Hermione had one chance to reach Gryffindor Tower before Filch and Umbridge without trying to pass them on the stairs -- Cedric's lift. Racing for the alcove not far from Cedric's room, she found the lift already on that floor as Cedric had used it earlier in the evening. The door opened immediately to her muttered password and she climbed in. It shot up to the seventh floor, where she dashed out towards the base of Gryffindor tower. She could hear Umbridge's high voice somewhere in the distance . . . and below her on the stairs.

Skidding to a halt in front of the portrait hole, she yanked off the cloak and said, "Wake up! Flibberty-gibbet!"

The Fat Lady yawned and grumped and eyed her with great suspicion. "You're out and about after curfew again, I see." But she opened without further protest for Hermione to duck inside.

Fortunately, the common room was as empty now as it had been when she'd left and she scurried through it and up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Her roommates were all still asleep and she ripped off the invisibility cloak, shoving it and the map into the depths of her trunk . . . along with her (wet) bikini. She'd fish it out later. Then she dived into her bed, kicked the clothes in it over the far side, rolled onto her tummy and pretended to be asleep.

She didn't have long to wait. Perhaps five minutes later, she could hear noise in the common room below and a heavy tread on the stairs -- then the voices of two women. One was Umbridge, but the other was Professor McGonagall, and perhaps that was why Hermione had managed to make it back with a bit of time to spare. Umbridge had gone after McGonagall.

"This is absurd, Dolores," McGonagall was saying. "How dare you make such ridiculous accusations against one of my best students!"

"I have it on good authority --"

"Good authority in the word of a temperamental teenage ghost?"

Then the door to their dormitory was being opened and the light of two wands stabbed through the darkness. "Hermione Granger!" Professor Umbridge called out in her high, wavering voice.

Hermione sat up in her bed, a hand over her eyes to ward off the glare. "Yes?"

Hermione heard McGonagall sniff. "There, you see? She's exactly where she ought to be."

"She is now," Umbridge said. "Miss Granger! Get up please!"

Hermione crawled out of bed, hand still raised against the brightness. Her roommates were awake now too, peering out between the curtains around their beds. "What's going on?" Lavender asked.

"Has Miss Granger been here all night?" Umbridge demanded.

"She was already asleep when we came to bed," Parvati said.

"You're certain of that?"

Parvati frowned. Even if she wasn't close to Hermione, Umbridge had earned her and Lavender's permanent enmity for firing Trelawney. "Absolutely," Parvati said now.

"There," McGonagall said, "you see? I'm deeply offended, Dolores, and I believe you owe Miss Granger and Mr. Diggory both an apology."

Lavender's eyes widened. "What are they being accused of?"

"Something they didn't do, so never you mind, Miss Brown," McGonagall rebuked.

But Umbridge had raised an eyebrow. 'Why is your hair wet, Miss Granger?"

And oh, heavens . . . Hermione had forgotten about that. Lavender, Parvati and even Professor McGonagall were all peering at her now, as if just noticing. "I took a shower before bedtime," Hermione replied.

"And it's still wet?"

"I have very thick hair, professor. That's why I tend to wash it at night. It takes several hours to dry." And that was true enough, but McGonagall was no longer looking quite so certain . . . and Umbridge obviously wasn't buying the explanation.

She turned to the other two girls. "You're quite sure Miss Granger has been in here all night?"

Stubborn, Lavender's chin came up. "We're as sure as we can be," she replied. "I'm a light sleeper, professor. I'd have heard her leave if she did."

Hermione resisted laughing. Lavender would sleep through a battle with Death Eaters. But it left Umbridge with no grounds for an objection, and they'd begun to draw a crowd in any case. Girls from other rooms had woken at all the noise and wandered out to crowd behind Umbridge and McGonagall in the doorway. Aware that she was surrounded by hostile Gryffindors, Umbridge sniffed a final time and said, "All right. I can't prove you were in the prefects' bath tonight with Mr. Diggory, but I'm not satisfied -- and be sure I'll be watching you from now on, Miss Granger."

She swept down the stairs. McGonagall waited a moment, her eyes meeting Hermione's, then she followed Umbridge without another word, the bobbing light of her wand marking her progress down the steps. When both women were gone, Angelina Johnson ignited her own wand and burst out laughing. "Bloody hell, Hermione! You took a bath with Diggory? And got away with it?"

Hermione flushed tomato red. "I did not!" Back-peddling was instinctive. "I have no idea what that woman was on about, but she hates us both."

"Yeah, right," Katie said. "You do have wet hair."

"I took a shower!"

"And it's still that wet? Please."

The knot of girls at the door loosened as they returned to bed, whispering and giggling. Lavender and Parvati continued to stare at Hermione, and Ginny remained in the doorway a moment, then spun on her heel and left without comment.

"I've been asleep," Hermione said to the dark, her voice angry.

Parvati huffed and Hermione heard Lavender flop back in her bed. Hermione lay down too, her body weak from adrenaline. Gossip would be all over the castle by tomorrow. Umbridge might lack enough conclusive evidence to punish them, but the circumstantial evidence was all the students would need to concoct their own version of events.

Cedric barely slept.

When Flitwick returned to escort him back into his room, the little man said, "Professor Umbridge and Mr. Filch are on their way to Gryffindor Tower to check on Miss Granger." He paused to watch Cedric's face and Cedric was forced to lower it, pretending to adjust his crutch lest Flitwick see the fear in his eyes. "Professor Umbridge wanted me to Seal you in here until morning -- but quite honestly, I don't want to get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to Unseal you, so your word that you'll stay put will be good enough, Mr. Diggory."

"Of course," Cedric managed to choke out. "I'm going back to bed."

