A/N Posting without a second reader due to time constraints, so sorry if anything makes you go wtf? JK Rowling made Harry wear glasses, I made Ron a better person, on the inside, lolz.
Hermione unfolded the note delivered by owl at breakfast. The red wax seal was indented with the familiar open hand and lightening bolt. She slipped a thumbnail underneath it and unfolded the missive, her tread slowing as she multitasked.
She read Olivanders reply avidly. She skipped over his polite reply to the enquiry after his health and also the reply to her request for an second internment in the summer holidays, noting only that he had said yes subject to certain conditions and moved on to the more important contents.
Apparently Professor McGonagall was quite correct in testing the compatibility of her peers wands in order for her to work successfully in tandem with them. He himself recommended a native hardwood wand as a suitable match and something other than dragon heartstring as the core to prevent scorching. He also made the point that the human partner should be both steadfast and strong willed to prevent mishaps. She made a gagging noise and impatiently pushed her hair out of her eyes. Is that what the room of requirement had been? A mishap?
Your wand is an particularly unusual Vine, I am at a loss to confess that even the Guild do not know its entire capability. Ordinarily Vine wands are sought after as partners, more than partners, but you have years ahead of you before you need worry. It would be helpful if you were to document the Vines progress as a study, perhaps even grounds for a thesis, if you chose to advance your desires for an apprenticeship. – see below.
She heaved in a breath and let it out slowly, tracing a finger under the précis of each that he gave.
Annulus attraction
Annulus (n) – little ring. Attraction (v) – drawn to.
Rare form of wand inter-bonding observed only with wholly vine based wands. Tendril separation during intense situations of a magical or emotional nature may result in the tendril adhering to a partner wand.
The tendril will adhere to the host, typically in a ring formation which will close after a period of time defined by the nature of the originating event and treatment of the resulting ring. The annulus has the benefit of further concentrating and controlling ability and force through the host wand, which is then considered 'bound'. A bound wand owner is capable of greater feats than would normally be expected from wands of a similar core, substrate and owners ability, including but not limited to those of a sexual nature. Vine wielders are rare and much sought after as a result of this unusual effect. The two wands, donor and bound, share a common aura such that one may always be found by the other.
Removal: Undesired rings may be removed in its early stages, although depending on the attraction element, there may be some damage to the host. Partial rings may be removed by an experienced practitioner, (see also girdling) but some loss of ability should be anticipated. In the event that the ring is fully formed, (see also developmental attraction) the removal is strongly disadvised since the effect on the host of will be crippling (see also ringing). Bridges have been found to be efficacious in these circumstances, in returning some ability to the wand by by-passing the afflicted area.
"Concentrating force, enhanced performance," she muttered in disgust, refolding the parchment along its crease lines and seeing herself as Cedric might have – as a leg up that turned into a leg over. "Common aura though," she said to herself thoughtfully, then dismissed the idea of a dish best served cold.
0.0
Hermione found a seat quickly in the stands banking the arena. Ginny settled in beside her and gripped Hermiones hand nearest to her.
"He'll be ok," Hermione reassured. "Honestly Gin, he'll make it." She hoped she sounded more confident on the outside than it sounded from the inside. Ginny gave her hand a squeeze. Luna seated herself behind them and Hermione half turned so that they could talk quietly.
"Have you seen Kazym today? Have they seen anything about an outcome?"
Luna shook her head, her bright pink cheeks set off by the Gryffindor colours. She carefully crossed her legs, "not Kazym. Firenze said something about five facing fire. Did I miss something – there are still only four in the Tournament?"
Hermione nodded in confirmation, "four, only four."
"Mind out, coming through," Rons voice broke on the last syllable and he hawked and swallowed. Without bothering to wait for a path to clear, he trampled toes indiscriminately until he stopped right in front of Hermione, grabbing on to the seats in front as he lost his balance. She caught at his pants and half pushed, half pulled him so that he dropped into the seat beside her.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed, then wrinkled her noise when she caught a whiff of him. "Dutch courage? Seriously? You're not even in the ring." He gave her look that he hoped spoke volumes, because experiencing puberty for the second time sucked donkey balls and that included not knowing what octave your voice was going to be when it came out.
She spared him a dirty look, "if you've fed Harry any of that stuff-." It was the rolling eyes that did it, he never even had to say a word to wind her up. She dragged his sleeve up so his pale, freckled forearm was exposed and expressed her irritation in the form of a chinese burn. Rons mouth dropped open in a silent surprise. It might have looked like 'ow,' it felt like a dull smarting rather than the full on friction burn, the full effect was delayed by about thirty seconds. She wasn't sure why she rubbed it soothingly when she had finished, it had never occurred to her to do so before.
He still let her take his hand when Cedric stepped into the arena, changing the grip so that the back of his hand rested on his knee and her fingers could slip between his. If she listened really carefully, it sounded like Ron was trying to advise Cedric on his every next move under his breath, even to the extent of conjuring a labrador. To Hermione, it felt for all the world as if he was clutching her hand as hard as she was his, the tugging sensation was weird though. Rons jerk backwards when dragonfire seared Cedrics face nearly ripped her arm out the socket. He wasn't the only one, the stands were abuzz with horrified gasps.
"Oh man, that's gonna hurt," he rumbled.
"Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix that," Hermione said confidently, "it's only a burn."
"Yeah, but only on the outside," Ron muttered. "It's a burn from a magical creature, it'll go all the way through. He'll wear that scar on the inside for years, I bet." Ron swallowed thickly, screwing his face up as if he was staring into the sun, unshed tears made his lashes shiny.
