry appeared, if possible, even more mortified. "I'm not laughing at you!" Cedric said, although that wasn't entirely true. "It's just . . . " He trailed off, getting himself under control only when Harry stood as if to leave. "No! Don't go. Sit down." Confused, Harry obeyed, and Cedric sighed, trying to manage his amusement. He wanted to say, 'You remind me of me,' but that wasn't quite correct. He didn't think he'd ever been as awkward as Harry. Nonetheless, "I remember the first time I kissed a girl -- really kissed one, not a peck on the lips -- I was thinking, 'Oh, Merlin, she just put her tongue in my mouth! Is she supposed to do that?'" And he started laughing again.
This time, Harry laughed with him, but as if surprised Cedric would have such doubts. It struck Cedric that Harry probably had no one to talk to about such things. Ron? Ron had no more experience than Harry did, and heaven knew, the twins weren't the type to inspire confidences. Harry might talk to Hermione, but then again, he might not. She was a girl. Harry didn't have a big brother.
And Cedric didn't have a little brother. But he'd always wanted one. "The answer to your question is yes, it's wet. And there is a tongue involved, at least sometimes." Harry was still blushing hotly, but grinning now, and looking a bit relieved. "Best advice? Don't worry it to death, all right? Take your time, experiment, see what feels good. It's not a contest. Or a Quidditch match." That made Harry grin harder, and Cedric remembered something Hermione had said to him about the way he kissed. "It's . . . a conversation. Without words. Give and take. You have to risk a little." He almost added, 'Cho's a good kisser,' but thought that might be a bit more explicit than they needed to share. It was one thing to give Harry general advice, it was another to acknowledge it was advice for the same girl Cedric had been seeing last year -- and he hoped to hell Cho didn't try to rush Harry. She had far more experience than he did. "Feel your way, don't think your way through it, right?"
Harry nodded, started to say something but apparently couldn't, cleared his throat and squeaked out, "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Any time, all right?" Then, to change the subject, he asked, "So what are you doing for Holidays?"
"Going to the Burrow. Uh -- Ron's, I mean." He tilted his head. "It's not that far from your house, is it?" Cedric shook his head. "Maybe you could come over sometime?"
"Yeah, I'd like that. As long as Mrs. Weasley doesn't mind and the twins don't decide to try out their jokes on me. Or you could come visit me, you and Ron. He knows where I live."
Polite exchanges made to cover the embarrassing frankness, Harry stood to leave when Cedric said, "Can I ask you a question?" surprising himself as much as he surprised Harry. Harry nodded and Cedric licked his lips. "How did you bear it last year? All the gossip about you? I don't -- The things they're saying about me . . . That's never happened to me before." He frowned and scraped with his nail at a bit of candle wax on his desk top. "I don't like to be the center of attention really -- makes me uncomfortable. It's what I liked least about being a Champion, people watching me all the time, talking about me. But it wasn't hostile." He looked up at Harry, suddenly as tongue-tied as Harry had been about the subject of kissing, and the tables were turned. Harry appeared knowing and sympathetic now -- but not amused in the least. He sat back down.
"I don't know that I have an answer," he told Cedric.
"But you're tough under fire. I envied you last year how well you bore it. I guess you've been rather the center of attention a long time, good and bad. You don't let it get to you."
Harry shrugged. "I don't like it. But what can I do?"
"Tell them to bugger off? You have a right to a private life, you know -- Boy Who Lived or not."
Harry grinned. "I don't think they'll listen." He looked Cedric in the eye. "Ignore it, Ced. I mean I know that's easier said than done, but it's all you can do. The people who know you -- we know what The Daily Prophet said was tripe. Who cares what anybody else thinks, yeah?"
But that was just the problem; Cedric did care. "I worry about embarrassing my parents," he admitted.
Harry tilted his head. "I don't think they're going to stop caring about you. I mean, from what I saw, your dad thinks you're the bee's knees."