Flitwick nodded and headed out, pausing before closing the sitting room door. "I reckon you'll hear something within half an hour if there are any further problems. Sleep well, Cedric."

Cedric released Esiban -- who scolded him for a full minute -- and waited on the sofa in the sitting room, hands clenched, unable to do anything, even assemble coherent thoughts. The big grandfather clock in one corner ticked off minutes until half an hour had come and gone but he still couldn't relax, nor could he sleep even when he went back to bed. He tossed and turned, wondering what had happened in Gryffindor Tower, but didn't dare leave his room. First, he had no invisibility cloak and the noise of his passage made it impossible for him to sneak around anyway. Second, he'd given Flitwick his word, and if that wouldn't have stopped him had he been able to do something, there was nothing he could do about this.

Sometime a little before six, he dozed off and didn't wake again until there was a firm knock on his door. Bleary eyed, he sat up and started to call, "Come in," but thought better of it. Grabbing his crutches, he got to his feet and went to answer the door.

Peter, Ed and Scott all stood on the other side, looking exceedingly concerned. "What the bleedin' hell went on last night?" Peter demanded, pushing his way into the sitting room. Cedric moved aside to let them troop past before Scott shut the door. "The castle grapevine is going nuts about you and Granger getting caught in the prefects' bathroom but I can't believe you'd be that stupid, Ced."

Leaning on one crutch, Cedric rubbed his face with a hand. Splendid. "We weren't caught," he told them, debating whether to lie but what was the point? "We were almost caught." The faces of the other three ranged from Peter's astonishment to Scott's amusement. "Umbridge dragged Flitwick up here and stormed into the bathroom, but we were warned in time. Hermione got out. Umbridge has nothing on us." He started to add that Flitwick had guessed the truth but didn't. "That is not to leave this room, understand? Not even to anybody in the Sett. I trust you lot, but if it goes too far, it could end up in the wrong ears. Not to mention it's rather damning for Hermione's reputation."

Scott snorted. "I think it's a bit late to worry about that, mate. Maybe Umbridge has nothing on you, but about half the castle's speculating as to just what went on in there."

"Merlin!" Cedric snarled, colossally annoyed. "We didn't do anything!" At their completely disbelieving expressions, he added, "Well, we weren't doing that," although he didn't plan to tell them what he and Hermione had been doing. "And even if we were, it's not anybody's business!"

Now they were all looking at him like he was daft. "Ced," Peter told him, "you're Head Boy and Triwizard Champ -- prime gossip fodder. It may not be their business, but they're going to talk."

"It's not necessarily bad talk either, you know," Scott added. "Most of them seem a bit impressed you two pulled that off right under Umbridge's nose. In fact, the reason only half the castle thinks you were doing something is because the other half can't believe you'd have got away with it. We're not even sure how you did it."

And that was clearly a sideways request for information. Cedric wasn't about to tell them of Harry's cloak, so he said only, "The map." They knew about the Maurader's Map from D.A. meetings.

"Ah," Ed said and Peter added, "Bloody brilliant bit of magic, that."

"Well anyway," Scott went on, "I think you're more likely to get congratulated than condemned."

"Except for the twins," Ed said, as if reminding the other two.

"Oh, yeah -- there is that," Peter agreed. "I'd stay away from the Weasleys for a few days. Last I heard they were plotting to castrate you. Without a Dulling spell."

"Fucking hell!" Cedric replied. That was all he needed, Hermione's friends deciding to be overprotective. "Harry too?"

"No, actually," Peter said. "When we saw them out in the courtyard earlier, Hermione was yelling at Fred and George, and Harry seemed to be on her side, though he looked a bit uncertain about it. Sort of funny, actually. And that klutzy Gryffindor was with them, the one Sprout likes, watching it all like a Quidditch match, yeah?"

Another knock on the door made them pause; Ed -- who was closest -- opened it. Hermione stomped in, face thunderous. "I . . . think we'll be going now," Scott said, getting up from the chair he'd occupied and herding Ed and Peter in front of him. "I'm leaving the door a bit open, understand?"

"Yeah," Cedric called back. After the night before, he and Hermione had best not be found alone together behind a closed door. He cast Muffliato as she stalked over to him; at first he feared she was angry with him but when she pressed her face against his chest, he realized she was just angry and shifted his weight so he could put an arm around her. "What happened after you left the bathroom?" he asked, whispering despite the spell.

"I dressed and waited in here, like you said. Umbridge came in to search, but she didn't just look for me, Ced. She went through your stuff. Flitwick stopped her before she could take anything. She did find your journal but she couldn't open it."

Mouth dropping in shock, he glanced behind him at the big teak desk, spotting his journal still there on top and breathing out in relief. "It doesn't have anything in it about the Order, or Harry's thing," he said softly. "I wouldn't write that down anywhere."

She nodded. "Still, she might try to come back for it."

"I'll hide it or keep it with me," he promised. "What happened after that?"

"She and Filch headed for Gryffindor Tower, but they stopped to get Professor McGonagall on the way. I took the lift and got there first."

"Clever girl."

"It was a close thing. And my hair was wet. I forgot my hair was wet. I told them it was from a shower, and it dries slowly. They couldn't prove otherwise, but I don't think even McGonagall really believed that. Certainly most of the girls didn't." Her face twisted into prim annoyance. "Ron, Fred and George are acting like I'm their sister and you've offended my honor. If they don't lay off, I'm going to hex all three of them!"

"Peter warned me I should stay away from them for a while. What about Harry?" Whatever Peter had said, Cedric worried. Maintaining Harry's good opinion was more important to him.

"Harry's upset, but he knows that coming here last night was my idea. He reminded Ron that I'm older than both of them and it's not like we just started seeing each other. Harry's the one who had Dobby keeping an eye out. He told me this morning."

