Hermione was still irritated with Cedric, and he was still irritated with her -- and when that happened, life was simpler (or at least less explosive) if they didn't spend time in each other's company. They'd never discussed this arrangement, just fallen into it, so when lunch was over Hermione left The Three Broomsticks with Luna, and Cedric left with Harry. It wasn't raining any more but the sky still hung heavily overcast.

"Doesn't look like either of us is having much luck with girls on Valentine's Day," Harry said sullenly, hands shoved deep into his pockets as they made their way up the street to the local post office. Cedric thought it wise to warn his parents about the coming interview as, unlike Harry, he had family who could get into trouble for his choices. And if he couldn't trust that a Hogsmeade post owl wouldn't be intercepted, at least he knew Umbridge or Filch wouldn't be reading this letter before it got out of the castle.

Now looking up at Harry, he said, "Since you were early, I take it the date with Cho went badly?"

"She wanted to go to Madam Puddifoots -- said you took her there last year." Harry's expression was bemused. "Why would she want to go there if you took her and she's angry with you?"

"I don't suppose it occurred to you she might be trying to replace memories of me with memories of you?"

Harry blinked behind his glasses. "Oh." And his frown deepened. "See, that's why you have the girlfriends. Girls make sense to you."

His words made Cedric laugh. "First, why don't you try thinking about girls less as girls and more as people? They're not that mysterious, you know. One of your best friends is one. Second, making sense of people -- girls or boys -- means trying to put yourself in their shoes a bit. It's not so hard, but you have to realize not everybody sees things the same way you do -- and be okay with that, not upset or put off by it. Now, finish telling me what happened with Cho."

They'd reached the post office and Harry held the door for Cedric, but it was done so matter-of-factly, Cedric didn't mind. "Well," Harry said, "everything went all right at first -- we talked about Quidditch, and you were right about spending time with her beforehand. After we studied together last week, I knew what homework she had, so we talked about homework too." Cedric nodded as he dug in the bag he kept attached to the back of his chair, drawing out the letter he'd penned in The Three Broomsticks and a sickle for the post fee.

"We walked around town a bit, then she said she wanted to get a coffee at Madam Puddifoots. But Ced, that place is awful. Bows and frills and cherubs tossing confetti . . . why on earth did you have to take her there last year?" The unspoken being that Harry had been forced to live up to it.

"Because she likes it." Turning his head, he grinned at the younger boy, confiding, "It's bloody awful, isn't it?" -- which made Harry laugh. Cedric handed over the sickle to the postmistress and was brought an owl. He was able to tie the letter to the owl's leg himself and see it off.

"So we had coffee," Harry was saying, "and Roger Davies was in there with his girlfriend and they were kissing. In public." Cedric had a hard time not laughing at Harry's affronted expression. "Cho said that Roger had asked her to go with him, but she turned him down to come with me and, well -- what was I supposed to say to that?" Cedric was biting the inside of his cheek now as he and Harry exited the building back onto the street. "She had her hand on the table, like she might want me to hold it, but I wasn't sure if she really did. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said I had to meet Hermione at The Three Broomsticks at noon. She went absolutely spare! Started yelling in the middle of the teashop about Hermione always ruining everything and if I'd rather spend time with Hermione than with her, I could leave right then. But she stormed out."

Halting his chair, Cedric spun it so he could face Harry. "You told your date you were going to have lunch with another girl? Harry!"

"Well, I told her that Hermione had told me she could come along! And I didn't know what Hermione wanted so how could I explain?"

Cedric rubbed his eyes. "First, all you had to say was that Hermione had insisted on seeing you over lunch. You didn't really want to go -- you'd rather spend time with her -- but you felt obligated, then beg her to come with you. Wouldn't have been comfortable, but we'd have managed." He gave Harry a lopsided grin. "As for that bit about Roger, she was trying to make you jealous."

"Why?" Harry appeared genuinely baffled.

"Because some people do that. They need the reassurance." He waved a glove-covered hand. "That's partly my fault. Cho didn't used to be like that. She wants to know you won't do to her what I did, so she was testing you, wanted to know if you'd get upset about Roger."

"Why would I get upset about Roger if she went with me?"

Cedric shook his head. "Cho needs to be told things. Some people need actions, some need words. Cho needs words. It doesn't take much, you know -- just when you see her, tell her you're glad to see her. Tell her you like spending time with her -- that's all she wants. Most of us are insecure in some way; we just show it differently. And for the love of Merlin, don't bring up Hermione!"

"She knows Hermione's just a friend --"

"She may know that intellectually, but Hermione's, well, a bit of a sore spot." He frowned. That was his fault too, and Harry was well aware of it. His expression said as much. "I told Cho the same thing, you know -- that Hermione was just a friend. I did try, Harry -- I honestly did try -- and Cho tried not to be jealous, to trust me." He looked at the younger boy. "Now she feels stupid for believing me. Once bitten, twice shy. Remember that with her, all right?"

Harry's expression grew . . . enlightened, Cedric supposed he'd call it, as if he suddenly understood what had happened earlier. Cedric nodded to himself. Maybe it was a small thing, but if he could smooth over Harry's argument with Cho, it might make up a bit for what he'd done to Cho that autumn. "You never did talk to her, did you?" Harry asked him now.

Cedric shook his head. "Wouldn't matter. Wouldn't change anything -- might just make her feel worse. It was nothing she did. And nothing she could have done would have made it work."

Harry seemed puzzled. Perhaps because Cho was his dream girl, he couldn't imagine why she wasn't Cedric's too. "But if you really tried, then why not? You liked her once, didn't you? You weren't lying all along, were you?"