Hermione looked at Ron intently. He was rubbing his face in exactly the same spot that Cedric had been hit and beads of sweat stood out under his hairline. "That's what Mmmum would say anyway," he stammered under her stare and looked away to where Cedric doggedly clutched a golden egg and struggled to reach the safe haven that distance allowed.
Behind him, Luna angled her face towards Ron and closed both eyes. She put her palm across her forehead and separated the middle fingers, as if an eye could peek out between them. "Five," she whispered.
Luna leaned forwards and dropped a mostly flat, slightly curved, metal container into Rons lap. An etching on the curved surface, dulled with fingerprints, displayed the outline of a centaur with a bow at full nock so that all of the bulging muscles on the leading arm stood out. Underneath and for no more than an instant, the smudged prints wrote underneath, 'for your pain.' Ron held his breath, letting it out softly when Luna gently squeezed his shoulder.
Despite Hermiones disapproving stare, he slipped the cap with his thumb and took a generous swig of the contents, smacking his lips and making a great show of offering it around.
Hermiones boot knocked into his shin twice, making him hiss the second time. "Shit, you're such a mare. Chill the fuck out woman."
Hermione bashed his shoulder with the bottom edge of her fist. "Don't swear," she said huffily. "Put it away. If the Professors see, you're going to get into trouble, visitors or no visitors." He took one last rebellious draught and secreted it in his jacket.
Some time later, when Harry stepped nervously into the arena, Hermione leaned into Ron and whispered, "if you have anything left in that flask, now would be a good time to share it." He wondered if it the spirits had been available when Cedric first went in, whether she would have gone for some then too, or whether it was all too little too late.
He watched her put the flask to her lips and gulp the sweet liquid like it was lemonade. She wiped her mouth guilty with the back of her hand, squinting at the harsh fumes. "Gah, that's awful," she griped, "how on earth can you drink that stuff?"
Ron snorted and took possession of the flask again. Hermione pulled a face at him licking around the neck of it, chasing droplets, before tipping it back to savour the dregs.
Everyone shot to their feet the moment Harrys dragon shattered her chains. Hermiones hands went straight to her face, Rons went under his armpits. The shock was enough for the magical snap, as their palms parted company, to go unnoticed. Almost.
0.0
"Professor Snapes looking for you," Malfoy called rudely as Hermione and Ron left the stands.
"Thank you, owl," replied Ron brushing past him, his arm firmly around Hermiones waist. He wasn't sure how much she had drunk, only that her balance was about as good as his, in a body that wasn't his. Together though, they were doing pretty well, a bit like a three legged race pairing, but without all the strapping. He dared to step away when he realised Malfoy wasn't going to let it go.
"Not you, her. Can't imagine what he'd want with you…," Malfoy stopped, wincing. Rons heel was grating painfully hard on his instep.
Ron smoothed the shoulders of Malfoys robes, butler-like and in a menacingly low voice said. "Don't be a tit, Draco. Not if you want to make it to the end of term." Malfoys mouth opened and shut twice.
"You can't talk to me like that, my father…"
"Is here? Thought not," Ron pushed Malfoy backwards roughly, releasing his trapped foot at the last minute. Hermione pulled Ron away as Crabbe and Goyle rushed to help Malfoy off the ground.
"Are you mad?" Hermione said, staring owlishly up at him. Ron smiled as their bodies bumped together and his arm wound around her again, tucking her comfortably under his shoulder.
"Maybe," he said jovially. "Maybe quite mad. Come on, lets go and see Harry." And Cedric he thought to himself.
0.0
Hermione gritted her teeth and knocked firmly on Snapes study door.
"You can go, Ron. I'm fine now." Ron nodded absently, he was still getting used to his own body again. It was more gangly than he remembered and a lot more underdeveloped than Cedrics in the muscle department. He had several ideas for improvement and all of them seemed to require short cuts since real workouts were not at all appealing. The door swung smoothly open.
"We've been expecting you," Professor Snape drawled from the dark recesses of his study.
"We?" asked Hermione.
Snape dragged an unwilling Olivander into the pool of light from the desk lamp. "Olivander has a request, sneered Snape.
Hermione shut the door behind her. The lock snicked home all by itself. Hermione raised her chin and folded her arms, her Vine was strangely restless.
"My dear child," started Olivander, cringing when Snape snickered.
"Lets be open shall we?" Snape curled his lip at Olivanders display. "Olivander…and I need something from you. A particular 'skill' you alone possess."
Hermione took a leaf out of Cedrics book, "what's in it for me?"
"Very good…" Snape nodded in approval. "Perhaps your mentor was correctly chosen after all. What is in it for you….is the truth," he offered, studying her face.
"I already know about your suggestion to Cedric, to improve his chances in the Tournament," Hermione said with distain.
"Interesting," mused Snape. He fingered his wand, rubbing his thumb from side to side across the artful carving of the bridge. "A different truth perhaps."
"There isn't anything you can tell me about Cedric and his motives, that I don't already know," she announced surely.
Snapes gaze went beyond her, to the closed door. "Indeed." He lowered himself to the leather chair behind his desk and leant back. The leather creaking filled the silence.
"I know about Helen in the Willow," Hermione blurted, "you were there and something went wrong."
Snape winced as if physically struck. His wand clattered to the desk and he made no move to pick it up again. "You have the power to unlock that mystery and more. Olivander has indicated that a memory can be exposed from a wand that was there at the time, but the wand is in very poor condition. Your Vine can split the wand without damaging the core."
"It is extremely fragile," confirmed Olivander, bobbing his head. "The carved eggs you returned were the first indication I had that this might be possible without destroying what remains."
