Love, Cedric thought, was a sweet kind of drowning, and he never wanted to breathe.
His current state of bliss wasn't the result of sexual release -- or not that entirely. He'd be lying if he said what they'd shared in the attic hadn't affected him.
No, his mood that Christmas Eve night rested on a sudden alchemy of everything -- her laugh, the way the lamp above the dining table caught her brown hair, the blush in her cheeks, the softness of her hand, the way her brow furrowed when she was thinking, the lilt of her voice as she replied to something his father or mother asked her. It was how she could make him smile, make him think, then make him want her so badly he couldn't think at all. She engaged everything in him -- body, mind, and soul.
She looked over at him at one point during the pudding, grinned and kicked playfully at him under the table. Unable to kick back (the braces might bruise), he stole her spoon. So she stole his and, pleased with herself, wrinkled her nose at him.
His father burst out laughing, reminding him that the rest of the world did exist. "Come on, Lucy," he said. "Two's company, four's a crowd. Let's leave the love birds to the dessert."
His mother rolled her eyes, but with amused fondness. Hermione was blushing. "Sorry," Cedric muttered, but his father only laughed again and waved it off as he escorted Cedric's mother from the dining room. Cedric had never asked to bring home a girl before, much less bring her at Christmas, and both his parents had been -- in their own ways -- disturbingly enthusiastic about it.
"I hear she's got quite a reputation," his father had told him. "Cleverest witch at Hogwarts. You need a girl who can keep up with you, son."
"She's very sensible, Cedric," his mother had said -- which had made him want to ask if she thought he wasn't sensible. "She'll take good care of you."
Once both parents were gone, he leaned over to grip her hand where she was seated across from him. "Stay for the rest of holidays," he urged.
She blinked. "You mean here? Stay here?"
"Yes."
"But your parents . . . it was only for a few days . . . "
"My father suggested it," he told her, grinning. "I wanted to wait -- be sure you were comfortable first." Then he sobered. "I'm not ready to give you back. Harry has Ron, and the Weasleys. Stay with me." She appeared uncertain, pushing the raisins in her rice pudding around her bowl. "We can go to visit Grimmauld Place, the same as I did when you were there."
She looked up at him, and her dark eyes were warm. "All right. As long as your parents don't mind." She pushed around more raisins. "I admit, I wasn't looking forward to leaving you to go back."
He felt as if his smile might split his face. "Then it's decided. You stay."
She was smiling too, almost bashfully, and her fingers twined into his on the tabletop. A little noise from the direction of the kitchen caused them both to look around.
Strawberry was lurking there, peering around the edge of the doorway, a funny little smile on her face. "Oh!" Hermione said even as Berry's mouth dropped open at having been discovered, and she darted back out of sight. Cedric felt his insides clench. He'd thought about this only in passing, and didn't want to get into house-elves with Hermione right now and spoil his mood. "Hullo!' Hermione called out, then turned to him. "Why did she run away?"
He shrugged with one shoulder. "She's shy. House-elves don't really much want to be seen."
"But why?"
"I don't know, Granger. They just . . . don't. Not by strangers. Not even by us sometimes."
"But why?"
"I don't know," he said, frustrated. "They just don't. It's their way."
"Would you, um, call her back? Could I say 'hullo' to her? Did she make the dinner?"
"Yes, she made dinner . . . " he trailed off to look her in the eye. "You're not going to scare her and offer her clothes or something, are you? You'll insult her."
She sat back, her expression darkening. "I don't see how freedom could possibly be insulting --"
"Granger --"
"All right! Fine. I won't say anything to her about clothes. I'd just like to, well, thank her for dinner."
Cedric nodded. "All right." Turning his head and still feeling a bit uncertain, he called out, "Berry?"
Five long breaths passed before her little face, framed by bat ears, appeared around the door again. "Sorry, Master Cedric. I's didn't meant t'be eavesdropping. You's just so sweet."
Blushing, he gestured her forward. "I'm not angry with you. Come here, I want you to meet her." And head down, Berry inched into the room. "No, come closer. Really, it's all right."
Berry did so, finally getting a few feet from Hermione to look up at her with great pink, lamp-like eyes. "Strawberry, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Strawberry -- we call her Berry."
"Hullo," Hermione said, grinning enthusiastically and offering a hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you."
Berry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, so she took Hermione's hand but instead of shaking it, made a curtsy. "Miss Pretty-Hermione. Master Cedric talks about you lots, he does, he so fancies you."
And that wasn't what Cedric had hoped she'd say. He wanted to sink under the table, but Hermione just grinned wider and glanced at him. "I wanted to thank you for dinner. It was delicious."
Berry fluttered fingers. "Nothing but delicious for my Family. Berry feeds them well, she does. Make Master Cedric big and strong."
"Make Master Cedric big and fat, more like," he said.
Berry turned to look at him, chin down, hands on hips, scolding, "Master Cedric doesn't eat enough. Growing boys, they needs lots of food, they does." And she came over to inspect his plate.
He tilted it up. "See? All clean."
"Good boy." She patted his arm, then seemed to remember the company and grew shy again, backing up and plucking at the tea towel she wore that featured strawberries. "Must be going. Dishes to do. So nice, Miss Pretty-Hermione." And she ducked out again.