And how did Cedric explain? "I wasn't lying, no . . . " He trailed off, reminded of his conversation with Hermione about Ron and the Yule Ball, and that even if Ron had asked her, she'd still be with Cedric now, the same as Hermione had torn him from Cho. "I don't know how to explain it to you. I liked -- and like -- Cho; she's a sweet girl. I mean that sincerely. But Hermione is . . . Hermione. It's a meeting of minds, it's chemistry, it's . . . I don't know." He grinned. "What we've got feels like a force of nature sometimes -- magnitudes stronger than anything I've ever felt for anyone else. Even when I'm angry with her."

They continued on then. "Where's Ron?" Cedric asked after a bit.

"Quidditch practice. Where are your mates?"

"Ed's with Susan, Scott's probably getting himself into trouble with whichever girl fancies him this week and Peter . . . I don't know. Probably trying to keep Scott out of trouble."

Harry laughed, and led Cedric towards Honeydukes. Cedric bought fudge after all (and bought a little for Hermione). Harry stocked up on sweets for himself and Ron, then they wandered about, the first occasion they'd actually spent time together that didn't have a specific purpose. Other students cast them curious glances and Cedric wondered what they thought they saw. The Triwizard champions? Survivors of Voldemort? The school nutcases? Yet none of that was reflected in what they discussed, which involved Quidditch, brooms, Muggle television, pizza, and a rather odd, rather long digression about hexes versus charms. Only once did they make reference to what had happened to them in June, and that on the way back. Harry walked beside Cedric who used the Locomotor charm on his chair. He could have transfigured and flown back, but that would've been rude to Harry.

"Thanks for doing that interview with me," Harry said. "It was -- I don't know -- easier. With two."

"It needed to be done, I think. And yeah, it was easier with two."

Harry was rubbing his scar; he'd been doing that rather a lot off and on all day. "How are the Occlumency lessons going?" Cedric asked.

"They're going."

"Are you making progress?"

"I don't know." Harry's response was sharp. "Doesn't much feel like it."

"Just a question, Harry. Not an accusation. I worry about you."

"You and everybody else." Harry sounded defensive, his jaw set and stubborn.

"I said I worry -- not that you can't take care of yourself. You took care of yourself rather well last June." Cedric shrugged. "Friends worry about friends."

Harry glanced at him. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

Harry frowned, eyes on the roadway in front of them. "I worry about you too," he admitted. "Umbridge hates me, but I don't know -- I think she really has a bone to pick with you, like you and Dumbledore are her 'special project.' Last December -- "

Now it was Cedric's turn to frown and interrupt. "She's been ignoring me so far."

"Maybe it'll stay that way," Harry replied mildly.

When Hermione argued with Cedric, there was no explosion of fireworks followed by a bout of mad kissing and making up. No, he aggravated her, made her stomach roil, and he seemed to feel the same. So they circled each other for a while warily, and as a result, didn't have their Valentine's Day until three days after the fact. Then again, it would've been difficult to have had much of one on Saturday as Umbridge seemed to take a perverse pleasure in stalking halls, hoping to catch couples in flagrante delicto. If she assumed Hermione and Cedric would be among them, she was foiled. Hermione didn't speak to him until dinner Sunday night. Afterwards, she went to the school Common Room, thinking he might be there. But he wasn't. Disappointed, she spread out her books on a table and set to work, in case he might show up.

Somewhere around half past seven, there was a disturbance near one of the doors and she looked around. Zacharias and Peter were hauling Cedric into the room, supported between them, reluctant but laughing. Peter had the Cup under his arm. It reminded Hermione of the afternoon Cedric had put his name in the Goblet of Fire, although that time it had been Peter and Ed dragging him in there. Cedric wasn't naturally forward.

Now, Hermione watched as Peter and Zach escorted him towards the end of the long hall that opened on the trophy room. A special plinth had been set up just outside, topped by a Doric capital. In front of it, Peter and Zack let Cedric go, and Zach gave Cedric back his crutches as Peter handed over the softly glowing Cup.

Shifting his weight to take it, Cedric stared at the Cup a minute, then reached up to set it on the plinth -- all without a word. Applause broke out behind him and he turned to face the crowd -- caught Hermione's eye and smiled slightly. She smiled back before returning to her table where she was working. He talked to others for a bit, then came to lower himself into a seat beside hers. Pulling a wrapped brick of Honeydukes fudge out of his book bag, he set it in the middle of her parchment. "For you." She stared at the fudge a moment, then grinned and pulled the fudge she'd bought him out of her bag. Laughing, he broke off a chunk, then with one arm draped along the back of her chair, nibbled fudge and read while she made notes.

Tuesday night they met in the Room of Requirement. He had pearl earrings for her to match her necklace. She had a gold signet ring for him. It had belonged to her mother, and bore a 'D' for her mother's maiden name: 'Darcy.' Hermione found it serendipitous that his last name was 'Diggory.' He took it with appropriate solemnity and put it on his left hand, though it fit only his little finger and barely that. Fortunately his fingers were narrow. "Is that romantic enough for you?" she asked, arms around his neck, straddling his lap where they sat on the bed, though he couldn't embrace her like that. He needed his arms to prop himself up. He wasn't able to sit without support any more than he could stand. At first, she'd been frustrated by what they didn't have that other couples did, but she'd grown used to it. This was just them, and she was content.

Now he kissed her nose and smiled. "It means a lot, poppet."