"You may refuse," Snapes flat black eyes nailed her with his honesty and pain. She realised this was as close as he could come to asking her outright, for her help.
"And if I agree?"
"It would be a learning experience for all of us," babbled Olivander. "These things have only been boasted by the Bavarians. I have the crystalline substrate to coat the core once it's exposed, I have a theorem that the core might even be interactive if we can get enough of it out intact."
Snape glanced sharply at the Wandmaker. Olivander flushed. "I didn't want to say, in case we couldn't manage it, but it is theoretically possible."
"So you need me," said Hermione, sifting through the evidence, "and I get the experience of being here while it happens?" She furrowed her brow.
"It's ground breaking!" enthused Olivander. "I just need a leaf and your apprenticeship is assured." Olivander extended his hand in a begging gesture.
"My apprenticeship?"
Olivander nodded avidly, "assured, yes!"
"The truth," Snape snapped acidly. "I will accept nothing less, on her behalf."
Olivander gulped and said hoarsely, "after."
Hermione looked from Professor to Wandmaker, examining the body language. Olivander was cowering, but vibrating with excitement, his eyes kept slipping away from hers to the sleeve that housed her wand. Snape held her gaze without emotion.
"Enough," Snape announced to Hermione. "You may go."
"I'll help," Hermione said quietly, "but I would like my 'truth' now I think." She glared at Olivander. "There are no female Wandmakers are there?"
"Currently?" Olivander vacillated. Snape top lip almost twitched high enough to expose teeth.
"Ever," stated Hermione
"You would be the first, it would be quite the coup," Olivander pleaded.
"Or I could be locked away making wand boxes and only allowed to sweep the floor. An apprenticeship is seven years, how long would mine be?" Hermione mused.
"Yours...?" Olivander hedged, "Seven years and an apprentice piece produced to a level that it is approved by the Guild."
"And if the apprentice piece is never approved? Is there an appeal process?" Snape nodded infinitesimally.
"Appeal, no, it's never…ah," Olivander gulped.
"Quite," snapped Hermione. "I would be allowed to learn, but never get Guild accreditation to practise. I'm right aren't I?"
"I couldn't say," Olivander said mournfully. "Who knows what the future holds?" He looked uncomfortably at Snape.
Hermione knew with absolute certainty that her future no longer held Wand making. She let the dream slip away, promising herself time to grieve in the near future. She drew her wand from her sleeve and drew in a breath, declaring in a steady tone, "lets get started then."
When she left, a crumpled piece of parchment depicting a series of line drawings had joined Olivanders letter. Snapes truth he had left her to open, whilst he communed in silence with a crystal cube. The last drawng showed a Vine dotted with purple flowers buds, poised to open. The lines blurred and reformed into a seed pod falling to the ground and a young sapling springing straight and true from the leafmould.
0.0
It took half a day for Cedric to feel 'right' in his own body again. Either he was getting flashbacks or part of his consciousness was still with Ron. There was a further half day while he worked out what the egg was trying to tell him. Try as he might, the Mermaid in the glass from the Prefects bathroom would not give a clue what the cryptic message meant, since he had not yet delivered the sweaty practice shirt he had promised.
Negotiations with Ron were proving difficult too. Cedric had thought that the swap was going to be a one time thing. Ron had other ideas. They had exchanged fist bumps in the gathering after the first test, it had been enough to reverse the potions effect immediately. Cedric fingered his own face gingerly, "watch yourself, Luna knows something was up." Ron nodded, smiling hugely and went to find Harry. Ron had made a point of seeking Cedric out a week later, with the idea of doing it all over again.
"You can't do the next one," Cedric said in exasperation. "Even Fleur is having trouble with the bubble head charm. I can't risk you drowning yourself. Or me." Cedric shook his head firmly and scratched at the tightness of the healing skin on his face. "We don't know what the test is other than the Merpeople are involved. I'm sorry, you have to sit this one out."
Ron whined," I can do it. Mate trust me, I'm good. I just needed the right wand – yours is awesome, you just have to think of something and it's just, poof, there. The dog was weird though, I wasn't thinking about a dog."
Cedric stared, "you weren't thinking about a dog?"
"As soon as they said Swedish Short Snout, I couldn't get the idea of our old au pair out of my head." Ron added earnestly, "she was blonde though, looked a bit like a dog too."
Cedric shook his head again," just….show her the scar, on the real you. She'll get it."
"It's not enough," Ron started. "I can't explain it, I just know it."
"I'm all out," Cedric raised his palms and backed away.
Rons face turned miserable. "Thanks for nothing," he whinged.
"When this is all over, I'll help you explain to her ok?"
"Right," Ron gnawed on his knuckle.
"I mean it, I'll help. She is fond of you, you know. No-one gets that irritated over nothing, like she does with you, unless there's something. She's just crap at expressing it in words. She's more….physical, out of frustration?"
Ron pulled up his pants leg, exposing two livid bruises, "yeah mate, thanks for that."
Cedric grinned in amusement, trying really hard not to think about how much he wanted to un-frustrate someone who would cheerfully stab him right now, as soon as look at him.
"How did the meeting with Snape go?"
"Eh, Olivander was in there, I think she said they were discussing a scholarship project or something – it took ages anyway and she was knackered when she got back. Cedric remembered the disconcerting feeling of Snapes door shutting before his eyes, even though he hadn't actually been there. It had been uncomfortable enough that he had found his way to the self same door and loitered for a while.