Hermione appeared bemused, smiling faintly, but with brows drawn together. "She's fond of you."
"Yes. She took care of me when I was growing up. I'm fond of her."
Hermione appeared to chew that over along with a mouthful of pudding. "She scolded you."
He grinned. "She does that if she doesn't think I'm eating enough. Then again, from her perspective, I'd have to be as big as a house before she'd be convinced I was eating enough."
Hermione still seemed thoughtful and he half-wondered, half-feared what she might say next, but before she could, Esiban scuttled into the dining room, sat up on hind legs and looked at Cedric, who had to laugh. "All right, come on then. It's Christmas Eve, I suppose you can have some green beans." And he scooped some onto his empty plate to set it down on the floor. There were mushrooms and almonds in it too, and Esiban chittered in delight.
"You made his night," Hermione said.
"Oh, he's getting a whole bag of Every Flavor Beans tomorrow. He'll be in raccoon heaven."
"He'll be a very sick raccoon, that's what he'll be if he eats them all at once."
"Especially if he gets a vomit-flavored one."
"Oh, Cedric, ick!"
He just laughed at her. "Ready to go and eat chestnuts?"
Her eyes got big, and she actually clapped her hands together in delight. "You roast chestnuts? Oh, I love roasted chestnuts!"
"Dad always gets some for the fire. Let's go."
So they ate chestnuts and he had to split them for her because she wasn't allowed to use magic. She grinned and burned her fingers on them while his father sang carols as off pitch as Cedric would have, but with a good deal less self-consciousness. His mother and Hermione both put hands over their ears, and Esiban sneaked in to steal hot chestnuts until Hermione took him to Cedric's room. Her cat watched it all in dignified disdain from a top bookshelf. Cedric couldn't remember a Christmas Eve he'd been this happy (and he'd been happy for most of them). When eleven rolled around, his father said, "You should go to bed, kids."
So they did. He was tired, and his legs were hurting him a bit -- all that walking earlier, and here, there was no huge, hot bath to relax in. Hermione kissed him good night outside his bedroom. "Bring your pillowcase down tomorrow morning?" he asked her. "I'll wait for you before starting on presents." She nodded and headed up the stairs, and he went in to bed.
Morning came before he knew it and a small hand was shaking his shoulder. "Happy Christmas." Bleary from Abdoleo, he opened his eyes and blinked up at her. Grinning and dressed in pink flannel pyjamas and a dressing gown, she plopped down on the edge of his bed, her pillowcase of presents in hand.
He smiled back and scrubbed at his face, but his mouth felt stuffed with cotton and he needed to piss. Pointing to the door, he said, "Toilet," and reached for the braces, putting them on under his pyjama bottoms. She bent to help but he pushed her hands away. "No. No." He couldn't explain why, but he didn't want anybody to do this but him, didn't want anybody touching his legs like that. It seemed to symbolize his whole crippling and he'd be more willing to strip nude in front of her than let her put his braces on him. "Be back in a minute."
When he returned, he found Hermione settled cross-legged in the middle of his double bed, her presents piled beside his. Sitting back down, he debated a moment, then took the braces off. They were heavy and awkward. She shoved a big package at him. "That's from me."
Propping himself against the headboard with a pillow, he said, "Let me guess -- a book?"
Rolling eyes, she blushed and he laughed.
They opened presents, winding up surrounded by a sea of bright paper and ribbon. Crookshanks wasn't there, but Esiban scuttled about beneath, crinkling paper as he chased the beans Cedric tossed him. When they were done, Hermione was frowning a bit, and he watched her check her pillowcase surreptitiously. She knew she hadn't opened anything from him -- presents from her parents, Harry and Ron, Tonks and Ginny, Sirius and Remus, a pullover from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and even something from his own parents -- but nothing from him. Reaching under the pillow he hadn't slept on, he pulled out the long, flat box he'd hid there and set it in front of her. "Looking for that, poppet?"
"What?" She blushed. "Well, I wasn't --"
"Yes, you were." He grinned. "Go ahead. Open it."
He hadn't spelled it to appear among her presents because he'd wanted to give it to her when no one else was there to see. Silly, perhaps, but he didn't want to share with anybody the look on her face when she opened it. She pulled the ribbon off. "Let me guess -- it's either jewelry or a bookmark, or a new wand. But as I don't think you'd be getting me a wand without me present, I think I can eliminate that."
He slapped a hand over his heart. "You think I'd get you just a bookmark? I'm wounded."
"A fancy bookmark?"
He just watched. She had the ribbons off and now was tearing through the paper, but hesitated over the brown velvet box itself. Then she flipped it open.
Her mouth dropped in shock, and delighted, he grinned. "Oh, my God, oh, my God," she said, setting down the box as if to leap at him, then picking it up again to stare, then putting it down once more. That time, she did leap at him, practically strangling him. "You idiot!" she scolded.
"Gee, thanks, Granger. You don't like them?"
"You idiot!" she said again, but she was laughing now. "Please tell me these aren't real. Please tell me these are just really good fakes."
"What? You think I wouldn't give you the real thing?"
"Cedric! You idiot!"
"Can't you call me something else? A little variety in the vocabulary?" But he couldn't stop smiling any more than she could stop babbling.