They got naked after that, but seemed to have reached a plateau, and he asked her for nothing more than they'd shared before Valentine's Day. She didn't think either of them was ready to go further. Instead, she examined his bare body from crown to toes. She might have been more embarrassed by her frank curiosity, but he seemed to like being looked at, or at least didn't mind it; her Cedric was a bit vain. "Are you cataloguing me, Granger?"

"Mmm," she replied drawing fingertips over the skin covering his hipbone, so pale she could see the blue veins beneath. "Never know when I might have to identify a headless body."

He laughed at that. "You're morbid!"

They had such strange conversations sometimes. She liked it.

The next day, the ploy with the Triwizard Cup paid off. Once word got out, students slowly began trickling back in to see it, but still conspicuously without any green-and-white. It wasn't Zabini who brought back Slytherin, however, but a small band of second years who sidled in, trying to mimic the hauteur of their House elders and failing miserably. They gathered around the Cup, pointing and talking excitedly, then stayed to study. Zabini had set enough of a precedent that the boundary was broken, and by the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match the next Saturday, the Hogwarts Common Room could once again be called a Hogwarts Common Room.

Hermione met Cedric at breakfast. Predictably, he was decked out in yellow and black, while she sported gold and crimson. They made friendly faces at each other and after, he flew down to the Pitch while she walked there with Harry. By the time she arrived, Cedric was already ensconced in one of the stadium towers, surrounded by rowdy Hufflepuffs. He tried to wave her up to join him, but that was high, and she wasn't especially interested in being a lone Gryffindor among all those badgers, so she shook her head and stuck out her tongue. It made him laugh, and they sat in their respective sections and cheered their respective teams. Poor Ron had been so terrified at the prospect of facing Hufflepuff's Golden Trio, he barely managed to block any goals at all, and it was another massacre until Ginny caught the Snitch. Even so, Hufflepuff won, and they were beside themselves, Ed Carpenter the hero of the hour.

Fortunately -- Zacharias Smith aside -- the badgers were more inclined to celebrate together than pose or preen or ridicule Gryffindor. Ed even made a point of shaking not just Angelina's hand afterwards, but that of every member of the Gryffindor team. "He's become a good Captain," Hermione said to Harry. "Cedric chose well."

"I thought Hufflepuff elected?"

"They do. But Ed's Captain because Cedric nominated him."

Harry was more morose about the loss than Hermione, and had hands in his pockets, head lowered as they exited the stands. "I remember him being the big guy in Cedric's shadow last year, and the year before. He wasn't very nice to me."

"He's protective of Cedric," Hermione said. "And he and Peter really did believe you rigged the Goblet somehow. Don't blame them too much; they both know better now. And Ron would have been the same if positions had been reversed."

Harry glanced over sharply. "You wouldn't?"

"Maybe at first, but I'd like to think I'd've asked more questions when things didn't add up. That's not a failure of loyalty, Harry."

He didn't reply, and the two of them waited outside the stadium gate for Ron and Ginny. Most of the crowd had returned to the castle, and without anybody around to overhear, she asked, "Could I borrow your map again tomorrow afternoon?"

Harry glanced at her. "That's the fourth time you've asked to borrow the map. What are you doing with it?"

Hermione blushed because she'd rather depended on him not asking. "Well, sometimes Cedric and I would like to have a bit of time alone together, and it's a way of knowing where Filch is -- or Umbridge, or Snape for that matter." She thought that enough information.

Harry stared a moment, then laughed. "Don't tell me Cedric is 'more of a physical being,' like Krum, and it just means he doesn't talk much. I know better." Hermione swatted his arm in answer, but doubted he had any real idea of what she and Cedric did in the Room of Requirement. Harry was even more naïve than she'd been.

"You told me to tell you if I keep having dreams," Harry said softly, plopping down beside Cedric at the Hufflepuff table for Sunday lunch. Cedric glanced over, eyebrows up. "Well, I keep having them. Every night almost. It's the same corridor, leading to the Department of the Mysteries. Last night, I almost got inside."

"Occlumency seems to be making it worse, not better," Cedric said, struggling to keep out any hint of emotion that Harry might take as an accusation.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. But, well, you wanted me to tell you."

"I did. Thanks. And Harry, if you get through the door, be sure and tell me what happens. There's got to be something about it . . . "

Nodding, Harry rose to leave, hesitated, then added, almost mumbling, "You and Hermione be careful. Even with the map. Just . . . be careful."

Mouth a little open, Cedric watched Harry's retreating back, wondering what Harry knew, or thought he knew. When he asked Hermione later, she admitted that Harry had finally asked her why she kept borrowing his map. "I didn't lie. Exactly," she finished. "I just didn't tell him everything. The details are none of his business."

After stealing half of Sunday with her (most of which had been spent lying together and talking, not almost-shagging), Cedric arrived at breakfast on Monday cheerful and ready to face the week. Winter quarter hadn't turned out half as dreadful as he'd feared. It was almost the end of February and they had only four more months. That those months would include increasing homework and hellacious NEWTs didn't matter when compared to the prospect of escaping Umbridge at the end.

Madam Toad still watched Cedric at meals and in the hallways, and she walked past the double desk he shared with Peter in her class more often than was necessary. But otherwise, she let him be and he gave her no reason to discipline him.

That Monday, he was taking a bite of cereal when the first letter dropped in front of him, then a second, third and fourth. Soon, he had a whole stack of mail. Sitting back on the bench, he just stared while Scott muttered, "What the bloody fuck?" from his place across from Cedric. Both Peter and Ed picked up letters to check the return addresses.