0.0
The Gala passed for Hermione in a dizzying mixture of excitement and aggravation. Viktor was extremely attentive, so much so that she ordered him back to his ship to get some rest. She had made preparations, but come the time found that she couldn't follow through. No-one would ever know. Viktor looked so gutted, she gave him a peck on the cheek, nothing like the scenarios she had been playing out in her head the night before – the result of which was that currently, she was wearing no underwear and had a condom stashed under her dorm pillow.
The trouble was, her dream self had a deal with Cedrics face. Any time she imagined something remotely intimate, the dream partners body would morph into Cedrics proportions and the second she looked up, his mercurial eyes would capture hers. It made her sleep erratic and unfulfilling. More than once she woke with her fist in her mouth and the other hand between her legs. More often than not, she woke with a smile on her lips in answer to his inviting smirk.
Her tiredness, in conjunction with an argument with Ron over Viktors intentions was the last straw, she sank in a puddle of chiffon on the stone steps on the Great Hall, hugging her knees to her chest. Her wounded pride escaped in a damp rivulet down her cheek. Damn all ginger wizards with honest eyes. The remains of the party moved around her like a stream around a boulder.
Two socked feet padded into view, leaving sweaty footprints on the stone in their wake. Hermione wrinkled her nose in preparation of disgust as they stopped in front of her. A pair of shiny shoes with laces dangling untidily like spiders legs dropped heavily to the floor. She didn't look up.
"Shit," the toes waggled inside their socks. Cedrics knees cracked as he squatted in front of her. He pushed some hair off her forehead and frowned as she ducked her chin. "Will you tell me what happened?" She could take almost anything at this point, sarcasm, snark, even bitterness, but not the caring tone he offered. Her shoulders quivered and she hunched tighter to hold herself still.
Cedric blew out a breath, "where's Wick-tor?"
"Gone back," she whispered
"Back to the boat?"
"Ship"
"Whatever," when she didn't crack a smile at him rolling his eyes, he thought for a minute, then busied himself tying the shoelaces of one shoe to the shoelaces of the other. He took her reluctant hand and said, "Don't tell me, you've been at the punch and your knees don't work. Here, hold these," as he scooped her up. She gave a gasp of surprise and wound an arm around behind his neck, his shoes dangling by their knotted laces in her other hand. He asked the question he didn't really want to know the answer to as he settled her against his chest and struggled awkwardly to his feet.
"Did he kiss you?" She didn't answer that one either, but her lips curved into a tiny smile of remembrance. Cedric huffed again and said humorously. "I hope he fucking sinks." She smiled at that one, a smile with teeth.
"Are you jealous?" she sniffed, appeased, fingering his open collar. No jacket. No tie. Not quite brave enough to trace a vein on the side of his neck.
"Shut up." Her evening was still ruined by Rons surly remarks, but at least Cedrics non-admission served as some form of sticking plaster over her damaged pride. She should ask about Cho, but her ego was already too fragile.
Cedric moved steadily up the stairs out of the great hall and into the stairwell. "Where do you keep your wand in that thing anyway." He didn't sound out of breath in the least.
"There's a pocket in the skirt." She studied the side of his face, the rising tide of pink as her fingers on his neck tapped softly, counting heartbeats
He stepped onto the bottom stair of the first staircase. "Mines up my sleeve." He didn't want to put her down, she might not let him pick her back up and he wanted that less than almost anything.
"What do you need?" she queried, frowning
"I want to make the stairs move and my hands are full"
"You're so lazy," she brushed a nail up the column of his neck
"Says the person being carried," he said, giving her a squeeze to hide his shiver
Arse, she thought, dropping her hand away from his skin, only he could tell someone they were heavy and take the sting out of it with a hug.
She pointed a finger at the stair tread he occupied, then flexed open her hand, "elevatore ascendio."
He rocked on his heels as the step rotated upwards, the top steps peeling off to fill in the steps below them as they rose. "Shit," he breathed, "exactly how many extra classes are you taking?" No wand, no using him as a reservoir. There was a distinct possibility that she had already outstripped him in terms of ability, but merely chose to stay in the same classes as her friends now to avoid him. His ego contracted at the price she was willing to pay to accomplish it.
She shrugged, "I read a lot. Stuff that's interesting, useful." She stopped suddenly, her gaze snagged on his shirt front and the fact that up until now, she had not noticed that it was half open. He was sweating, or had been. His skin glistened, a lick gone begging. She let out a shaky breath before beginning again. Courtesy of Molly Weasley, she knew how to make a guy cum in her hands, but nothing about the emotional fallout of wanting someone that she shouldn't.
"Random stuff that will only ever be any good for crosswords," she laughed maniacally at what she thought she knew, tipping her head back against the firm muscles of his arms about her. She clicked her fingers as the stair they were on merged with the landing.
"How much did you drink?"
She stared at the ceiling of the corridor curving over them, the bosses marching in orderly succession holding up the stone arches depicting fantastical creatures in gold on gaudy backgrounds. She could name every one. How utterly useless.
"Nothing after Fred and George got to the punch." The small one didn't count surely, it had been medicinal as much as anything.
They were nearing the Fat Ladys portrait. She ran her fingers through the hair above his ear, wanting more to remember. The silky strands were soft and damp as she rubbed them between her fingers, sticking out after she had tended them, like he had been electrocuted. He would leave her soon, she breathed in the pain and gave it a place to rest over her heart, using it as a shield against his alluring heat.
Cho and her big mouth, letting slip about how she and Cedric were 'all arranged' and such a good match as far as the parents were concerned. How his father had earmarked some diplomatic posts in the Ministry so that they could work together, how her mother was already picking out pastels. It was all bull, Ron had already let slip how Cho had a thing for Harry, except that it might be true. Cedric had already shown her what a political animal he was, how adept at manipulating others. It wouldn't be beyond him to make an advantageous marriage. Hermiones stomach quailed at the thought of such a loveless beginning.