"That explains the elf. Thank him for me."

"How did Umbridge know, though? Did she tell you?"

Cedric frowned. "Apparently Moaning Myrtle spied on us. I didn't think she ever left that girls' bathroom."

"Of course!" Hermione closed her eyes and huffed out. "I am such a idiot! Harry mentioned her last year when he took the egg in there!"

"He knew she went to the prefects' bathroom and didn't say anything to anybody?"

"Don't blame him, Cedric -- he was preoccupied with the Tournament. And I should have remembered, but I haven't seen her all year. So I completely forgot about it. I'm not sure how often she really does go there."

"The castle ghosts are forbidden certain places on purpose," Cedric told her. "Student dormitories and teacher's chambers, cross-gender bathrooms --"

"I know. And Peeves aside, mostly I don't think they want to peek, but Myrtle was only thirteen or fourteen when she died. I suppose she's, well, curious."

"Great. So she spied on us, then went running to Umbridge. Umbridge implied she's done some other spying for her too."

"At least it explains how Umbridge knew. And now that the cat's out of the bag, I expect Dumbledore will put a stop to her sneaking around."

"I hope Flitwick tells him. I'm none too keen on dead girls watching me while I'm having a pee."

She laughed. "Be that as it may, the Room of Requirement is still safe."

"No, Granger, it's not." He frowned down at her. He'd thought quite a lot about this during the night. "We're not going to do anything like last night again -- "

"Cedric!"

" -- it's too dangerous. Umbridge will be waiting for us to screw up."

Her dark eyes were sly. "And you think we'll really be able to keep our hands off each other?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, we're going to because we have to. It won't happen again because I won't let it. You're too important to me to risk getting you into trouble just because I'm feeling randy."

Her expression had gone from slightly amused to wide-eyed and serious. "We can be careful -- "

"Like last night?"

"That was different." She colored. "And my fault. I should have remembered Myrtle. And it was my idea in the first place."

"I didn't exactly object."

"No, but still." She paused, then looked up at him, her face frustrated. "All right, I'll admit you have a point. At least for now, we'll be good. Maybe later . . . "

"Maybe later," he agreed, then glanced towards the open door. "We should go. We shouldn't both be missing from public areas for any length of time. I'm not giving Umbridge -- or anyone else -- reason to suspect us."

So they went downstairs. It was already late morning, and Cedric was very conscious of the stares and giggles. A few people -- mostly male -- had the temerity to give him a covert thumbs up, which annoyed him until he realized it had less to do with assumptions that he'd had sex with Hermione than approval of the fact the two of them had successfully confounded Umbridge (whatever they'd actually done in the bath). It put heart back into students who'd lost it when Umbridge had closed the Common Room. Madam Toad could be outwitted.

Yet Umbridge glared at them through narrow eyes whenever she saw them. Clearly all the gossip had made her that much more bound and determined to win their next engagement, whatever it turned out to be.

Hermione handled the whispers with both more and less grace than Cedric. The year before, she'd faced gossip about her romantic entanglements and since being with Cedric, she knew the castle occupants speculated about what she and Cedric did in private. They hadn't, however, had any hard-and-fast evidence. Now they did, at least in their own minds.

She stared down questions from strangers and enemies with thin lips and crossed arms. "I don't intend to dignify that with a reply," she told them. But it was harder to face her friends. Harry knew generally what had happened, and Cedric had admitted that he'd told his three denmates. Ron knew via Harry, but what the twins believed was guesswork on their part. After their patronizing indignation, Hermione didn't intend to tell them a thing.

Ginny, however, was hurt. "I can't believe you told Harry and not me!" she snapped on Sunday morning. They were sitting on Hermione's bed.

"Harry only knew Cedric and I were going to the prefects' bathroom. He didn't know what we did, and didn't ask. I told him I had a swimsuit -- which I did. Good grief, it's private, Ginny. Do I ask what you've done with Michael?"

"Maybe I'd tell you if you did!"

"She doesn't ask because she don't care." It wasn't Ginny who said that. It was Lavender Brown, who'd lifted the curtain around Hermione's bed and leaned against one of the corner posts, trying to appear nonchalant. It startled both Ginny and Hermione, who hadn't realized anybody else was in the room. Hermione wondered how much Lavender had overheard. "That's why you have no real girlfriends, Hermione," Lavender went on. "I think half the reason you're so close to Ron and Harry is because they're too dim to realize you don't confide in them."

Lavender was shrewder than Hermione sometimes credited her, despite her tendency to giggle at unfortunate times and her confidence in divination. Nonetheless, Hermione felt driven to protest, "I confide in people! You're just sore because you defended me to Umbridge and now you think you have a right to know what I do with Cedric."

"Oh, it's not just Cedric. Did anybody know you were going to the ball with Viktor Krum?"

"I knew," Ginny said. "Hermione needed me to help with her hair."

"See?" Lavender asked. "You told Ginny about Viktor because you needed somebody to do your hair. And you told Harry you were sneaking into the prefects' bathroom only because you needed his help to do that" -- which confirmed that Lavender had overheard pretty much everything. "You're a user, Hermione, not a friend."

She sauntered away. Hermione looked to Ginny for understanding, but Ginny's face was troubled. "She has a point, you know. You might try confiding more. I understand why you don't sometimes, but we're not your enemies." And Ginny left too.