When a final owl landed a flat package in brown wrapping atop the pile, Cedric finally understood, and turned to the Gryffindor table. Harry had a similar pile, half-again as large, and was looking over at Cedric, while a delighted Hermione tore open Harry's own brown-wrapped package.

Cedric and Harry exchanged a smile.

"That interview must have been published," Peter was saying beside Cedric, who turned back to collect his own flat package.

"Yes," he said, opening it, "I expect so." Unfolding The Quibbler, a big, center headline announced:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:
The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
and the Night We Saw Him Return
(with Cedric Diggory)

"Bloody hell," Peter snarled. "Potter, Potter -- always bloody Potter!"

"It's all right," Cedric said, more amused than offended that his own name had been reduced to small print. "Harry did do most of the talking. It's his story. I was just there to confirm it, and add a few more details."

"Still, Ced, without you, he'd have been too dead to talk."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't mind -- really. People want to read about the Boy Who Lived, not the bloke who almost bought it, right?"

Shrugging, Peter opened the letter he'd picked up, not bothering to ask permission first. But he'd fielded much of Cedric's fan mail the previous year. "This lady here," Peter said, scanning the note, "says she was rooting for you in the Tournament and didn't want to believe you'd lost your marbles, but the Prophet made you sound positively dodgy. Now after reading your and Harry's story . . . she's apologizing, Ced. She says she's sorry she ever doubted you!"

Cedric smiled. "Maybe we'll manage to convince a few then."

He, Scott, Ed and Peter went through his mail, making piles of 'believe,' 'aren't sure,' and 'raving bloody barmy' (as Scott put it). In the middle of doing so, they heard a "Hem, hem," behind them, and Peter made such a convincing frog croak that Cedric almost choked on his coffee.

The four of them turned -- but Umbridge wasn't looking at them. She was standing over Harry Potter, whose stack of mail was now twice as large as Cedric's. "Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked.

"Is that a crime now?" one of the twins asked loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention."

"Like that's anything new to them," Peter muttered while Scott and Ed were busy scooting Cedric's mail off the table and out of sight.

"No," Cedric told them. "Let it stay." He wasn't going to run from this; he'd made a choice.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge was saying. The rest of the hall had gone completely quiet as they looked on.

Harry hesitated, then said, "People have written to me because I gave an interview. About what happened last June." He didn't, Cedric noticed, implicate Cedric in the interview, although as soon as Umbridge saw the magazine, she'd know Cedric had been involved.

"An interview?" Umbridge asked, voice rising in an oncoming fit of rage. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked questions and I answered them. Here --" And the boy practically flung his copy of The Quibbler at Umbridge. Cedric watched her scan it, her face going first pale then as red as a beet.

"Here it comes, here it comes . . . " Peter muttered behind him.

Spinning to look towards the Hufflepuff table where Cedric was sitting, her mouth worked silently. Cedric just smiled. Umbridge turned back to Harry. "When did you two do this?"

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," Harry replied.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you -- either of you!" Her voice dropped in volume. 'How you dare . . . how you could . . . " She trailed off. "I have tried to impress on you not to tell lies, but the message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor -- and another fifty from Hufflepuff!" And she stalked away, taking Harry's copy of The Quibbler with her. Peter had already hidden Cedric's.

Less than three hours later, there were new signs up on notice boards and in hallways:

---- By Order of ----

THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Any student found in possession of the magazine the Quibbler will be expelled.

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

Cedric snorted when he saw it. Hermione was standing beside him. "That's one certain way to ensure everybody will have read the interview by tonight," he said to her and she giggled, hugging his arm.

Umbridge stalked around the school between classes, demanding to check student bags. Even so, by dinner, there were so many contraband copies of the magazine disguised as something else, Cedric thought they could probably have wallpapered Flitwick's classroom with it. It amused him no end, although anytime someone asked him for a copy, he just replied, "A copy of The Quibbler? As Head Boy, I wouldn't have a banned publication."

It got to be such a joke that after dinner in the Hogwarts Common Room, Scott put a sticking charm on a copy and hung it on Cedric's back. "He hasn't got one, he's just wearing it!"

Laughing, Cerdric tried to pull it off, but couldn't reach it. Hermione yanked it free and thrust it back at Scott. "Scott Summers, really! What if Umbridge had walked in here?"

Unrepentant, Scott just shrugged. "Well, she didn't, and who's going to grass on us?"

Indeed, the room that evening was filled with jubilant Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, as well as some supportive Ravenclaws, including both Cho (who sat rather close to Harry, Cedric noted with satisfaction) and Ginny's Michael Corner. There was no sign of a single Slytherin tie. Cedric didn't think that good overall, although it probably was at the moment.

Horseplay calmed down after a bit and Cedric sat with Hermione on one of the sofas, chatting with Ed while Susan leafed through The Quibbler that Scott had stuck to Cedric earlier, making funny faces at some of the more outrageous articles.

Zacharias Smith came tearing into the room, breathless. "She's coming!"

Susan actually squeaked, shoving the magazine under her sofa cushion before Cedric could grab it to Vanish it. Around the room, copies disappeared or suddenly became something else even as Umbridge stalked in, flanked by Draco Malfoy and Marius Montague. "What is this?" Umbridge demanded. Students simply stared back at her.

"What's what?" Roger Davies asked, sounding genuinely confused by the question.

"What are you all doing here on a Monday night when you should be at revisions or in your common rooms?"

Students blinked. "Er, this is a common room," Angelina Johnson pointed out, looking around. "And, well, about half of us are doing homework."