"My foolish, hopeless romantic is what you are!" Letting him go, she sat back to pick up the box again, unhooking the strand from its ties. Then she held it up to see it glow in morning sunlight. "Pearls. Pink pearls."
"Rose pearls. You told me your favorite color is rose."
"Dusty rose." Her whole face was alight and she held them out to him, then turned. "Put them on me?" Seated this time, he could do so, slipping them around her pretty neck and hooking the clasp. "Do you have any idea how much I love pearls?"
"Actually, no. I just . . it seemed like they'd suit you. You should be covered in pearls, poppet."
Turning, she accosted him again, arms tight around him, laughing into his neck. "I love them. They're beautiful. And I'm going to kill you. This is just . . . gah!" Letting him go, she sat back, her fingers straying up to touch them. It wasn't a long strand, but long enough to lay beside her locket without appearing odd. "Cedric -- this is . . . " she trailed off. "You gave me pearls."
"Yes, it looks that way." He really was quite enjoying having managed to flabbergast her.
Head tilted, she appeared distressed again. "Real pearls . . . Cedric -- it's too much. You have to take them back. I can't let you buy me real pearls."
He shook his head. "Granger, relax. They're not from the South Sea, they're just cultured pearls. But they are real. I wouldn't get you fakes, even good ones; you're not a fakes sort of girl."
Her eyes seemed suspiciously damp and she was still fingering them, then she was hugging him yet again, her face buried in his shoulder. "You may be an idiot, but you're my idiot."
"I'll consider myself claimed."
When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, only Sirius was there, restless at being left behind and sharp with it. Hermione worried about him. "I know he has to stay hidden here," she told Cedric. "But I'm afraid he's going to do something drastic, you know?"
"Yeah," Cedric agreed.
"Why doesn't Dumbledore find something more for him to do?"
"Like what? He can't go out; somebody might spot and arrest him. And he's contributing something extremely important with the house itself. I know it probably doesn't feel like much, but having an unplottable headquarters like this is invaluable."
They'd helped carry things into the kitchen, her by hand and Cedric by Levitation. Then Strawberry shooed them out. When Mr. Diggory had said they'd provide Christmas dinner, he hadn't meant just the food. Hermione had gathered that Mrs. Diggory didn't cook, so the Diggorys had brought their elf who made herself right at home in Sirius' kitchen. There was, apparently, a brief altercation with Kreacher, but Berry came out the victor and Kreacher slunk off upstairs. Hermione wondered at the protocol of bringing an 'invading' elf into Kreacher's house, but she also realized Kreacher wasn't about to cook -- and if he did, he might poison them all.
With nothing to do but await the Weasleys' return and avoid a temperamental Sirius, Hermione asked Cedric, "Do you think it'd be all right if we left for a bit so I could call my parents? I just need to find a payphone."
"You shouldn't go alone," he said, frowning, "you're not Harry, but I don't want you out there alone, and I don't think I can escort you far. I'll talk to my parents."
Mrs. Diggory was busy with the painting of Mrs. Black, spelling it quiet again, but Mr. Diggory was willing to take her. "She's going to talk on a telephone?" he asked, "To someone all the way over on the Continent? Not by floo?"
"The Grangers aren't where she can reach them by floo," Cedric explained.
Hermione didn't add that she still found the idea of disembodied talking heads a bit disconcerting.
"Well, let's go then," Mr. Diggory told her. "Don't know when Molly and the kids'll be back and don't want them to have to wait lunch on us. Where can we find one of these telephones?"
Cedric stayed behind in the house and Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him where he watched from the doorway as she departed with his father. "Maybe I should have waited for Tonks."
"Nonsense," Mr. Diggory replied. "I'm sure your mum and dad are anxious to hear from you."
"I mean he looks so forlorn. I didn't even think that he couldn't just go out with me to find a phone."
Mr. Diggory set a hand on her shoulder and patted it. He, too, appeared troubled. It must be hard, she thought, to see his son trapped by crutches or the chair. After a moment, he withdrew the hand and said, "He'd want you to talk to your parents."
"But I worry about him --"
"Now you listen," Mr. Diggory said, voice a bit sharp, "my son's a strong person. He doesn't need or want pity."
She might have been offended, but found herself smiling instead. "I know. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant I didn't think before bringing it up. He is strong, but he still has feelings."
He squeezed her shoulder but didn't reply.
Her parents seemed a bit surprised to hear from her by Muggle means, but delighted. And they had a surprise for her, in turn. "We're returning early," her mother said. "Maybe you can come down for New Year's Day, at least? We'll get you a train ticket from Edinburgh since your Wizard train doesn't run all the time."
Startled, she hastened to say, "No, mum, that's all right. I mean, I didn't know you were coming back. Maybe I could, er, stay in Devon and return to London from there." She winced, hoping her mother couldn't overhear the London street traffic.
"I thought you were worried about studying?"
"I am, but there's not much sense in me going back to Hogwarts for a few days, then turning around to come south again. I did get in some extra reading . . . "
"We'll be back on the 30th. We could meet you at the station -- "
"Don't worry, mum. I can have someone Apparate me there. It's not so far. Cedric could do it." She hesitated. "Maybe he could, well, stay for dinner afterwards?"