Hermione huddled on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees. She wasn't a user, and she did care about others. More than once, she'd risked everything for Harry and Ron, and she'd always kept Ginny's secrets. But it was true that she didn't usually offer any of her own unless caught out. She hadn't had friends growing up, nor siblings, so she'd never learned to confide in people her age. Doing so felt like an imposition. She was the strong one, the one who helped others, not the one who needed help. Her interior life remained her private domain, and her secrets were her secrets. But Lavender had a point when she said part of Ron and Harry's appeal was that they didn't ask her personal questions or realize how much she didn't tell them. If they got a bit upset when they realized she'd kept something from them, it wasn't serious and never lasted. She thought that, secretly, they were grateful not to have to worry about her.

The only person who asked and insisted she answer was Cedric -- and he sometimes failed to notice. Ginny almost always noticed and asked, but didn't push for an answer; she had other friends her own age and didn't need Hermione. Now Hermione realized that perhaps Ginny saw it the other way -- Hermione didn't want or need her. That wasn't strictly true. The truth was that Hermione feared needing anyone, even Cedric sometimes.

Yet as they were under siege again, Cedric barely left her side all that weekend, somewhat to her annoyance until Harry said, "He's afraid people will think he took advantage of you -- got what he wanted and now doesn't care. He also doesn't want anybody harassing you where he can't hear and defend you."

She stared, surprised Harry had been able to figure all that out given how clueless he usually was about such matters. "How do you know?"

He blushed. "Er, um, I overheard him talking to Peter."

"Ah," she said.

On Sunday night after Hermione returned from rounds, Angelina slipped into her dorm room, only to slam a pillowcase over her head, stopping her startled squeak in her throat by saying, "You're coming with us," and hauling her up from her bed with Quidditch-hardened muscles. Hermione was walked down a hall, up some stairs and into another room, which she assumed was a dormitory until Angelina pulled off the pillowcase. Then she found herself in a cupboard, or maybe a tower side-attic, lit by floating candles and a single lamp. Wrapped in red sheets and looking rather comically serious were Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Mary her fellow prefect, and another seventh year named Patricia Stimpson all standing in a semicircle around a small stone shelf where the lamp rested along with another item. Hermione stared at it for a moment. Surely that wasn't --

"Welcome to the Order of the Purple Dildo," Angelina intoned with mock solemnity.

Hermione nearly choked. "The . . . what?" She couldn't have heard that correctly.

"The Order of the Purple Dildo," Angelina repeated, and abruptly, the other girls all lost their ability to keep a straight face and burst out laughing.

Blinking, Hermione tried to make sense of what was going on. She'd been abducted from her room before bed to be brought here with two sixth years, three seventh years, death-by-red cloth, and a sex toy of questionable color? "What on earth is this about?" she asked -- a bit primly.

Struggling to calm themselves, the other five settled into hiccuping spurts and sighs. "The Order of the Purple Dildo is for Gryffindor girls who, er, know what the real one looks like," Katie explained.

"And not from a book," Alicia added.

"What makes you think I'd know that?" Hermione asked. "Don't tell me you believe every bit of gossip in the castle!"

The others just shook their heads and looked at her as Angelina turned to pick up the dildo -- which really was a frightening shade of grape -- then turned back to the group of girls. She elevated it the way a priest might elevate the cup during the consecration of the elements for communion, and Hermione supposed she ought to be disturbed by that comparison. "In order to be inducted," Angelina explained, "you must answer some questions -- oaths, really. Then you're a member and privy to Purple Dildo Secrets."

This was fast becoming just too peculiar, but Hermione knew public schools were awash with odd secret societies of one type or another, so she probably shouldn't be surprised. Nonetheless . . . "Why would I want to be in this order, pray tell?"

The other five grinned at her. "Information about boys and birth control -- why else? Plus members are sworn to help a sister in trouble." Angelina waggled eyebrows. "Yes, that sort of trouble. More to the point, we'd like to be sure it doesn't even come up. Our founder decided no girl from Gryffindor was going to dishonor the House due to ignorance, so she started this club in order to be certain anybody having sex knew how to protect herself, and also so that -- if something went wrong -- she'd have help to take care of the problem. That's what dues are for. They go into the till. It's not that much, but they add up. The till hasn't been dipped into since the 1970s." Angelina grinned. "Gryffindor girls are good with their spells."

It made a certain amount of sense, Hermione supposed. "How long has this 'order' existed?"

"Since the 1920s."

"And it's had a . . . purple . . . that" -- she waved her hand at it -- "since the beginning?"

"Well, not really, that's a bit more recent." Angelina laughed. "But it's always been called the Order of the Purple Dildo."

Before being told off by Lavender that morning, Hermione might have turned down the offer in priggish indignation. But Lavender's accusations still smarted, and while part of her wanted to deny that she had the requisite knowledge to belong, she recognized both the opportunity and value of it. "All right," she said. "As long as you're not going to ask me anything really private."

"Not beyond the necessary," Angelina said, as Alicia added, "Not before the wine anyway."

With a glare at her friend, Angelina intoned in a formal voice, "Step forward, initiate!" Hermione did as instructed and Angelina met her in the circle center. "First, the qualifying question. In the presence of your sisters, do you claim to have laid bare hands on a bare male member?"

Hermione coughed, but found herself admitting to what she hadn't intended to admit to. "Yes."

That won whoops and whistles from the others, and Alicia pumped her fist in the air. "Hermione nailed Diggory!" It wasn't quite the way Hermione would have expected that to be put, but she found she preferred it to the reverse.

"Ladies," Angelina admonished with mock hauteur. "Sister Hermione, please put a hand on the dildo to take your vows."

"What?" Hermione's face went scarlet and her mouth dropped open.

"Oh, don't be a prude. Grip it like when you bring him off." Hermione hesitated, then lifted her chin and reached up to grip the dildo as instructed. It felt . . . funny, like jelly rubber. The other girls giggled despite trying to remain serious.

"Do you promise to stand by your sisters in the Order?"

"Of course." She'd have done that anyway as a Gryffindor.