Umbridge's normally curled and neat hair appeared disheveled, and she bore a slightly wild look in her eye. Viciously, Cedric hoped Fudge had sent her a Howler about the interview. She was glaring around at faces, probably noting who was present. It involved the majority of the D.A., as well as a number of other students who enjoyed hanging about the fringes of the 'subversive' group. "I see Potter here, and Diggory too. There had better not be copies of that magazine in this room! Or discussion of it! Turn out your bags! Every one of you! Draco, Marius, help me inspect bags."

Annoyed students complied, but copies of the magazine were either long gone or spelled. Frustrated, Umbridge and her minions searched in vain and she even made students stand so she could pat school robes and turn out pockets. She searched Harry and Cedric personally and Cedric tried not to flinch at her hands on him, running along his sides. "May I sit down?" he asked politely when she was finished.

"No," she snapped, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, her eye fell on Susan -- who might be deceptively tough but lacked any ability at dissembling. Like a bloodhound, Umbridge homed in on her nervousness. "Turn out your pockets, Miss Bones."

Susan did so. They were empty, of course. Umbridge glared up into her pale, heart-shaped face, then turned abruptly to upend the sofa cushions.

The Quibbler fell right out onto the floor, landing at Ed's feet.

Around the room, students went absolutely still as Umbridge pounced on it, then shook it under Susan's nose. "You know what this means!" she crowed. Susan appeared ready to faint. "And to think! Your own aunt is head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! What will she say when she learns her precious niece has been expelled for possessing a banned publication!"

"I expect she'll say you lack conclusive evidence," Hermione replied.

Umbridge spun around to glare. "When did you become an expert in the law, Miss Granger?"

"I'm not, but I do understand circumstantial evidence. Susan didn't have that magazine either on her person or in her book bag. Someone shoved it under the sofa cushions at some point today. Susan was only sitting nearby at the time you found it. Yet as we didn't know you'd be coming to conduct a search, if she'd been reading it, you'd have caught her with it in her hands, wouldn't you?"

Cedric was impressed. Hermione could lie through her teeth while looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. And Umbridge was stuck. Either she had to admit she hadn't caught them by surprise after all, and let her pride suffer, or she had to accept Hermione's reasoning. She turned back to Susan. "For being innocent, you certainly look guilty, Miss Bones."

Susan's dark eyes were wide and she clearly wasn't at all sure what to say. Ed slipped an arm around her shoulders, "Susan's the one who cries when everybody else gets scolded for something she had no part in. She doesn't like to be in trouble, Professor Umbridge -- even by association."

"It's true," Cedric added -- because it was true, even if this time she'd been guilty as charged. "Susan's not been in trouble once since she arrived at Hogwarts."

Eyes cold, Umbridge turned to stare at him. "When I want your opinion, Mr. Diggory, I'll ask for it." She looked back at Susan. "Very well. In the light of your previously outstanding record, Miss Bones, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But be certain I'll be watching you in the future. And consider changing your circle of friends." She glared at Hermione, Cedric and Ed, then drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height.

"That said," she went on, "this room has clearly become a focal point for the more fractious sorts at Hogwarts, and fosters a lackadaisical attitude towards studies -- not to mention it provides hiding places for illegal reading material. It is therefore my duty as High Inquisitor to close it to students." There was a collective intake of breath and Umbridge turned to Cedric, her sick smile in place. "Clearly having a school-wide common room was a very unwise decision."

"Why?" Cedric demanded. He knew he shouldn't say anything, shouldn't argue. They'd barely yanked Susan back from the precipice, and Umbridge was bound and determined to have her pound of flesh tonight. Yet he'd worked too hard to make this room viable and wasn't giving up without a fight. So he asked again, "Why? Look around you, professor. This isn't a den of subversive activity. It's a place where students from different Houses can work together, talk together, study together. We all benefit. Hogwarts benefits. Yes, there may be a few students who misuse it -- but that's true of anything. The good far outweighs the bad."

Her eyes narrowed but the smile hadn't left her mouth. Hermione was gripping Cedric's forearm tightly as he balanced on his crutches. "Mr. Diggory, are you questioning my decision?"

"With all due respect -- yes, professor. I am."

Beside him, he heard Hermione's breath go out and could just imagine her closing her eyes. Behind Umbridge, Ed and Susan, Peter and Scott all wore terrified expressions, and in the distance, Draco Malfoy appeared positively gleeful.

Umbridge took a step closer to him. "You, who dared to give a forbidden interview full of lies -- "

"They weren't lies. And giving an interview to a reporter is not against school rules," Cedric pointed out, "or the Triwizard Champions would've been expelled last year. I gave several interviews in this very castle to the very same reporter."

"That was different! It had Ministry approval! This" -- she shook The Quibbler under his nose -- "is rubbish and falsehoods! Outrageous!" Cedric blinked but didn't pull back, even when she slapped him across the face with it. The paper edges cut his cheek and all around them, students gasped.

That seemed to bring Umbridge back to herself before she could strike Cedric a second time. Taking a deep breath, she looked around. "This room will be closed. That is my decision as High Inquisitor. All of you have five minutes to clear out. Mr. Diggory -- you're not going anywhere."

The room emptied slowly as Cedric watched, and he felt all his joy and hope empty with it. Hermione gave his forearm one last squeeze before exiting with Harry and Ron. Peter very deliberately walked over to the plinth outside the trophy room, removing the Triwizard Cup. "Where are you going with that?" Umbridge demanded.