There was a hesitation and Hermione imagined her mother putting a hand over the receiver to speak to her father, then she was back. "Having him to dinner would be wonderful. We'd like to meet this boy."
"I'll talk to him." They chatted a bit longer and Hermione hung up. She wasn't sure what she thought of them coming home early. She'd expected to have the entire holiday with Cedric, but had to admit she also wanted to introduce him to her parents.
When she and Mr. Diggory got back to the house, the Weasleys had returned and Harry and Ron pulled her aside. "Guess who we saw at St. Mungo's?" Ron said. "Neville."
"Neville? What was he doing there?"
So they told her about running into Professor Lockhart, then seeing Neville and his grandmother, and what his grandmother had said about Neville's parents and how they'd been injured. Hermione put her hands over her mouth in horror. "That's terrible! Poor Neville! I'm sure he didn't say anything because he didn't want to be pitied. Did you tell Cedric?"
The two of them exchanged a glance then Harry said, "Yes, we told him."
"Is he the first person you think about now?" Ron asked, a bit sourly.
Hermione was taken aback. "Well, he wasn't there either and I just thought --"
"You spend all your time with him, go and see him for Christmas -- it's like we don't count anymore!" Ron interrupted.
Harry was frowning but he didn't, Hermione noticed, correct Ron. And that irritated her. "How often do the two of you go off to do something without me? Did either of you even think to call for me when Harry had his dream? No, you didn't, did you? I had to find out the next day from Neville."
"Well, Hermione," Ron protested, "you're a girl. You weren't in our dorm, then McGonagall took us to see Dumbledore and Dumbledore sent us off here, and --"
"You didn't even leave me a note!"
"We didn't have time!" Harry protested. "Things were in a bit of an uproar."
She knew it was true, and she shouldn't feel so hurt, but it was axiomatic of what she'd grown so used to that she'd barely even noticed until Cedric. "You have each other. I always come second. Maybe I like being first for someone." And she stalked off to find the one she came first for, snuggling her way against his side where he stood in the drawing room, talking to Remus and Sirius.
Sensing her bad mood, he nodded to the other two and drew her away. "What is it, poppet?"
"Just Harry and Ron. They're acting stupid and jealous. But they never think of me except when they realize they're not the sum-total of my life!"
Obviously bemused, he tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. "They care about you."
"Only when they want something." She felt close to tears all of a sudden.
"That's not true, poppet. When I started seeing you, Harry had a little 'talk' with me. He wanted to be sure I'd treat you well."
"What? What gives him the right -- ?"
"He thinks of you like his sister. And if I hurt you, trust me, I'd have not just Harry but a whole pack of Weasleys after me." He was grinning. "They consider you theirs."
Hermione felt both touched and annoyed. Didn't they trust her to make a wise choice in a boyfriend? Yet it was nice to think they did care about her beyond helping them with their homework or doing research. She bumped her forehead against his chest. "All right. Listen, when I called mum, she --"
"Christmas dinner is ready!" Mrs. Weasley called, looking in the drawing room door. "Sirius, Remus; Cedric, Hermione -- come on, all of you. Amos is carving the turkey."
The adults headed out and Cedric started to follow but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him. "Mum and dad are coming back early," she told him.
"What?"
"They're coming back on the 30th, and they want me to come home to visit."
He appeared dismayed, but only for a moment before his expression smoothed. "I'm sure they miss you and want to see you."
"I didn't go into detail, but did let mum know I'd be coming from Devon, not Hogwarts, and I'd Apparate there with you." She hesitated, then finished, "I asked if maybe you could stay for dinner. If you'd like, I mean. They said they'd love to meet you."
He turned more fully to face her. "Really? I -- well, I wouldn't mind seeing your house."
She moved a little closer, her hand still on his arm. "I was thinking that perhaps you could stay there a few days. I was rather looking forward to being with you for New Year's Eve. I didn't ask mum about it yet, but if you think your parents would be willing to part with you, how would you like to stay in a Muggle house for a few nights?"
He was grinning broadly now. "I'd like it a lot, poppet."
Mrs. Weasley was back at the door. "Cedric, Hermione -- are you coming?"
They both jumped, and Hermione said, "Oh, yes -- sorry, Mrs. Weasley."
On Boxing Day, Cedric didn't wake before noon and was a little surprised they'd let him stay in bed so late. Donning a gown over his pyjamas, he wandered out to see what everyone else was doing. There was no sign of his mother, which probably meant she was upstairs in her studio, and his father was snoring on the sofa in the drawing room, which made him grin. No doubt his dad had been up at sunrise, tending to the crups.
Hermione was in the kitchen, sitting at the little table there -- talking to Berry. Seeing his open mouth and guessing his worries, she raised her chin. "I'm behaving myself," she told him.
This appeared to confuse Berry who blinked from him to her. "Miss Pretty-Hermione wants stories about you when you was young, Master Cedric. Is that not permitted?"
"No, it's all right, Berry. Hermione's referring to something else."
"Ah." The elf fluttered her fingers, which was her way of indicating either dismissal or confusion at what, to her, was incomprehensible human behavior. "Come and eat, come and eat," she said, urging him towards the table across from Hermione and immediately filling his plate with Christmas leftovers.
"Cedric," Hermione began conversationally, elbows on the table, fingers laced and chin resting on the back of them, "could I ask something?"