"Do you promise to keep the existence of the Order secret from anyone not inducted?"

"Yes, all right."

"Do you promise to keep secret any and all private information shared by your sisters, not using that information against them either for purposes of gossip or to get them into trouble with teachers?"

"Of course I wouldn't gossip about anybody!"

"Or tell on them?" Angelina pressed.

"Well, no, not that either. I'm not a sneak."

"Last, do you promise to alert the Order if you know of any other Gryffindor girls who might need us for their own safety and to preserve the honor of Gryffindor House?"

"I will."

"So be it! Katie?" Relieved, Hermione yanked her hand back from the purple dildo as Katie Bell stepped forward with a red sheet that she wrapped around Hermione's torso in something vaguely approximating a Roman matron's palla, or cloak. "And now, the all-important Anti-fertility Spell."

"Actually," Hermione admitted, "I already know it."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? Don't tell me -- you read it in a book!"

"No, I didn't. It was . . . taught to me."

"Surely not by Cedric?" Angelina asked, face somewhere between amused and astonished.

"No! Not by Cedric. By, um, Nymphadora Tonks."

"Oh! Tonks! Yeah, she's a member of the Order, too."

For a moment, Hermione was confused about which Order, and started -- then realized they meant this one . . . and found she wasn't really surprised. "Oh."

"Well," Angelina said, "just to be on the safe side, let's hear it -- make sure you've got it right. Too many girls think they've got it right and don't, then wind up in trouble. The main point of all this is to make sure everybody in Gryffindor knows how to protect herself."

So Hermione recited the spell, got nods of approval from the other girls, and Angelina broke out a carafe of red wine as Alicia Conjured goblets and Patricia floated them to each of the girls after Angelina had filled them.

What followed could only be called a rather silly drunken party, and Hermione had never been included in something like this, a group made up entirely of girls talking about girl things with a frankness that shocked her a bit. The wine and sympathetic company loosened tongues. They all wanted to know about Cedric, but were willing to tell things too. "What? He did that? Oh, a prince among men! Blokes don't do that very often. It took me forever to convince Todd ..." and "You can wrap your lips over the top of your teeth to keep them from dragging against him," and "Don't forget to kiss his nipples; boys have sensitive nipples too." Hermione no longer felt so adrift and confused, and received the kind of information one didn't find in books. It took friends and sisters and trust. They all went to bed well after midnight, and woke up a little hung over.

By the light of morning, and without the aid of alcohol, Hermione wondered if she'd done a wise thing the night before, telling the other girls so much. What if they did use it against her, despite their 'vows'? What if it had all been an elaborate ruse to get Hermione Granger to confess to immodest acts? And even if this wasn't a ruse, would she want Cedric to have told his mates some of what she'd told the others? Then again, given what she'd learned, he might be glad of it the next time they were alone together, and the other girls weren't supposed to tell anybody else.

As she descended to breakfast, she was joined by Mary and Katie on the stairs, who grinned at her but didn't say anything. All three of them ran into Pansy and her Slytherin entourage crossing the entrance hall. Pansy paused long enough to smirk and say, "From fetching his snacks on the train to washing his . . . back." She burst into giggles. "He's got you on your knees for him, doesn't he? Mouth open, I'm sure."

Hermione felt her face go white even as Katie and Mary moved in front of her. Mary the prefect said, "Continue with the nasty, unfounded accusations against a fellow prefect and I'll see that Violet hears about this, Parkinson."

Katie added, "And I'll be sure Professor Snape hears how you and Draco use his storage closet for unauthorized 'studying,' too. You've got no room to talk, you slag."

Pansy glared, but stalked off and Hermione smiled at them both. "Er, thanks." She still felt a little weak, affected more than she cared to admit by what Pansy had said.

"Anytime," Katie replied. "Sisters stick together."

"Purple power!" Mary agreed, patting her shoulder, but Hermione's mood remained dark as they turned for the Great Hall. A small crowd around Lucy Diggory's painting made them pause. As on the first morning it had appeared, the crowd parted to let Hermione through.

She looked up at it, and there in the glade, the young god had finally made his appearance in human form. His back to the viewer, a bush concealed his lower body but his naked shoulders could be seen, and the rear of his head with antlers crowning it. The glade was no longer sunlit. Shadows dappled it, and in the reeds beside the lake, a snake slithered, marked by a pattern of black bow-ties across dull-brown skin. It wasn't the same as the horned snake tattooed on the gods' chest. At the sound of rustling reeds, the god turned his head.

At first glance, it was Cedric's face -- the strong jaw, heavy brows, fine, straight nose and deep-set eyes. Yet it also wasn't. There was something a bit off about it, deliberately obscured. As he lifted his arms, Hermione could see that he was carrying a bow, which he aimed and fired. An arrow struck the ground near the snake, which slithered off and disappeared. With a quick glance around, the god strode away into the wood.

As promised, Cedric kept his hands off Hermione, at least to do anything that could be judged intimate. Frustrating, to be sure, but the only safe option at the moment, and the memory of being almost caught provided motivation. It was also, he supposed, practice for the year to come when she'd be back at Hogwarts and he wouldn't. He'd begun to think that far in advance and wondered which would prove worse -- to see her daily but be barred from more than hand-holding or a few kisses in the library stacks, or not to see her at all? One was constant temptation, the other constant deprivation. The only thing he had to look forward to was summer, and he wasn't so sure about that. Much would depend on what they were doing. Right now, it looked as if he'd be finding work as soon as possible.