Cedric laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, he's a bit embarrassing, isn't he?"
"He loves you."
"Maybe now, but what's he going to make of a son at home all the time? I don't know anymore what I'm going to do when I finish school -- assuming I manage to finish and Umbridge doesn't expel me. I don't know if I can get a job -- who's going to hire a druggie cripple?" He wasn't sure why he was blurting out all this bitterness and uncertainty to a boy three years younger than him instead of to his mates or Hermione, but he felt able to tell Harry things he wasn't sure the rest would understand.
Harry had scooted forward, elbows on Cedric's desk. "What did you want to do, before?"
"Work in International Magical Cooperation," Cedric admitted. "I wanted . . . " he hesitated, then confessed, "I wanted to be an ambassador one day." Harry's green eyes had grown big. "I know, it sounds silly and egotistical --"
"No, it doesn't," Harry interrupted. "You'd be brilliant."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do -- a lot better than Barty Crouch."
Cedric smiled. "Crouch wasn't an ambassador, Harry, he just ran the department. Different things." He looked up at Harry and the smile fell away. "I'm never going to get hired at the Ministry while Fudge is in office. I don't even want to be -- I don't want to work for him."
Harry just nodded.
"All of which assumes the Ministry would even consider me in the first place."
That made Harry grin. "You? If things were normal, Ministry departments would be fighting over you. I mean, if they hired Percy . . . " And that made them both grin. "Everything's gone mad, hasn't it?" Harry asked.
Cedric nodded. "Yeah, it has, rather." Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that. They stared at each other a moment more, then Harry rose and left and Cedric returned to his rooms. He wasn't sure he felt any better, but he did feel that maybe he had someone to talk to about it all, someone other than Hermione. As much as he loved her, she hadn't been there in the graveyard.
As Hermione didn't share a room with Ginny, she had no idea anything had happened until morning when a rather distraught Neville pulled her aside in the common room to tell her that Harry had suffered a vivid dream the night before and become violently ill -- then had claimed to have seen Mr. Weasley attacked by, of all things, a snake. Professor McGonagall had taken Harry and Ron to see the Headmaster. Neither Harry nor Ron had come back, and now all the Weasleys were gone. "Do you think it really happened?" Neville asked her, as if he just assumed she'd have the answer. "Is Harry a Seer, too?"
Hermione shook her head. "He's not a Seer, but, well --" She wasn't sure she should tell more, but it was Neville and Neville had believed Harry all along, stood by him. "It's something odd about his scar. It sort of connects him to You Know Who." Neville's mouth opened and Hermione hastened to add, "Not in a bad way, but he sometimes . . . sees things."
Then she gripped Neville by the wrist, "Come on, there's someone who needs to know about all this."
"But I already told Professor McGonagall."
"Not McGonagall." She pulled him out of the common room, down all the flights of stairs, and over to where Cedric was waiting in his usual spot near the lift. Realizing where -- or rather to whom -- she was taking him, Neville planted feet and resisted. "What?" Hermione asked, spinning to glare.
"You want me to . . . to talk to Cedric Diggory?"
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. "Neville, he's not going to eat you. He's a perfectly nice person."
"Yeah, to you!" His light brown eyes were wide and the expression reminded Hermione of how intimidating Cedric could seem to others -- how intimidating he'd seemed to her on the train even after she'd known him.
She slipped an arm around Neville's back and tugged him forward. "Listen to me, Neville, you've been around Cedric in every DA lesson -- "
"Not really. I stay away from him and his friends, don't want them laughing at me."
"Cedric doesn't laugh at people -- not like that." And she was stuck by sudden inspiration. "Did you know he's friends with Luna?"
"He is?"
"Yup. They grew up near each other, and I've heard him defend her to others. Trust me, he won't be mean to you."
They'd reached him in any case. He was looking curiously from Hermione to Neville and back. "Tell Cedric what you told me," Hermione prompted. Even so, Neville stood mute, staring at Cedric, who tried smiling encouragingly. It didn't help. Hermione prodded Neville again, who dropped his eyes to stare at Cedric's feet.