"I can walk you know."
"I know," he quipped, "I've seen your back before." Then, because for Hermione the fastest way to humour was via anger, he added, "Kit…"
She tugged his earlobe and he made a noise deep in his throat that made her thighs twitch together. He jostled her more closely to him if that were possible. Damp heat seeped through his shirt and made the hairs rise on her bare arms where they touched him.
"The library," she mused aloud. She traced the shell of his ear with a finger wondering whether to share the information. He ducked his head into her touch, willing her to remember. "What the book said…about patronnii…when we were dancing." He looked at her sharply, seeing her joining the dots and running with the information, she squirmed in his arms and he fought briefly before letting her go.
"There are two types," she said pointing a finger at him. He nodded, pacing towards her as she backed away. His hands clenched and loosened by his sides, how he hated letting her go, her heat withdrawing like a blanket shared, taken back and stowed away.
"Two types," he agreed, biting the side of his thumb as he closed the gap. She drew up short against the wall of the Fat Lady portrait. The wand up his sleeve shifted subtly and she smoothed her dress over a pleat that vibrated suddenly under her hand. On a garden bench in front of a beautiful sunset, the Fat Lady wriggled comfortably, settling in for a front row view, plucking a daisy from a plant at her feet and started pulling the white petals away from their golden centre. He will, she won't, she will, he won't.
He leant a forearm over her head, crowding her with his body, "and they are?" he prompted. His free hand traced the neckline of her dress with a solitary finger and a feather light touch.
"Familial," she breathed, mesmerised by the look in his eyes as his lips descended towards her. "I'm still angry with you," she mumbled. He shook his head and plucked at her lips with his own.
"You were. You're not, not now. And it's the other one," he whispered against her mouth, drawing away slightly, insanely pleased by her tipping her chin up to follow his movement. He rewarded it with another kiss, slipping his tongue along her bottom lip. "Conjugal, the other one is conjugal."
"It can't be the other one, Viktor…" she stunned him with her reply
He hated her in that moment, hated the way her presence pulled at him to be closer all the time when the things she just said pushed him away. She was just a bit of fun after all, a challenge to pass the time, before his feelings started getting in the way. It wasn't like they were joined at the hip or anything. His mind took a sharp right turn and the thought suffocated him. Had she? Joined hips with Viktor? He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood and bile. Storms raged in his eyes.
The Fat Lady pulled another daisy, roots and all. His legs shook which had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour and everything to do with dreams disappearing with the dawn. The spectre of Ron tapped him on the shoulder and he wilfully ignored it. Terra Nullius. Finders, Keepers.
"Viktor what?" His voice was deadly. The hand over her head contracted into a fist.
She turned her face away, frowning. "He knelt down and put my foot on the back of his neck. He told me to command him…and said that he would wait." She smiled wistfully, his close shorn head had felt like velvet and he had the prettiest eyes.
Cedric gaped at her, mouth open. "He proposed to you?"
"Is it so unbelievable?" she replied acidly. "Think what it would do for international relations." She didn't mention Rons take on the whole thing
He rested his cheek against her forehead, rubbing his face against hers….the pit of his stomach dropped. He whispered, "did you tell him yes?" When she shook her head, he kissed her forehead, raining kisses down the side of her face and sagging against her in relief.
"Did you tell him maybe?" He didn't wait for her reply, devouring her mouth with his own. Maybe didn't matter, maybe wasn't yes and that meant he still had a chance. She caught his head between her hands to try and control the intensity of his ardour, soon giving up and tangling her hands in his hair instead. His hand drifted down her bodice and smoothed over the skirt covering her thigh before grasping the back of her leg and tugging it sharply up so he could press himself more fully into her swaying form. His wand slipped out of the gap between sleeve and cuff and into a narrow pocket that appeared in her skirt and then immediately disappeared. Her breath left in a rush and a cold excitement raced between her breasts and circled her belly button.
"Invite me up," he breathed hoarsely against her neck, his tongue painting flames against her throat. His hips thrust shallowly against her stomach.
"Don't you dare tell him maybe," he muttered against the bare skin of her shoulder, dipping his knees and rubbing his stiffening cock between her legs. He ran a hand around her behind, invading the crease of her buttocks as far as her dress would allow and she curled her pelvis up towards him as he rocked into her again. A moan escaped with his name on it.
"Invite me up," he prompted again, his voice was steadier, more certain She watched the muscle tic in his jaw through heavy lidded eyes while he waited, hung out to dry in the breeze of her distain. He looked almost sleepy, disaffected, if not for the flush over his cheekbones and not at all dangerous.
She pondered the change in his tone whilst trying to ignore both her stomach trying to squeeze into her backbone whilst at the same time pressing against his jumping erection and whatever the hell was going on in her pocket. "Mercury," she murmured to the Fat Lady, then, "he's with me."
"So I see," said the Fat Lady, coquettishly fanning herself and brushing a heap of white petals, shredded leaves and dirt off her lap. Adding as an afterthought, "Blaise is up there with the Parvattis, watch yourselves." The picture swung open, displaying the snug warmth of the common room. Cedric set her on her feet and the portrait swung back behind them. The Fat Lady frowned, did the Durmstrang boy stay with the Parvattis? She sipped the punch Fred Weasley had slipped her happily, probably didn't matter – there were two Parvattis after all.