He eyed her; her manner was a bit too casual. "You can ask. I don't promise to answer."
Her lips curled in a smile that acknowledged his caution, eyes thoughtfully narrow, which worried him -- but also excited him. A battle of wits with Hermione Granger was always a challenge. "If I understand correctly," she said, "Strawberry isn't permitted to reveal any secrets or say anything negative about the family she's bonded to without permission -- correct?"
His own eyes narrowed now. "Yes."
"Would you grant her that permission? Not" -- she held up a hand quickly -- "about family secrets or the like. Just . . . about what she really feels. Would you permit her to say what she really feels without having to punish herself for doing so -- even if it's not positive."
Oh, he knew exactly what she was up to now. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his seat and studied her. Strawberry, standing over near the sink on her stool, appeared horrified. "Oh, no! Master Cedric, no! I's didn't ask her, I didn't --"
"I know, Berry," he told the elf. "This is a . . . long-standing argument." Turning he eyed the elf, who appeared completely discombobulated, fingers fluttering madly, ears drooping. "Berry, come here." Cautiously, she got down off her stool and crept forward. "Don't worry -- I told you, you're not in trouble. Now, listen carefully." Berry nodded. "I want you to answer with complete honesty any questions Hermione asks you. Not, you know, if you've been given secrets by mum and dad, but otherwise. In fact, I'm ordering you to be completely honest with her. Understood?"
Strawberry's head tipped sideways. She was clearly baffled. "Yes, Master Cedric."
Grinning, triumphant, Hermione leaned over the table eagerly, dark eyes on Berry, as intent as Crookshanks on the prowl. "Strawberry, would you like to be free? Mistress of your own destiny? Able to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted?"
Berry gave a little horrified shriek and leapt behind Cedric's chair. "Master wouldn't punish Strawberry with clothes?" she wailed. "Berry is a good elf, she is! Berry never misbehaves. She does just what her Family asks her, she does!"
Cedric felt horrible for letting Hermione scare his elf that way, but also vindicated. Turning in his seat, he got hold of Berry and lifted her up (she didn't weigh much) to set her on his lap. She was sobbing against his shoulder, and he stroked her pale blond hair. "Don't worry, don't worry," he said soothingly. "I'm not angry at you -- not at all. I'm not going to punish you. Just answer Hermione's questions."
But he wasn't looking at Berry; he was watching Hermione -- who appeared both frustrated and distressed. She crossed her arms. "You knew she was going to react like that."
"Of course."
"You didn't really give her permission to speak freely. She's terrified of speaking against you."
"No, Hermione. What she's terrified of is being turned out on her own. This is her home. Imagine if you were suddenly exiled from your home and made to find your own way? If after giving your whole life to a family, they tossed you aside like so much rubbish?" He was still stroking Berry's hair; she wasn't shaking quite so badly now that she realized he wasn't going to give her clothes. He made her sit up where he could look into her face. "Berry, this is an old . . . debate between Miss Hermione and myself. She thinks house-elves are badly treated and should be free. I think she needs to talk to house-elves to find out what the elves think."
Berry blinked at him, then turned to stare at Hermione. "Why would Berry want to be free?"
The question seemed to take Hermione completely by surprise. "Well -- because! I mean, nobody should be another person's slave! It's wrong. It's just wrong!"
And Berry hopped down off of Cedric's lap, drawing herself up to her full three-and-a-half foot height to declare, proudly, "Berry is not a slave. Berry is the Diggory's house-elf, she is! Berry takes care of her family and no one gives Berry clothes to take her Cedric away from her!"
Cedric just raised his eyebrow at Hermione, who seemed now genuinely baffled how to respond. "But, they own you!" Hermione protested. "You belong to them! That's slavery."
Berry sniffed. "They doesn't own Berry. They's got Berry's oath, they does. Berry is not a slave!"
"Ahh!" Hermione snarled, making fists and grinding her teeth. "Of course she can't say anything else! She doesn't understand!"
"Don't insult her, Hermione," Cedric warned. "And I gave her leave to speak to you freely. I'm not making her say these things."
"But you're right here! What else is she going to say? She knows she could be punished later!"
"Fine!" Cedric stood up, leaving his mostly untouched lunch on his plate. "If you think my presence is interfering, I'll take myself off."
"Master Cedric!" Berry exclaimed, looking quite alarmed. "Please don't go, Master Cedric! You haven't finished your lunch!"
"I'll eat later, Berry." He headed for the door. "The same rule applies. I want you to be honest with Hermione. Tell her whatever she wants to know." And he waved the door open, leaving Hermione behind. Maybe she'd finally get it through her thick skull that house-elves didn't want freedom.
"He is so stubborn!" Hermione hissed as she watched Cedric hobble out. Then she turned to look at Strawberry, who was busy picking up Cedric's untouched plate and finding a cover for it. "Berry -- "
"Don't want to talk to you," Berry said, fluttering the fingers of her free hand. "Bad Miss Hermione upsets Master Cedric. He fancies you, he does, but you makes him angry. Doesn't treat him right."
Hermione sighed. "Berry, it's just a disagreement -- one we've had before. It doesn't . . . it doesn't change how I feel about him." And it didn't. "I love him. He just frustrates me sometimes."