"Uh, well, er, last night, Harry had a dream --" And Neville told Cedric what he'd told Hermione earlier, then gave more detail when Cedric asked a few questions, but seemed glad to escape when Cedric thanked him solemnly and let him go on to breakfast.
"Is there a reason he acted like I might give him a detention just for breathing?" Cedric asked.
Shaking her head, Hermione said, "He thinks he's a bit of bumbler. And you're, well, you."
Cedric's eyebrows went up. "Sprout says he's bloody brilliant at Herbology. And I've seen him in Harry's lessons. He's no slouch there. His parents were Aurors, after all."
Surprised, Hermione looked up at him. "Neville's parents were Aurors?"
"Yeah, you didn't know? He never mentioned it?"
"No, he didn't." She frowned, wondering why. "I thought he lived with his grandmum?"
"I think he does now. His parents were wounded in the war, or killed -- I don't rightly remember."
Hermione continued to frown a moment, then shook her head. "You should tell him what you just told me about Sprout. It might do him some good. And what do you think happened to Mr. Weasley? Was he really bitten by a snake?"
Cedric leaned in as if to kiss her, but whispered, "I think we probably shouldn't be talking about it too loudly."
"The Order?" she whispered back and he drew away, looking at her with those wide gray eyes. "Do you know what's going on?" she asked -- almost demanded -- but he just shook his head. "You don't know -- or you can't tell me?"
"Don't know, Granger."
She nodded and they headed for the Great Hall, talking of essays and revisions for exams and school things, although like her, Cedric's eyes flicked over the long tables to see who was present and if anything appeared amiss. Aside from a dearth of red heads among the Gryffindors, everyone else seemed to be present. Cedric seated himself beside Hermione and Angelina Johnson scooted down on the bench so she was across from them both, leaning in to whisper, "Do you know how Fred is? And George?"
"You heard about Harry's dream?" Hermione asked in return and Angelina nodded vigorously. "Then you know as much as we do."
A hush spread over the hall as Umbridge entered to seat herself at the High Table. Only Slytherins didn't break off normal conversation. Umbridge appeared unaware, but Hermione doubted she really was. Umbridge also appeared irritable and tired, and when McGonagall entered to take her own seat -- not looking much better -- the two women openly glared at one another. Dumbledore wasn't present.
Owl post was arriving in any case. It came later and later these days and Hermione was sure that Umbridge had just finished sifting through it. A rather important-looking owl sailed over Cedric's head to drop a large cream-colored letter almost in his porridge. He snatched it off the bowl rim before it fell in his food. "What's that?" Hermione asked, leaning in to see.
"Letter from the Ministry," he said, having checked the back flap. Unsealing it quickly, he glanced over it then handed it to her. "My confirmation that I'm in the Register."
Perhaps her inquiry had worked after all, and Hermione gave a little nod to herself, until she noticed the date. "Did you see this?" she said, indignant and pointing to the letter's upper right-hand corner.
"Yeah, I saw it."
"She's had this over a week!"
"I know, Granger. But I've got it now. I can transform whenever I like." He couldn't help grinning. "Not a bad Christmas present."
And that made her think . . . Shoving her half-finished breakfast aside, she dug in her book bag until she found a quill, ink and parchment. He was watching her curiously. "What are you doing?"
"Writing to my mum. There's no way I'm going skiing at a time like this."
"I'm still trying to understand why you'd want to go skiing in the first place."
"What's skiing?" Angelina asked.
"A Muggle thing," Cedric explained. "They strap planks to their feet and slide down the side of snowy mountains."
"Why?"
Hermione glared from Cedric, who was grinning, to Angelina, who merely appeared baffled. "It's not that ridiculous, you two. Not any more than planting your arse on a broom and swooping around after little gold balls, or red ones. It's a skill. A sport."