"It belongs to Cedric," Peter said sullenly. "Not the school." Umbridge couldn't argue, and Peter departed, leaving Cedric alone with Madam Toad.

When there was no one remaining but the two of them, Umbridge spoke softly. "I know Miss Bones was reading that magazine. Perhaps I can't prove it, but I know it. And I know you must have given it to her. You and that girl of yours think yourselves oh-so-clever, but I will catch you yet. Be sure of it. In the meantime, you are gated. Again."

Anger pulsed through him more than fear as he wiped half-dry blood off his cheek. "If I may ask, what offense am I guilty of this time that merits such a severe punishment?"

"Defiance, Mr. Diggory. Bald, public defiance towards a Ministry-appointed representative."

"Expressing my opinion constitutes 'defiance'? Yes, I expressed it publicly, but I did so politely, professor. Is freedom of speech now forbidden?"

"This is a school, Mr. Diggory, not a public square. And I am here at the behest of Minister Fudge to return some semblance of decorum and order to a venerable institution sorely in need of stern direction. Obstruction of my duties here is the same as obstructing a Ministry investigation. This is not a game, young man, or a chance to demonstrate your popularity among your fellow students. Defy me again and your family will lose far more than just your father's cushy job."

Cedric felt cold streak through him like a rapid freeze. "What do you mean?"

She smiled, thin lips pulled wide. "Minister Fudge had him clear out his desk today."

His interview had caused his father to lose his job? It took everything in him to keep his expression bland. He wouldn't give the monster the satisfaction of seeing how her news ripped into him.

She studied his face. "What -- no reaction? No filial guilt? I don't suppose I should be surprised. Anyone as conceited as you couldn't be concerned with the fate of others, could you?"

Cedric remained silent.

"Very well. Go to your rooms. You may pick up your gate card from me in the morning. I'll give you half an hour to take a bath before I arrive to seal you in."

And she swept out.

Face frozen, Cedric went to his suite as ordered, slamming the door behind him. Esiban -- still sluggish with winter -- came waddling out to sit up on his hind legs and chirp a question at Cedric, who'd collapsed on the sitting room sofa, head in hands. "I made him lose his job," he told the raccoon. "I made my father lose his job." Esiban took a few bounds until he was perched on the sofa back, nosing Cedric's hair. After a minute, Cedric reached up to gather the animal in his arms, burying his face in Esiban's stiff fur.

It was, in fact, forty-five minutes before anybody arrived to lock him in his room, and it wasn't Umbridge. There was a knock on his door and he turned from where he was seated at his desk, dressed in pyjamas by then. "Enter."

Dumbledore opened the door. Umbridge stood beyond him in the hallway, protesting. "Peace, Dolores. I'll be certain to seal his door when I leave. Thank you." And he shut it in her face.

Cedric stared, then started to reach for his crutches but Dumbledore waved him to keep his seat, folding his tall frame onto the sofa himself. Cedric turned his chair so he could face the Headmaster. "Tea?" Dumbledore asked, waving his wand so that tea appeared in the air before Cedric, who took it. "A good cup of Darjeeling is a balm to the soul."

Unsure what to say, Cedric sipped tea. Dumbledore's face had grown serious. "I gather Professor Umbridge has told you the news?" His own cup in hand, he bent forward, "I'd have preferred it to be myself, but be that as it may, Cedric, you must not blame yourself for your father's actions."

"But it wasn't his actions; it was mine. He lost his job because of me."

"No, he didn't, I assure you. Amos has always been one to stand by those he loves, whatever the consequences to himself -- and I'm quite sure Professor Umbridge didn't tell you the whole story. Would you like to hear it?"

Suddenly confused, Cedric cocked his head ever so slightly. "I suppose."

Dumbledore grinned; it looked surprisingly impish. "Well, as you may imagine, there was no little uproar when the March issue of The Quibbler was published yesterday with your and Harry's interview. First thing this morning, Minister Fudge issued an interoffice memo, demanding that no employees bring copies of the magazine into work, then called your father into his office to ask how he planned to discipline you.

"Your father replied he might consider buying you a foe-glass because -- and I quote -- 'he seems to have a number of enemies who used to be friends.' The Minister was not much amused." Although it was clear from the smile on the Headmaster's face that he was. "After lunch, Amos returned with a box full of copies of The Quibbler, then stood in the middle of the Ministry forecourt, handing out free copies. The Minister was amused even less by that, I fear."

Cedric had put a hand over his face, mostly to conceal the fact he was grinning. "He didn't."

"Oh, he most certainly did. So you see, Cedric, your actions did not result in your father's sacking. Amos chose to support your choices because he agrees with them, and is proud of your courage. Whatever you and I may think of his rather flamboyant demonstration" -- Dumbledore's lips were twitching -- "it was his action that brought about the loss of his job, not yours. He knew what the result would be. I understand that when the order came down for him to vacate his desk, he already had it all packed up."

Dumbledore stopped then and studied Cedric a moment. "Do you feel better?"

Cedric shook his head. "Not really. But I don't suppose I can criticize. I got myself gated again for more or less the same sort of defiance."

"There are lines in the sand, Mr. Diggory -- lines we must draw and beyond which we cannot allow ourselves to step with our honor intact. You believe in your Common Room and felt compelled to defend it, just as you felt compelled to speak the truth about what you saw in the graveyard last June. That is not being defiant. Being defiant is a two-year-old who doesn't want to go to bed when he's tired. Being resolute is standing one's ground even in the face of opposition. It's a man's virtue, not a toddler's vice." Dumbledore raised his teacup towards Cedric in a kind of salute. "And being resolute is one of Hufflepuff's most outstanding qualities, I do believe."