It was early in a wet April that he received news from his mother that his father had finally found enough financial backing to open a full-time shelter for magical pets. Fortunately, his father wasn't starting from scratch and had invested time and money for years in remodeling the barn into kennels. Magical labor or not, it still required materials, and now he was modifying the carriage house to make an office and vet clinic, and seeking part-time help. Dumbledore had put him in touch with an old student who specialized in animal healing and might be willing to donate time, and Molly Weasley had volunteered to help with the paperwork.

Now that all her children are at school, it gives her something else to do in addition to her other volunteer work -- the Order, Cedric knew. Apparently Cedric's mother and Arthur Weasley were a bit bemused by the unlikely -- and fiery-tempered -- collaboration. His father and Mrs. Weasley argued as much as they agreed, but, She's really quite extraordinary at organization, his mother wrote. Then again, after organizing seven children, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

At the moment, no one was getting paid for anything, but his father hoped to offer modest wages in the future -- 'modest' being key. If he makes a third of what he made at the Ministry, I shall be very much surprised, his mother wrote. But it doesn't matter. He's finally doing what he's wanted to do for years, Cedric. He's happy. Yet Cedric thought it good his parents' standing bills were minimal, and he knew he'd be on his own as soon as he finished school. Thus, it had become all the more important for him to do well at the private lessons with McGonagall and so he threw himself into study, determined to earn a license in Advanced Transfigurations, and Os in every NEWT he took. The Daily Prophet could imply what they wished about his mental state, but they couldn't argue with high marks. He was no drug-addled idiot, and he'd prove it.

Fortunately, Hermione understood. He neither needed to explain nor apologize for his study habits, and if he got tied up in the library, he could count on her to bring him dinner, and he did the same for her. Obsession with their studies provided them with an alternative to obsession with each other. Nor were they alone in anxiety about tests. The first Wednesday in April, Hannah Abbott was taken to hospital after having a minor breakdown in Herbology. Cedric gave her a pep talk later and scolded her for fretting, although he knew it a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Even those used to his academic preoccupations began to worry about him.

Peter showed up in the library on Sunday. Ed was driving the Hufflepuff Quidditch team in preparation for their match against Slytherin after Easter Holidays, Scott was --still -- pursuing Alicia Spinnet, who'd proved quite elusive (which Cedric privately thought Scott loved), and Hermione was off for the moment, helping Harry and Ron, and leaving Cedric alone so he could concentrate. Plopping down across from him, Peter waited for Cedric to find a stopping place in his reading and look up. "What?" Cedric asked crossly.

"You need a good shag," Peter said without preamble.

"What?"

"You heard me. You've turned into an absolute terror. Your patience is non-existent, your temper's on the shortest trigger I've ever seen it, and even your one-girl cheering section -- Rose Zeller -- is afraid of you these days."

That got Cedric's attention. Rose was scared of him? "I haven't said anything harsh to Rose!"

"Doesn't matter. She's seen you yell at other people." Peter grinned. "I think she thinks you walk on water, you know?"

"Wrong religion," Cedric replied. "Maybe part the Red Sea."

"Whatever. You're a walking nightmare, Ced. You're worse right now than you ever were at any point during the Tournament last year. Do us all a favor and get your leg over."

Cedric glared. "Not with Umbridge watching my every move."

"We'll run some interference, all right! You. Hermione. Tomorrow night."

"Harry called a D.A. meeting."

"All right, whatever. Tuesday then."

Cedric shook his head. "Not going to happen, Adamson."

"Then we'll have to kidnap the two of you and lock you in together, Diggory."

"Get lost and let me finish my reading." Cedric turned back to his book and ignored Peter until his friend gave up and left.

Monday night's D.A. meeting focused on Conjuring a Patronus. Harry had introduced the idea at the previous lesson and tonight they worked on applying it.

Cedric couldn't do it -- which baffled his denmates and Harry both. "You can Transfigure yourself, but not call a Patronus?" Scott asked. Naturally, he'd been the first in their year to produce one, beating even Angelina and the twins. Scott had shown an uncanny talent for Dark Arts.

"You should seriously consider becoming an auror," Harry had told him.

"Not sure I'll pass the Potions NEWT," Scott had said.

"Still -- you should apply," Harry'd repeated. "You're good at this."

Cedric, by contrast, wasn't. Hermione could Conjure a Patronus, and even Cho could do it, producing a lovely swan. Yet after more than half an hour of working at it, the most Cedric could call was a misty, silvery fog -- nothing corporeal at all. He wanted to throw his wand across the room in frustration. "Totally useless!" he snarled.

Hands on hips, Hermione glared over at him. Her silver otter played around her feet. "You're far from useless, and it's in your head, Cedric. You could do this easily. You've just convinced yourself you can't."

"Doesn't matter why if I can't do it, does it?"

"Of course it matters if you intend to sort it out!" She harrumphed and turned away. "You're so grumpy lately. You need a happy thought."

He was kept from a sarcastic reply by an opening door, and glanced over; people didn't usually come and go during lessons. He saw no one, but students near the door had fallen quiet, and Harry was approaching them. Finally the crowd parted enough for Cedric to see, even as he felt Hermione grip his right shoulder. It turned out to be the house-elf who'd warned them of Umbridge, the one with all the hats. "Hi, Dobby," Harry was saying. "What are you . . . what's wrong?"

"Harry Potter, sir . . . Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been ordered not to tell . . . "

Cedric rolled his chair a little closer as the elf flung himself head-first into the wall. Harry reached out to stop him even as his plethora of hats cushioned his skull. Cedric recognized immediately what was going on. "Dobby, you're free," he said as the elf turned to look at him. "You're not under any compulsion to obey a master."

With a glance of thanks, Harry asked, "What's happened, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . . " But he hit himself again -- hard. It made several students wince.

"Stop!" Cedric snapped, growing increasingly worried. "Tell Harry what's happened -- quickly."