But Berry was shaking her head, her back firmly to Hermione and Hermione pressed her lips together, watching the elf work at the counter, standing atop her long stool. Cedric, the prat, had known exactly how his elf would respond to Hermione's questions -- had counted on it. He'd set her up, which meant that Hermoine would have to think around corners. How the Wizarding World treated elves was just shameful, and even if this elf was proud of her family and cared about them, that didn't make the system itself right or moral. If anything, it was worse that Berry was well treated because it disinclined her from questioning the basic social structure that kept her enslaved. "Berry," Hermione said now, "you're obviously very fond of Cedric."
Frowning over her shoulder, Berry nodded, then turned around and to Hermione's surprise, shook a finger at her -- for all the world like Mrs. Weasley scolding one of her brood. "Berry raised Master Cedric, she did. Mistress Lucy was so, so sick after he was born, and even for months before. I's took care of her, and when Master Cedric was born, Mistress Lucy put him in my arms and told me that he was my most important duty in this house. He was so, so tiny, born too early. Strawberry took very good care of him and now look at him! Tall and strong and such a powerful wizard! Strawberry is very proud of her Cedric."
The elf was so obviously pleased with how her charge had turned out, Hermione couldn't help grinning. Nor did she sound especially servile. But. "Have you ever thought about having a child of your own? Not just taking care of somebody else's?"
Berry seemed taken aback by the question at first, then tilted her head. "Now that Master Cedric is all growed up, maybe I's might have a baby of my own. Well," the elf added a bit slyly, "unless Master Cedric and Miss Pretty-Hermione would give me a new baby to take care of?"
It took every bit of control Hermione had not to squeak in alarm. "I'm far too young to think about having babies! Or even about getting married! I'd say you have quite a few years."
Berry turned back to the counter and was now musing to herself. "Maybe I's think about a little elf, someone who'll take my place one day, taking care of this house and this Family."
"What if your child didn't want to take care of a house?" Berry spun quickly, face a mask of shock. "What if your child wanted, oh, to be a dentist, say."
"A dentist? What's a dentist?"
"Someone who cleans people's teeth, fixes them -- that sort of thing."
Obviously puzzled, the elf tugged at one pointed ear. "Why would anybody want to do that?"
"I don't know, because . . . taking care of people interests them?"
"Then they should find a good Family, they should," Berry replied, nodding firmly.
"But what if they don't want to cook and clean all their lives? Haven't there ever been elves who, I don't know, wanted to become curse breakers or healers or run a store or --"
"Those are human jobs, Miss Hermione."
"But why do they have to be?" Hermione exclaimed. "Couldn't they be elf jobs? Even fifty years ago, everybody would've expected me to get married, stay home, and have babies one after the other! I don't want to do that!" Berry peered at her curiously, but said nothing. "Didn't you ever think about doing something besides keep house for a human family?" Hermione asked her, at a loss.
"No," Berry replied.
"You're telling me the honest truth?"
The elf frowned. "Master Cedric ordered me to tell you the truth and I's a good elf, I is. I does what Master Cedric orders. Besides, what else could I do? This is all I know."
And that, Hermione thought, was a good point. "We could teach you, Berry. Just like we learn to do different things. We could teach you too. Nothing says you have to do this for the rest of your life --"
"This is what I like to do," the elf protested -- and their conversation clearly wasn't getting anywhere. Hermione tugged at her hair in frustration. She'd have to come up with a new tack.
"Well, is there anything you might wish you could do that you can't?"
Surprised by that, the elf cocked her head. "Why would I wish to do what I's can't do?"
"No, I wasn't clear. I just meant have you ever wished you could go somewhere for the day, but you weren't permitted to?"
And for the first time, Hermione thought she might have got through, as Berry appeared thoughtful. "Well, sometimes I wish I's might go to Diagon Alley. For shopping, you know. Such pretty things there. Colored glass balls and nice bronze cauldrons and soft scarves."
"You can't go shopping?"
"Well, I's go when Mistress Lucy takes me, I does."
"But you'd go on your own if you were permitted?"
"Oh, yes. Such pretty, pretty things. If I's had just a few knuts or sickles . . . " she trailed off and blushed. "But what does house-elves need with money? That's not for us."
"I don't see why not!" And she dug in the pocket of her jeans, then remembered she'd left her coins in her guestroom. "I think it's perfectly reasonable for you to have a little money, and time to go shopping." She bent forward. "Free time." And she grinned, pleased with herself; now she had the right approach. Maybe the elves weren't ready to think on the grand scale, but they understood smaller freedoms. "You shouldn't have to work all the time. Nobody should have to work all the time."
"Strawberry doesn't mind."
Sighing, Hermione rose and pushed in her seat. Rome wasn't built in a day. "A bit of spending money and a little time to go shopping for yourself isn't an unreasonable thing to wish for," Hermione told her and headed out into the hall -- only to run smack into Cedric standing there. "What are you -- ?"
He put a finger over her lips, then moved down the hall into the library. She followed. "You heard all that?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. I wanted to know what she'd say when I wasn't around."
"Then you heard her ask for some time to go shopping and a little spending cash!"