Dumbledore drained his tea and stood. "Well, I suppose I had best be going. Although two things before I leave. First, have you had any luck adding your name to the inside of the wardrobe?"

Startled, Cedric shook his head. Truth be told, he'd been so preoccupied, he'd forgotten all about it. "No, sir."

Dumbledore withdrew a rather sizable tome from a pocket somewhere in his robes. "That might contain a spell of interest to you then. And second" -- his face now turned grave -- "please look after Harry for me, should I be forced to depart. I trust that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would endeavor to do so as well, but you're a bit older and less rash -- yet not too old. I think Harry might come to you before he'd approach an adult."

Cedric nodded. "I'll do my best, sir."

On a Friday morning four days into Cedric's gating, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the door to Hermione's Arithmancy class. "Septima? So sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow Miss Granger?"

Professor Vector paused in her demonstration of a particularly tricky formula and nodded to the school nurse. "Of course, Poppy. Miss Granger, please be sure to get notes from a classmate."

"Yes, professor," Hermione replied, packing up book and parchment quickly, worried. These days, she could imagine only one reason Madam Pomfrey would want to see her. In the hallway outside, she looked up into the Healer's face. "Cedric?"

"He collapsed during History of Magic." Madam Pomfrey's face was drawn with concern. "I've had him taken to his room. I'd stay with him myself, but Professor McGonagall brought me a second year who somehow managed to turn his nose into a whistle." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or appalled. In any case, Cedric should have someone with him, but his condition is less critical."

"I'll be happy to sit with him." In fact, she'd be delighted however badly he was feeling. This second gating was, if possible, worse than the first and they'd barely had a chance to speak since Monday evening.

Pomfrey nodded. "Come with me."

She took Hermione up to Cedric's room only to find Professor Umbridge outside it. "Why was I not informed of Mr. Diggory's condition? And why is Miss Granger here?"

Madam Pomfrey straightened until she towered over Umbridge. "The Headmaster was informed," Madam Pomfrey replied. "I wasn't aware that seeing to the medical condition of a student required the involvement of the High Inquisitor."

"When that student is currently under my punishment, it does."

"A punishment that I consider to be directly responsible for his collapse!" Pomfrey snapped. "As you have been informed -- repeatedly -- Mr. Diggory's condition means that excessive stress aggravates the curse."

"Then perhaps he should consider behaving himself better and he might find himself in less stressful circumstances," Umbridge replied sweetly.

Madam Pomfrey appeared to swell with indignation. "Cedric Diggory is among the best-behaved, sweetest boys I've had the pleasure to know in the past decade, Professor Umbridge. And I see most of them at one point or another. Now, please stand aside so I can see to my patient, as I have another waiting in the infirmary."

But Umbridge didn't budge. "You didn't explain Miss Granger's presence."

"She's here to watch over Mr. Diggory while I attend to the other boy."

Umbridge's eyebrows climbed towards her hairline. "I can stay with Mr. Diggory."

"No, you cannot," Pomfrey snapped. "You don't know the first thing about Cedric's medical condition, his potions, or caring for him. Miss Granger does."

"Miss Granger --"

"Miss Granger is my choice to attend Cedric. Now as I said, I have another patient who needs my attention. Would you prefer that I inform that boy's parents that the High Inquisitor thought herself enough of a medical expert to interfere with the performance of my duties? I understand they're Muggles and might consider a lawsuit. Or perhaps you'd prefer to deal with Lucy Diggory?"

Positively seething at being stood up to, Umbridge glared while Hermione concealed amusement. There was nothing like a thwarted medical expert (nurse, doctor, dentist, or vet, for that matter) to inform one of exactly what kind of idiot one was being.

After another moment, Umbridge stood aside and Pomfrey swept into the suite with Hermione at her heels. Tucked into bed, Cedric was under so much medication, he appeared unconscious. Pomfrey set out a series of small bottles at his bedside. "This is more of the strong Abdoleo. Give him three ounces at" -- she checked her watch -- "half past five, no sooner. The Restituo can be given at the same time. I doubt he'll feel like eating, but if he does, he shouldn't consume milk products as the stronger Abdoleo tends to cause nausea when combined with lactose."

Hermione nodded, aware of that already. "There are an additional two bottles of the strong Abdoleo here," Pomprey said, "and his morning dose of Restituo. Send a parchment plane if you need me." With a last glance at Cedric, she let herself out.

Hermione sat down on the side of the bed as Esiban picked his way over to her, standing on his hind legs expectantly. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" Hermione asked the raccoon, then sighed and unlocked the bedside table drawer to remove some of the treats Cedric kept there, handing them over one at a time. Esiban took each, inspected, then ate it -- four treats in all. "Now go and lie down," Hermione told him. But instead of leaping off the bed to settle into his crate, he waddled to the foot of the bed, turned around a few times, then lay between Cedric's legs. Sighing again, Hermione scratched his ears the same as she might Crookshanks. "You don't want to leave him alone either, do you?"

Cedric remained unconscious for the rest of the afternoon, and she could barely wake him at half-past five to take his medication. Dobby personally delivered her dinner and it was a measure of her anxiety that it didn't even occur to her to ask why he was wearing a whole stack of her knitted hats on his head. She ate at Cedric's bedside and when it came time for evening rounds, Peter showed up with a bag of personal effects to take the night shift.