Dobby was looking at Cedric as if just recognizing something. "Your mother --"

And Cedric understood. Maybe it would make a difference. "-- is Lucretia, yes. Answer Harry's question, I command you."

At that, Dobby appeared relieved and sighed, and Cedric marveled at how powerful the old binding spells were if a counter-order from the son of a former mistress from a House he'd been freed of three years before could still overwhelm a direct order from his current employer. "Umbridge," Dobby squeaked.

"What about her?" Harry asked, "She hasn't found out about this . . . about the D.A. . . . " but he trailed off as Dobby -- eyes on Cedric -- began nodding frantically.

Turning to the rest, Harry bellowed, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? RUN!"

They ran.

Cedric didn't. For him, it was hopeless. Even in the chair, he couldn't possibly get away.

A few of the others didn't run either. His denmates. Hermione. Harry, when he realized. But Cedric had grabbed Hermione by the wrist and shoved her towards the door. "Go!" he shouted. "All of you!" he looked at his friends.

"Cedric --" Harry began.

"Get out of here! You can't save me -- get out! I'll stall her."

"Cedric -- " Ed said this time.

"Go, dammit!"

They ran. Harry picked up Dobby on the way and Hermione glanced back over her shoulder at him, but she was too clever not to understand why she had to do as he said.

Facing the door, hands folded in his lap, he waited for the inevitable. Now that it had come, he felt strangely calm, almost fey. But several minutes passed and nothing happened. The door didn't open and Umbridge didn't appear. Because of the nature of the room, Cedric couldn't hear anything beyond, and so had no way of knowing what had transpired outside.

Waiting cracked his resolve, or perhaps it just gave him time to find perspective. He'd been willing to sacrifice himself if necessary, but what if it wasn't necessary? What if they'd all got away? And here he sat, just waiting for them to catch him? Nobility was all very well and good if it served a purpose, but he could just hear his mother's voice scolding him for being a very noble idiot. He glanced around, but found no real place to hide. "I wish I had Harry's invisibility cloak."

Rather to his surprise, as he turned his head from looking in the direction of the table with the sneakoscopes back towards the pile of pillows, he spotted gray, silvery material on top of a pillow. Surely that wasn't . . .

He wheeled closer. It was. An invisibility cloak. Bending to snatch it up, he unfolded it and flung it over himself and the chair, hoping it would cover the wheels all the way to the floor. Room of Requirement indeed.

Almost as soon as he had the cloak situated, the door finally opened. But it wasn't Umbridge. It was Pansy Parkinson with her bob cut and her frown and her upturned nose. "There's no one left in here, professor," Parkinson was saying. "But I'll see what I can find." She let the door close and Cedric held his breath as she circled the room. She paused by the table full of instruments but seemed to regard the pile of pillows as uninteresting, thankfully. On the way out, however, she spotted Hermione's list tacked up beside the door -- the one that all of them had signed. Cedric had forgotten all about it. "Dumbledore's Army?" she read, face astonished. Then grinning in triumph, she ripped it down. Cedric closed his eyes. So much for any hope that some of them would escape.

When Parkinson was gone, Cedric waited another five minutes under the cloak, wondering what to do next. With that list in Umbridge's possession, fleeing seemed pointless but he also wasn't inclined to go gentle into that good night. He still didn't dare exit the door, but if the room had created an invisibility cloak just for his wishing it, what about another door into a different room? "I need a second door." He waited, looking around, but nothing happened. Apparently the room had parameters. If only he had a window --

Well, why not try? "I need a window that opens on the exterior." The room might be too far inside . . . but no. The far end suddenly seemed to disappear into a long corridor and he wheeled over. It wasn't a corridor, precisely, but a deeply recessed window. And there was no way he could access it from the chair. He might not be able to access it at all, in fact, but necessity was the mother of invention, so he got out his crutches and collapsed the chair, pocketing it. Then with the help of a Conjured stool and good arm muscles, he pulled himself onto the ledge. "Next time," he muttered, "I'll ask for a floor-length version."

It took some minutes, but he managed to scoot himself to the end of the recess where he cranked the window open and peered out into night darkness. This was high. And he'd never before tried to Transform while falling. The thought of it was a bit nerve-wracking. But it might also prove to be easier. He wouldn't have to beat his wings so hard immediately in order to gain altitude.

"Here goes nothing." Gripping the crutches, he let himself fall over the edge, wind pulling at him --

-- and the Transformation took him. It had become almost instinctive by this point, as easy as breathing, and he wondered what he'd been worried about. This was, indeed, so very much easier, and he spread his wings as he caught an updraft. He was free.

Now what to do? He might be free, but he was also outside, and it was past curfew. He could try the courtyard; being inside the walls, it was marginally less likely to get him into trouble, but it would still raise questions.

This is moot, he thought to himself. Umbridge had Hermione's list. They'd all be on their way home by tomorrow morning. Briefly, he wondered if Fudge would really insist that everyone named on that list be expelled, but Fudge was fighting for his job right now. If saving it meant expelling 30-plus students, he would. More likely though, he'd expel those he considered 'ringleaders' (Harry and Cedric, at the very least) and let the rest go with severe punishments.

Cedric needed to find an open window, but that wasn't likely on a chilly April night. Sprout or McGonagall might recognize him and let him in, but it would mean confessing what they'd been up to. Then again, the teachers would know soon enough anyway and he doubted either would turn him over to Umbridge. He flew past their windows, but neither was in. He tried the Headmaster's Tower next, but quickly decided that would be a bad choice. It was full of people, and if he couldn't make out everyone, he spotted Fudge's distinctive bowler hat. That the Minister of Magic had come to Hogwarts boded very ill and he flew past a few more times trying to see who else was in there, trusting to the dark outside to conceal him. He was certain only of Dumbledore's tall form and Umbridge's squat one, but thought he might have seen a girl with curly hair and it froze his heart. Had they caught Hermione?