0.0
Hermione stared at the bottom of Cedrics shirt where it bellied out away from his body. It was mostly undone and she reached out and hooked a finger against the last iridescent, fastened button, her nail scratching gently against his skin. He shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be doing this. It felt like breaking the rules, it felt like the burn of Centaur spirit. She tugged him unresisting to the foot of the dormitory stairs. And then up them.
Neville slid into the common room, still in the arms of his partner and lost in the whirl of a dance where only they could hear the music. Neither of them saw the lone mother-of-pearl button roll away and circle once before wobbling like an escaped hubcap, coming to rest under a tapestry of the Lady and the Unicorn depicting the sense of 'touch.' In a reworking of the original rich fabric, the Lady held fast to a unicorns horn and swapped the pennants pole for a lions unruly mane.
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The back of Cedrics knees bumped against the side of her bed.
"Kit," he murmured between kisses that had started on the way up the stairs and never stopped, "you should wait, we don't have to."
She got hold of his zipper and tugged slowly. "I don't think Viktor is waiting," she said thoughtfully. The Parvattis beds had been pushed together and beside them lay scattered a pair of brothel creepers and a second pair of dragon skin ankle boots, one tipped over so that the sole faced her. They could have been anybodys - except Viktor was the only Durmstrang she knew who had metal edges on his heels because he wore them down unevenly. The curtains were shut quite tight
He sat up suddenly, cupping her face and staring into her eyes knowingly, "where is my wand?"
She looked away and mouthed her bottom lip, "safe?" she offered. Magic was arcing between the wand tips, she could feel it like raindrops on sensitive skin. Her answer could plausibly be a complete lie.
He ran a hand over her skirt, battling the fullness of the fabric and trying not to think about the squirming form underneath. She was beginning to pant and he still couldn't find it. He dragged her on to his lap, ducking his head into the crook of her neck and breathed her in, "you sneaky…safe where?"
"Pocket," she managed, concentrating on shifting her form into her magical self. Her head was strangely heavy, pulling against her willpower and encouraging her to lie down, lie back, pull him with her and see where they ended up. In her pocket, a flower bud bloomed deepest purple with eerily florescent white bee guides, stigma and stamen arranged in a skeletal cross.
"Did you take it?" He followed her down onto the mattress as she shook her head 'no.'
"Get it for me?" he teased her ear lobe with his teeth, balancing himself over her. From the corner of his eye he watched her eyelids flutter and close. The deep sigh she made scraped the bodice of her dress against his chest. "Hermione?" he breathed, losing himself in the velvet texture of her skin.
"Can't," she groaned, reaching for his collar, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.
"I need it," he whispered against her neck, testing to see if she tasted the same here as here and here. Greedy fingers traced the muscle groups down his back and he tensed, groaning when they slid under the waistband of his pants.
"Now?" she panted, testing her nails against the cotton of his briefs. She listed all the things in her head that made him press her harder into the mattress and rubbed her feet together to keep them from hooking over the backs of his legs. "Oh!" she hummed.
"Like that?" he murmured, wand forgotten. His tongue had found more sensitive skin to talk to behind her ear and he used the backs of his fingers, trailing upwards past her knee. She squeezed her thighs tighter together as the pocket quaked against her leg. The petals of the flower reflexed backwards as if blown.
She cupped the back of his neck and shut her eyes against the embarrassment that would come next. It was unavoidable. His fingers inched higher under her dress, before coming to a sudden halt. She could picture his face, the personification of stunned amusement. He whispered into her hair, "oh, you did not."
His cock bobbed uncomfortably when he thought about how they had made out in the corridor and she was wearing nothing underneath, his voice deepened, "all night? Did I miss a memo, dress robes, but no underwear?" She was going to say something suitably pithy back, but his hand was right there, his thumb dipping in and out, circling and repeating, making speech impossible. She breathed shallowly, clutching at his shoulder with one hand and his tortuous forearm with the other. She couldn't tell if the hold she had on him was trying to stop him or guiding him.
He watched the flush rise over her décolletage, "if you don't want to spoil your dress, you need to take it off," he offered gruffly, slipping his thumb lower before reluctantly moving away to give her some space to manoeuver. Seed pearls down the back of her bodice undid themselves and she reached for the hem of the skirt, pulling it over her head in a smooth movement. He used the interlude to divest himself of everything except his boxers.
Laying himself back down, he waved a hand to shut the bed curtains and urged her to straddle his body. She moved jerkily against his cotton underwear until he laced his fingers with hers and guided her rhythm, rubbing herself against him until the cloth was uncomfortably damp.
"We need my wand," he growled. In the pocket of Hermiones dress, his wand tip bled moisture down a fine webbing that led directly to the heart of the flower.
"Pillow," she moaned, "I have a uh…" Cedric breathed heavily, trying a circle with his hips to relieve the pressure and trying not to analyse Hermione with no underwear at a Yule Ball with condoms under her pillow. Sure enough his questing fingers found the something they were looking for. He held it up and Hermione all but snatched it off him and dragged his boxers down. Her hands were shaking so badly, he sat up to help.
"I've got it," he said, taking it off her and pushing her gently back so that he could free himself. "There's no rush." He tore the packet open with his teeth, spitting the foil off to one side. She had her hands on him the instant his shaft was visible, squeezing and rubbing it. His breathing tuned raw and hurried as he tucked the tip of his cock into the condom and rolled it down, shooing her hands away.
He stared into her eyes as her hands found his shoulders and used them to lever herself up, pausing to look down between them. His cock twitched and jerked, he moved to hold it at the base, steady. If she wanted him.