Hermione showed him the medicines and related the instructions Madam Pomfrey had given. When she returned in the morning, she found Peter passed out on the sofa and a pile of towels in a corner for the house-elves to clear away, smelling strongly of sickness. "We had a bad night," Peter told her. "He was up four times -- threw up three of them. He's in so much pain, it's making him sick to his stomach and he can't keep down solid food of any kind. We tried water and broth this morning. So far, so good on that. I gave him more Abdoleo about an hour ago so he's out again. Next dose at noon."

"Go and sleep," Hermione told him. Fortunately, it was a Saturday. Levitating a comfortable chair into the bedroom, she settled down with a book. She had a feeling it would be a long day.

Cedric remained incapacitated until Sunday afternoon -- the longest attack he'd suffered yet -- and by the time he did rise, he was weak and shaky from lack of food as much as from pain. Although still gated until Tuesday morning, he stubbornly returned to lessons Monday and his teachers took extra care with him. He appeared rather fragile, and bowed again from the isolation. For all that he required a certain amount of personal privacy for his peace of mind and could happily go a whole day or more by himself, Hermione had noticed that he began to wilt if left alone too long. He wasn't made to be a hermit.

On Tuesday morning, The Daily Prophet arrived with a special editorial:

Dumbledore: Digg-ing
Head Boy's Grave?

Last autumn, we ran a story about the tragic aftermath of Triwizard Champion Cedric Diggory's wounding in which we asked if Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had saddled Diggory with more than he could bear by appointing him Head Boy. 'It seems cruel to place someone so chronically ill and dependent on medication in a position of such high stress and responsibility.'

That concern seems almost prophetic after Diggory's latest episode. The Head Boy's class attendance has been plagued all year by absences for 'medical reasons.' In December alone, he suffered three such. Now, not only are they increasing in frequency, but also in duration. Last Friday morning, Diggory collapsed during class and was rushed to his room, where he spent all weekend secluded. Although he was back in classes on Monday, several schoolmates have commented on his frail appearance. "These days, you'd never know he was a Triwizard Champion," said Daphne Greengrass, of Slytherin. Even his own Housemates are growing concerned. "He's like a shadow of himself," said Hufflepuff prefect Hannah Abbott. "The stress is terrible for him." Was it just such terrible stress that led Diggory to cheat in the school's Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match in early December? "Teens don't like disappointing their peers and mentors," said well-known Mind Healer Esther Rosier, author of Managing Magical Teens: a guide for parents. "It shouldn't surprise us that Cedric would do anything to please and impress those he believes look up to him. The expectations placed on a Head Boy are exceptionally high, even for a healthy person."

In fact, former Head Boy (1993-94) and current staff in the Minister of Magic's office, Percy Weasley told Prophet reporters, "It's just not possible to perform the duties [of Head Boy] if you're chronically ill. I've been dubious about this appointment ever since it was announced. It seems to be more evidence of Dumbledore's break with reality that he'd put someone in charge who's drug-dependent just because he supports Dumbledore's wild claims about You Know Who's so-called 'return.'" Indeed, a Ministry official with close ties to the 155-year-old Headmaster has remarked on his failing condition. "He was the one wizard You Know Who truly feared, but he's getting old. I'm not sure he's ready to admit his own limitations. Maybe he's not willing to see Mr. Diggory's either." Auror Franklin Williams was more blunt, "The old coot's gone senile."

Diggory, of course, recently participated with Harry Potter in an interview conducted by former Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter, whose reputation for integrity and journalistic standards rivals that of her present employer, The Quibbler, where the interview was printed.

Shouldn't we spare this fragile youth -- once Britain's Triwizard Champion but who now finds getting out of bed to be a significant accomplishment -- any more suffering at the hands of a headmaster who clearly cares little for his students and still less for the school he directs? Diggory's increasing inability to attend his classes (or even to stay upright) makes it time to call for a new Head Boy at Hogwarts before this one winds up in a coffin, not just a wheelchair.

"Cedric, they took me completely out of context!" Hannah cried, hurrying over after the morning post arrived. "They told me they were doing an article about what you're being put through! We're worried about you, but the last thing we want is for anybody to take your place!"

Cedric waved a hand and pulled her down to kiss the crown of her head. "I know you didn't mean it like they made it sound."

Although privately, Hermione thought Hannah should have shown better sense than to talk to anybody from The Prophet about Cedric. Hannah wasn't the fastest broom in the shed.

The next day, Hermione paused to look at Lucy Diggory's painting in the Entrance Hall. She did this every day, in fact, tracking the small changes. But today, the god had appeared at last.

Dappled, spindly-legged and shy, he stood beside his mother -- the doe Hemione and Cedric had seen before the holidays -- and he was adorable . . . absolutely, completely adorable: a sentiment echoed by every female student (and a few of the boys) who passed through the hall. In this form, neither human nor adult, he seemed fragile and innocent, and reminded her a little of paintings she'd seen of the Christ child. Yet a shadow always lay over both figures, born of a knowledge of what their futures held.

In the case of the fawn, it was quite literal. Poised beside his mother, he stood in partial shadow, a dim penumbra. But when Hermione stopped before the painting, the fawn took three steps forward until morning sunlight caught the irises of his great, sad deer eyes.

They were gray.


Notes: Ridesandruns (a newspaper editor in RL) aided me in penning the editorial. A small matter of consistency -- in the book when Umbridge discovers Harry's interview, she not only takes points from him, but gives him detention again. Yet that same night, Harry is in the Gryffindor common room, and never seems to serve the detention later, either. Ergo, I simply left it out altogether. Cedric winds up in enough trouble without it. The actress used for the image of Umbridge is, in fact, the actress cast to play her in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.