"Right," Cedric answered. "And I know just how much you were looking forward to it."
She might not have admitted to Ron that she didn't enjoy skiing, but Cedric had got an earful. "My father loves it," she replied. "So we go for his sake. Don't knock what you haven't tried, Cedric."
He snorted in amusement. 'Don't think I'll be trying skiing in this lifetime, Granger." She only then realized what she'd said and wanted to sink right through the bench even as Angelina pretended sudden interest in her cereal. But Cedric leaned over to look into her face. "Hey -- don't worry about it," he told her, and didn't sound especially bitter. In fact, he was smiling at her. "So what are you planning for the hols?"
She frowned and returned to her letter. "To visit the Weasleys to find out what's going on. I'll tell mum that a lot of students in OWL year stay here to study and I'd better do the same."
He was frowning. "Won't she be disappointed?"
"Well, yes, but -- " She looked up at him. "I can't leave for Switzerland right now!"
Abruptly he turned to dig in his own book bag and pulled out parchment. Angelina had quit pretending to eat and was watching them both. "Tell your mum you're coming to my house for Christmas," he told Hermione. And opening his own ink bottle, he started writing.
"But then she'll ask why I can't come to Switzerland -- "
"I meant tell her you're staying here, but for Christmas, you'll be at my house. That way, if she sends you presents, they won't come here -- where you won't be. And besides" -- he was frowning, but not looking at her -- "the Weasley house might be in a bit of an uproar. We don't live so far away. You can stay with us and go to visit."
Hermione suspected ulterior motives lay behind his offer, but she hardly minded the thought of spending the holidays with him. She'd more or less resigned herself to missing him desperately for three weeks. "Won't your mum and dad mind?"
"Why do you think I'm writing to them, Granger?"
"Well then shouldn't I wait to tell my mum until we hear back from yours?"
Turning so he was nose to nose with her, he said, "I don't think they'll mind," then bent to whisper in her ear, brushing it with his lips and giving her shivers, "They probably already know something." And he pulled away again, returning to his letter.
Angelina was rolling her eyes. "You two are cloying. And I assume one of you will owl me to let me know about Fred. And George."
Cedric's lips curled up. "I'll let you know," he assured her, "about Fred. And George. A little more about Fred I think."
"Shut it, Diggory." And rising, she left them.
Hermione leaned over to Cedric. "Have you figured out what's going on there? I mean, are they or aren't they?" She'd been wondering about those two ever since the ball last year.
Cedric just laughed. "I'm not sure they're sure." He looked at her, still smiling. "Might get in the way of their fiercely independent reputations if anybody actually realized they're nuts about each other."
"You think they are?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"Well why doesn't he just ask her out?"
He stopped writing and eyed her again. "Didn't you hear what I just said about 'fiercely independent reputations'?"
"Yes, but that's so silly if they really like each other."
"It is?" His eyebrows went up. "And here I thought you'd understand, Miss I-can't-be-bothered-with-romance-stop-being-so-ridiculous-Cedric."
She blushed. It was true that she scolded him sometimes for being a bit . . . mushy. But she also liked it. "I don't mind. I'm just . . . not very good at it myself." She toyed with her quill and felt him peck her on the cheek.
"Don't worry about being good at it. I'd take you being bad at it, all right?"
And that was, she thought, as close as Cedric got to expressing any form of dissatisfaction with the state of affairs. There was a certain irony, she thought, in the boy being the romantic one. She watched him finish his letter and fingered the gold locket she never took off, vowing that she'd try to be a bit better in the future -- and perhaps she should think about getting him something for Christmas besides just those books he'd wanted, especially if she'd be at his house.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, and he busy with his letter, that neither of them noticed McGonagall had stopped behind them. "I want to see you in the courtyard today at four-fifteen sharp, Mr. Diggory, for lessons."