He frowned and nodded, appearing troubled. "All she ever had to do was ask me. I'd be glad to give her some money --"
"She obviously didn't think it a reasonable request, though, did she?" Hands on hips, Hermione glared at him, but after a moment, her temper softened. Cedric was clearly confused, and if this was what she'd sought, seeing it actually happen -- seeing him thrown off what he'd thought was true -- didn't make her feel triumphant . . . just a bit sad. Moreover, if she were honest, talking to Strawberry hadn't gone quite the way she'd imagined. Hermione still thought the elf brainwashed, but she'd clearly been speaking her mind when she'd said she liked what she did.
Hermione would talk to her more later, but for now, she'd heard enough -- and thought Cedric had, as well. They eyed each other a bit warily and Hermione didn't want to get into an argument with him just now. She'd made her point. "You want to go outside for a while?" she asked. "It's a nice day."
He blinked, then looked down at himself. He was still wearing his pyjamas. "Maybe I should go and put on some clothes?" Apparently he agreed that it was time for a change of subject.
The idea came to him as he changed clothes in his room. He spied a little box on his dresser that had contained truffles, which he'd already eaten most of. Tugging his sweater over his head, he raised a hand to Summon the box to him, then poured what was left of the truffles into his palm -- just four. Shoving these in a pocket of his cloak, he found his wallet and shook out what coins he had. Not a great deal -- it only amounted to a galleon in sickles and a few knuts -- but it was probably better if he didn't give her a gold galleon anyway. Someone might question where she'd got it. Slipping the silver and bronze into the box, he shut the lid, grinning to himself.
Today was Boxing Day after all.
Pocketing the box, he headed out. Hermione waited in the hall near the back door. "Go on outside; I'll meet you in a minute." And he headed for the kitchen where he could still hear Berry at work.
Entering, he smiled at her and she hopped down off her stool to come over to him, bending her head back to look up into his face. She said, very seriously, "Miss Hermione is a bit odd. Berry worries."
-- which was about as close as the elf was likely to get to expressing outright disapproval. Settling himself in a chair at the table, he motioned Berry to him. "She was born a Muggle," he explained. "She sees things differently. It's not always bad, you know." He tilted his head. "Sometimes she makes me see what I didn't see before."
Reaching into his pocket, he removed the box and handed it to her. "Happy Boxing Day, Berry."
Confused, the elf looked from the box to him and back to the box, then she opened it -- and her eyes grew as big as saucers. "Oh, Master Cedric . . . oh, no . . . Berry wasn't . . . you heard . . . but I's wasn't complaining. Oh, no, no . . . "
She started to cover her face but he stopped her. "Yes, I heard. It's all right -- I told you to be honest. I'm glad you were. I found out something I didn't know. Berry, all you ever had to do was ask me and I'd've been glad to give you some spending money for yourself. You've taken such good care of me all my life. This is a small thing, to repay that. From here on out, I'll be certain you have something now and then. You can spend it however you like."
Berry's pink eyes were practically swimming with tears and she threw her thin arms around his neck. "Master Cedric is so very good to Strawberry. She loves him, she does."
"He loves you too."
She let him go then and hurried off with the box through her little access door into the cupboard she'd made up into a room for herself. Rising, he headed out only to run into Hermione -- who'd turned the tables and was standing in the hallway listening in on him. Her eyes were as wet as Strawberry's and she threw her arms around him, too. "That was worth more than all the South Sea pearls in the world," she whispered.
Embarrassed, he frowned. "I'm still not joining S. P. E. W."
She laughed at him. "I'll convince you yet, Cedric Diggory."
They headed outside then, and he went flying for while, but couldn't entice her to go with him, even with the offer to use his Nimbus 2002. "I'm no kind of flyer," she insisted. "You'd laugh at me." No matter how much he protested that he wouldn't, she still refused. "I'd rather watch you."
So she stood in the field below and watched him fly, grinning all the while. When he came back down to earth, they spread his cloak on the winter-brown grass and lay together on it. It was colder out today, the sky overhead steely, but her mouth was warm, and her tongue against his made his blood pound. Before long, he was cradled again between her legs and didn't care that it was near-freezing and the ground frost-hard beneath them. But she had her back directly on it and -- cloak or no cloak -- was shivering, her lips turning blue. If it wasn't advised to experiment with a new method of apparation while taking another person along for the ride, desire granted him inspiration. Gripping her hard, he rolled sideways . . . and with a crack they were lying on his bed, not the field. He'd left his cloak behind but could retrieve that later. Grass and leaves stuck in her hair, and probably in his, but he didn't care about that either.
She made a little noise of surprise from where she was now straddling him, but before she could speak, his father called, "Cedric? Is that you?" from beyond his bedroom door.
They both scrambled up and apart as he called back, "Yes, dad! I Apparated us inside -- it's cold out."
"All right -- just wanted to be sure we weren't being visited by Death Eaters, you know." It was meant to be a joke, but it was also a real concern, and didn't seem very funny.
"We're fine," Cedric replied, watching the door and half-expecting his father to open it anyway, tell him to behave himself and he shouldn't have a girl in his room (and on his bed!) with the door shut.