"We don't have to, Kit, it's fine." He told himself he could get to the Prefects bathroom in about five seconds flat if he had to and prayed it was empty. His imagination helpfully supplied Hermione kneeling over him wearing black leather boots. He swallowed a rush of saliva and panted his impatience away.
She lowered herself, adjusting her position until the tip of his cock was nudging her in what felt like the right place. Cedric gripped her with both hands around the waist as her hair shrouded their faces and she leaned in to kiss him on the lips.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, feeling her relax, drop an inch and tense again. "So beautiful," he hummed against her lips. She pulled away, rising a little and leaning in again as he slipped steadily inside her. Her nails carved into his shoulders and she drew away with a grimace.
"It's ok, it's ok," he whispered, pulling her body closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him raining kisses on every available inch of her bare skin. She gave a sharp moan that got bitten off when he hugged her tighter, drawing her down against him.
Hermione clung to him, awed at feeling of him trapped inside her, snug in his close embrace. Her hips shifted of their own volition, she could feel him twitching like a tickle inside or an insect bite unbearably pleasurable to scratch. A cold shiver spread out from her lower back and burned its way upwards when he shifted her again so that he sank deeper in.
He ran his fingers down her back, chasing goosebumps running the other way and urged her gently to move. "Like this," he guided her hips in a tight circle so all of her could feel all of him.
"Mmhm," she managed, tipping her head back and stretching her spine. All of her body felt tightly alive. He buried his face in her chest, rubbing his stubble against first one nipple, then the other. She moved faster, eyes closed, hurried and impatient for something fleetingly fast ahead of her. She felt his grip tighten, making her downward motions harder, fast enough to make her breast bounce against his face.
His growls and grunts reverberated against her chest, the hiss of a 'yesss' steamed against her skin, followed by the cool of gasping intakes of his breath. Cedric altered the angle of her downward stoke, pulling her forward as he leaned backwards and she struck his pelvic bone so hard she grunted.
"Again," he urged, dragging her torso flush with his and thrusting upwards against her. She opened her mouth soundlessly, panting against his collarbone as his hips crashed into hers. He drove on, even as her frame contorted into an expectant rictus, plunging again until her body followed his intimately for two then three punishing thrusts. Her fingers crammed themselves into his hair, searing his scalp as she cried out and he let himself go, pressing himself up into her one more time as his cock pulsed away inside her.
She slumped unapologetically over him, dragging heaving breaths to relieve the stitch in her ribs and trying to control the shiver all over her body. She tried to raise herself on her elbows, but only succeeded in him slipping from her body. She reached between them and dragged off the condom, dropping it unceremoniously over the edge of the bed, before collapsing atop of his limp form.
Her thumb moved stickily against his forehead, darting fingers combed his hair stuck there. He let out a pleasurable grunt. Everything burned, but nothing hurt and his limbs were so so heavy.
In the pocket, the flower throat flushed pink and the petals snapped shut into a tiny lantern shape. The colour pulsed and fled, leaving a pale filigreed husk containing a tiny seed that rattled like a childs toy. New leaves broke through where the flower bud had formed, shiny and razor sharp. The seed husk dropped into the bottom of the pocket.
Older leaves cocooned both wands briefly in a leafy embrace, before the Vine and rod extracted itself. The cocoon contracted sharply against the remaining ash wand, absorbing itself into the polished wood. It left barely a trace, a fine wickerwork of stem and leaf, visible only under the fullest of moonlights.
Cedric dragged the edge of the coverlet over them, smiling softly as the aggrieved noises she made into his chest and neck. She breathed shallowly against him, drowsy with pleasure, with the welcome weight of his arm across her back and fell asleep.
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Cedric woke with the first fingers of dawn and ferreted his wand from her discarded frock. He was not alone in wandering the halls at this ungodly hour, but he did appear to be the only one without a shirt. Boys nodded to one another, there was no walk of shame for a boy, more a jaunty acknowledgement of time well spent at sleeps expense. His wand swished in his hand until one of his peers pointed out a mark on his forehead.
Conjuring a mirror and parting his hair, he stared at the rusty print, dead centre. Deliberately or otherwise, she had blooded him like a novice at their first fox hunt. He hit the showers at a dead run, feverishly scraping at his skin. Even with hot water and soap, a lot of soap, it took forever to get it off his skin. He leant back against the cool tiles, letting the steaming water smack him full in the face. Even though he was sure the mark was gone, he could still feel it. He knew if he checked his wand, the ring would be limned in black. Possession. Underscored for the hard of understanding.
"Well, shit." Anyone who could read a wand would know he was off the market. The best he could do for Cho would be to break it off as cleanly as possible, since it was obvious to him at least that she could not have been the cause. There were enough bright sparks here to ask awkward questions, even with a civilised ending. He smiled wryly at the verbal flogging he would endure from his father and shrugged to himself.
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Hermione rolled over, her hand brushing an empty space beside her and stared up at the tented ceiling. She stretched out unfamiliar aches and waggled her toes, feeling altogether different, but still the same. She buried her face in her pillow, sniffing out Cedrics scent, captured in her cotton and groaned. Where did they go from here? She hadn't asked for anything more and he had offered no flowery promises of a future together. He hadn't even shown himself this time.
Stuffing the shirt under her pillows and wrinkling her nose, she hurriedly assembled her toiletries and made for the showers.
A note was waiting for her when she got back. The moment her fingers touched the parchment, a stupor descended. Dumbledore requested her attendance at her earliest convenience. She dressed mechanically and made her way there immediately. Some part of her periphery noted that Ron and Cho were already there when she arrived. Dumbledore smiled genially and described how their loved ones would 'save' them, his voice was muted for her, sounding as if it came from outside a bubble.