He had to get back inside the castle. He could use the owlery, since Dumbledore's ban on eagles didn't affect him, but he couldn't get down from it in human form. He decided to try Gryffindor Tower instead, hoping someone would recognize who he was and let him in.

It took almost ten minutes of flying back and forth, back and forth right next to one of the boys' lit dormitory windows before somebody -- Neville, it turned out -- finally opened it. "I think it's Cedric!" he called back inside even as Cedric dove through the opening to land in a Transformed heap on the dormitory floor. It had been a bit too much to hope he'd end standing.

Dean helped him up and onto a chair as Ron grabbed him, practically shaking him. "What happened to Harry?"

"You'd know better than me." Cedric couldn't help but look around himself in curiosity. He'd never been in the Gryffindor dormitories. They were . . . red. "I was going to ask you the same thing. The Minister of Magic is here. He's in Dumbledore's office."

"Fudge? How d'you know that?"

"I flew by the Headmaster's Tower, trying to find somewhere to get in. There's a crowd there, so I flew past a few times, trying to see more, but couldn't make out much."

"How'd you get out of the Room of Requirement anyway?" Seamus wanted to know.

"Told it to make a window so I could fly out."

"Clever," Dean said.

"Umbridge must have got Harry then," Ron said, his face white but his eyes furious. "And the Minister's here? Bloody hell."

"Who else got caught?" Cedric asked, biting his lip and thinking of the curly-haired girl. "Hermione?"

"No, she made it back to the Tower. Apart from Harry, I'm not sure," Ron replied. "Umbridge had her little pets hunting for us in bathrooms and the library, but I think everybody else got away."

"Maybe not. I saw a girl with curly hair in Dumbledore's office. Well, I think I did."

"Wonder who that was? And why'd you come in through here? What happened to the front door?"

"It's after curfew," Cedric reminded him.

"Oh, er, right."

"Can I get out of here without being spotted?"

"I'll see who's downstairs," Seamus volunteered, disappearing out the door. None of them spoke, and a minute later, Seamus was back. "About half the House is still in the common room. I don't think you can get out that way without being seen, mate."

"Great."

"Harry's cloak?" Ron suggested.

"I walk like an elephant, visible or not."

But Neville's expression had lightened. "Transform back into an eagle," he said. "We can put you in Hedwig's cage, cover it up and carry you down. No one'll know!"

"That's ruddy clever," Ron said, and Cedric had to agree, except for one problem.

"I won't fit in Hedwig's cage. I'm twice her size . . . " He trailed off then, turning to the cage and pulling his wand. "But maybe we can fix the size problem. Engorgio!" The cage obediently expanded. "It's going to be a bit awkward to carry."

"I'll manage," Ron said, and glanced at Neville. "You'd better let me do it. Like he said, it's now after curfew, but I'm a prefect."

So Cedric Transformed and Ron opened the cage door, slipping him inside. Since he couldn't perch, he had to lie awkwardly on the bottom, and was glad Harry had cleaned it. Ron threw a blanket over the top and hauled him out. Fortunately, the evening's excitement had students speculating on that rather than paying attention to Ron carrying an oversized bird cage. Inside, Cedric couldn't see, but he could hear, and was aware when Ron was stopped by Hermione. "What have you got?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Cedric," Ron muttered back.

"What?"

"Shhh. Come with me and I'll explain."

They exited the common room and in the hall outside, Ron set the cage down and pulled off the blanket. "Cedric!" Hermione cried, kneeling to open the door and lift him free where he could Transform, whereupon she promptly strangled him with a hug. "I was so worried! Umbridge caught Harry and I was just certain she had you too."

"I'm fine," he hugged her back then let her go. Ron was shuffling his feet, looking embarrassed. "I managed to get the room to make a window for me. But" -- glanced from her to Ron -- "Pansy Parkinson came in there to search and found your list -- the one we all signed."

Hermione's hands covered her mouth and Ron turned white. "We're dead," he muttered, then glared at Hermione. "Why'd you make us all sign that stupid piece of paper anyway?"

"That 'stupid piece of paper' had a jinx on it," Cedric told him, glancing at Hermione. "We'll know who ratted." She nodded.

"Oh," Ron said. "But still. We're dead if Umbridge has it."

Hermione looked near tears, hugging herself. "I'm so sorry. I didn't expect her to be able to find it with it being in the Room. How'd Pansy get in there?"

"She just 'needed' to," Cedric told her. "The room doesn't play favorites. And don't blame yourself. If I'd been thinking, I'd have snatched it down and Vanished it." He kissed the top of her head. "We'll just take it as it comes, yeah? No use crying over spilt milk."

"This is a little more than spilt milk! They're going to expel us, Cedric!"

"And fretting will change that?"

"Mum's gonna kill me," Ron moaned. "She ordered me not to do these lessons."

They might have said more, but heard footsteps coming up the stairs and looked over the banister to see who it was: McGonagall, escorting Harry. Both appeared a bit shell-shocked, and Hermione ran to embrace Harry when they'd reached the seventh-floor landing. "What happened? Cedric said Umbridge has the list!"

"She did -- does." He stared at her. "He took the blame, Hermione. He took it so we didn't have to." Then he looked past her to Cedric and Ron. "We're not being expelled. But Dumbledore's gone."


Notes: Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" was published in the 1950s and if Cedric didn't know Emily Brontë, it's arguable he'd know Dylan Thomas. But I'm going to defend quoting it by saying Cedric is a poet and reads more Muggle poetry than Muggle fiction. (g)