But his father didn't. Cedric listened to the footsteps moving away, then looked at Hermione. She sat with her arms around her knees and there was still grass in her bushy hair. He plucked it out and pulled her back into his arms but his father's interruption had put a damper on the mood. Cedric was all too aware that his parents knew exactly where they were and would be wondering what they were up to, so after only a few minutes, he sat up again, pulling his wand to mutter, "Alohomora," at the door. The knob clicked over and the door opened. They didn't discuss that decision, but sat talking about other things until supper, when he suddenly remembered his cloak still in the field.
He didn't get her alone again until bedtime, when he whispered, "Come back down later?" She just stared up at him in the candlelight of the hallway. "I mean, if you want to," he added. She still seemed hesitant, so he said even more softly, "Clothes will stay on."
"All right. But your parents -- "
"My parents are going to bed. They won't be checking up on me. I'm a big boy now."
"Yes, you rather are." Then she blushed and giggled at her own forwardness, dashing up the stairs before he could recover wits enough to reply. And she was, indeed, back an hour or so later, slipping silently into his room and shutting the door behind her. "Mufliatto," she muttered, pointing her wand at the door as he moved over in his bed to make room for her. Dropping her robe, she slipped in beside him under the covers.
After anticipating this for the past hour, it didn't take him long to hit his sexual deeps again. He put her on top this time so his hands were free to roam over her thighs and hips and waist, and along her sides to the curve of her breasts. She didn't stop him so he let his palms cover the swell of them and she bent closer, murmuring, eyes closed, brows drawn together a little, pink lips parted. "So beautiful," he whispered, kissing her, his fingers finding the hardened nipples. She wasn't wearing a bra, and it made this so much easier. Loose cotton let him feel more, and she was rocking on him faster. He was losing all presence of mind. Letting one breast go, he pulled her head down to kiss her hard, jaw working as if he could eat her alive. She pushed her tongue in his mouth and his hips arched up into her. "Harder," he muttered.
She obliged, and this wasn't at all gentle now. He could feel her damp heat through their pyjamas and it nearly sent him out of his mind. "Want you," he muttered. "Want you so much." Her eyes were shut and her face scrunched up, breath hissing between her teeth and the sound of that turned him on even more. Letting go of her breasts, he grabbed her hips and moved her faster against him.
"Don't stop," she pleaded. "Touch my breasts again."
With one arm, he pulled her closer until he could latch onto her breast with his mouth through cloth, which he didn't much care for. Shoving her pyjama top up, his mouth sought warm skin and fleshy weight and the puckered hardness of a bare nipple. She practically screeched, and he'd forgotten all about the 'clothes stay on' promise. He was flying as high as he had earlier in the sky over the field, reaching for release, his pleasure as wide as the heavens. It thrust its way from his balls through his spurting prick and crawled up his spine into his throat. He twisted and shouted and groaned, his whole body racked by little shudders and after-shocks.
She must have come too -- although he'd been too incoherent to register it -- because she was sprawled across his chest now, giggling, her face buried in his shoulder. He stroked her back slowly under her pyjama top, feeling almost too boneless to move. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an orgasm that intense -- and he hadn't even been inside her. After a moment, she whispered, "I wasn't sure if you were in ecstacy or I was killing you."
It made him laugh soundlessly. "I wasn't sure either for a minute there. Probably a good thing you cast that spell."
"Mmm."
"You all right this time, Granger?"
A pause, then, "Yes."
Opening his eyes and raising his head, he looked down at her, but all he could see was brown hair. She didn't feel tense against him, however, and there hadn't been any question about what was going to happen when she'd come downstairs. This had been planned for, not a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing. She slipped off him now, curling up in the curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, little hand resting on his chest. Completely content, he didn't want to move at all beyond a Cleaning spell on their sticky pants. 'Very handy, that,' she'd said on Christmas Eve. 'Something little boys learn early,' he'd replied, which had made her grin.
Now, he whispered, "Stay with me."
"But your parents . . . in the morning -- "
"I'll set my alarm and you can go back to your bed before they wake up. But sleep with me. I want you to sleep with me."
"It's probably not very clever . . . "
"Probably not," he agreed, but she wasn't getting up so he Summoned his alarm and set it for five -- early enough she could sneak out before anybody else woke. Then turning, he spooned up behind her and wrapped arms around her. "Good night, poppet."
"Good night."
The next morning when he dragged himself into breakfast, late and yawning, he found his mother alone at the dining room table, eating toast and reading The Daily Prophet. "You know," she said conversationally. "It's rather rude to make her get up before the sun to go creeping back to her bed in the cold. You may as well have let her just stay there."
He gaped. "How did -- "
"You forget the stairs squeak."
Embarrassed to death, he put a hand over his face. "Oh, please," she said. "If you're old enough to sleep with your girlfriend, then be man enough not to blush about it." Which only made him blush harder as he sat down beside her. "You do remember your spells, don't you?"
"We weren't doing that yet -- "
"Then I expect you will be before long. You do remember them?"
"Yes, mum."
"Good. If you get her pregnant, Cedric, I'll flay you alive with a dull knife. She's a nice girl. Take care of her."
And that, he supposed, was his mother's stamp of approval.
Notes: For those unfamiliar with Boxing Day, there's an old tradition of employers giving laborers and workers a little extra cash in a small box on the first working day after Christmas -- essentially a Christmas bonus. These days, Boxing Day is always Dec. 26th and seems to be more about after-Christmas sales, eating leftovers and sleeping in. ;