He turned, then picked up the Ministry letter to hand it to her. She perused it, lips pursed. "Well. It's about time." And she handed it back, then gave Hermione a significant look. "Miss Granger is permitted to watch, if she likes." And spinning, McGonagall swept away.
"Why would I want to come to your lesson?"
He bent his face close to hers. "Because it's not a lesson; it's an excuse. We wanted answers. I think we're going to get them." And he kissed her lightly before pulling back.
"Hem, hem."
They both looked around again. Umbridge, of course. "A bit inappropriate at the breakfast table, don't you think?" she asked them. "Five points from Gryffindor and five from Hufflepuff." And she, also, swept off out of the hall.
"Bitch," Cedric muttered, almost too low even for Hermione to hear. His face was dark with anger and his hand was almost shaking as he spelled his letter sealed. As much as he'd detested Umbridge before his gating, it couldn't compare to how he hated her now, Hermione thought.
"Two more days," she told him, rubbing his back. "Just two."
They promised to be a long two. As it turned out, neither she nor Cedric received an explanation from McGonagall that afternoon, as Umbridge unexpectedly showed up in the courtyard, clipboard in hand. "I trust you won't mind if I observe, Minerva? The Ministry is interested not only in professors' classroom instruction but in their one-on-one mentoring, as well."
McGonagall glared but could hardly object without it seeming suspicious, so Umbridge and Hermione both watched . . . and Cedric fumbled spells badly, things Hermione knew he could do perfectly well. McGonagall's usual stern expression had transformed into an outright scowl by the time the hour was up. "What's the matter with you, Diggory? You're off your form today."
Umbridge had drifted over, standing directly behind Cedric. "These spells certainly seem above Mr. Diggory's skill level, Minerva. Are you quite certain he shouldn't be in the regular Transfigurations class with the rest of his year? He doesn't seem so advanced to me."
Cedric had straightened, but Hermione wasn't sure if it were from offended dignity or to put just another inch or two of air between himself and Umbridge. "Diggory can do every one of these spells," McGonagall was saying. "Today was supposed to be a review." She studied Cedric over the top of her glasses.
"Well, I believe he failed it then." Umbridge sounded smug.
"I said a review," McGonagall snapped, "not an exam."
"Don't you give tests in these independent classes? However do you assign marks?"
"Of course I give tests. But this wasn't one. You're dismissed, Diggory. I expect a better show in January."
Cedric just nodded and moved away, crossing to where Hermione waited even as Umbridge said, "Perhaps I should come back then for his exam?"
Hermione saw Cedric's face pale at that, and McGonagall sniffed in irritation. "You've seen how I conduct a private lesson, Dolores. There'll be no need for you to observe another." And she stalked away. Umbridge watched Hermione depart with Cedric.
Once inside, Hermione led him through the Entrance Hall and over to the antechamber, into the lift. "What about dinner?" he asked.
"We'll go to dinner." She let the lift doors close and faced him. "What happened out there? You're ten times better than that."
But he shook his head and stared at his feet. "I can't -- She unnerves me."
"She didn't before. I heard about you and the Goshawk in Charms."
He just frowned and didn't reply.
"Cedric --" Hermione moved so she could see his face, her mind full of memories of the punishment quill Umbridge had used on Harry. The woman was sadistic. "What did she do to you last week, Cedric?"
"Nothing. Just watched me."
And Hermione frowned. Surely that wasn't all? "Just watched you?"
"Yes, just watched me." But there was something else he wasn't telling her, just as Harry had tried to conceal the lines on his hand. She could see it haunting Cedric's eyes. What power of shame did Umbridge have over them both that they wouldn't tell her the truth without having it dragged out of them? At the moment, though, she was too tired to fight him and would rather just be held. That, at least, he seemed happy enough to do.
One more day now, she told herself. Just one.
Notes: 'Chin up' (albeit to Cedric here) is a little nod to Koala, and the lovely snow manipulation of Cedric and Hermione was done by Cunning Croft. I swear she read my mind for that scene.