Disinterestedly, she watched Dumbledore cast a spell over Cho, Chos, eyes closed and her breathing was barely discernible. Ron was next, under without a fight. Hermione felt her wand stir, the prickles normally on the outside were stinging against her flesh as Dumbledore cast the same spell for the third time. She flinched and he cast again, Hermione swayed, fighting the somnolent feeling and squinting to keep her eyes open. Dumbledore looked worried and cast a third time, louder and with a hint of panic and she drifted. She felt her wand hand being lifted, inspected and then his dubious tone, "this should be interesting," then nothing.
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Hermiones head and shoulders broke the surface of the lake, she choked and fought against the hand on her arm, lashing out viciously in panic. Viktors worried features swam into view.
"Is rescue, to swim," he panted, pointing towards three scaffolded structures that rose above the waters of the black lagoon. Hermione struck out towards their solid safety, with Viktor paddling tentatively beside her.
Warm blankets awaited her, a flask of hot chocolate loaded with a little something from Madame Pomfrey cabinets warmed her from the inside. Cedrics head was next to break the choppy waves, with Cho clinging to his neck. Even from this distance, she could see him asking if she was alright and smiling fondly down at her. Hermione glanced away, to where Viktor stood hunched under his own blanket, knocking back a clear liquid that steamed in the frigid air. She invaded the Durmstrang gathering, noting how they closed ranks protectively behind her.
"What happened?" she demanded.
"You ver taken. As prize for test. Something of value Dumbledore say," Viktor tried to explain. Hermione fumed silently, something of value to Viktor at least. To the other Durmstrangs too it seemed, they were reluctant to let her pass back to her own colleagues, only Viktors harsh command forced a path for her.
Harry breached the waves, struggling to support a spluttering Ron and sobbing French girl. A shout went up from the Gryffindor supporters and a boat was launched to bring them in. Cedric strode over, grinning. His smile faltered at her scowl.
"What? I didn't know you would be taken. Viktor got to you first that's all." He held out his hand, "trust me?" She didn't trust herself to look him in the eye.
She shouldered past him, the trouble was he sounded so plausible, it could be true. "I need to get some facts," she offered, "I need to see Dumbledore."
"What is real?" he called after her. What was real for him was the empty feeling his chest that the touch of her hand would have dispelled. Viktor caught his eye and Cedric stood ramrod straight and winked in his direction
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The run up to the final test was anticlimactic for Cedric, until Ron barged into the champions test and begged to see Cedric alone for a moment.
"Fred wanted the ingredient you added to the mixture," Ron pleaded when they got outside, round the back where no-one could see. "In case you buy it in there," he side nodded to the dark hedges to one side of the tent.
"Thanks," said Cedric wryly. "Got a pen?"
Ron nodded enthusiastically and offered one balanced on his fingertips that slipped, just as Cedric reached for it. Ron gripped Cedrics hand painfully hard, pressing his palm, sticky with potion into Cedrics skin.
"No!" Cedrics horrified reaction was short lived as he found himself in Rons body again. A forearm smashed into the side of his head and he went down like a lead sock. A boot followed swiftly after it. Light was eclipsed by darkness.
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Ron breathed in the scent of grass at close quarters and dragged himself upright. He stumbled to the stands, searching desperately for Hermione. She scowled at him as soon as she caught sight of him, making an impatient 'come on' motion.
"What happened to you?" she hissed as he dropped into the seat beside her, "they've already started."
"Fell," he rasped. His vision doubled to include the perspective of someone in the maze, Harry beside him, both of them about to take hold of the Tournament trophy. He sought Hermiones hand, pawing drunkenly at her sleeve.
"What? Ron?"
"Hand. Please," he groaned.
This time the pull of magic from her was unmistakeable, she gripped his hand savagely against the dizzying sensation. "What are you doing!"
"Sorry, s'Ron." He slurred. There was no way he could maintain the second perspective without support, in the state he was in. The sensation of the portkey second hand made him nauseous.
"Ron? What are you on about?"
"Ron," he repeated and closed his eyes to reduce the vertigo. "Kit!" he gasped, slamming back in his seat as Pettigrew followed his masters instructions and Cedrics form was hurled to the ground by the force of a killing curse.
"Ron? Ron!" Hermione grabbed his robes and shook him, shocked at him hyperventilating. He took gasping breaths, struggling to maintain a body not his own. Hermione shook him so hard, his teeth rattled. "You're here."
"I'm here," he answered. "I'm here," he breathed deeply. "I'm here," he repeated, getting a hold of his breathing.
Harry apparated back into the arena, sobbing over Cedrics body. Hermiones blood ran cold and she screamed in horror.
Ron bundled her up in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He crooned rocking her rigid form. "I'm here, I'm right here."
"Cedric calls me Kit," mumbled Hermione and was almost suffocated by the squeeze that followed. Hermione searched Rons face. "Show yourself," she grabbed a fistful of his clothing. "Now!"
"Not here," he shushed her. He was too weak, even if he had wanted to. He had to work out a way of getting hold of his wand. And then a way of telling Molly Weasley her son was dead, because he was stupid. After that he could show Hermione himself, with her help. Right now, just holding her close was enough.
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A/N Ringing and girdling are tree husbandry terms, they do the opposite of this story in real life, restricting growth and in some cases killing a tree, since the living layer is just under the bark. Don't urban dictionary them – that's not what I meant AT ALL and will put you right off your dinner.
Epi left. For what happened to Snape when he got Lilys wand core and whether Nevilles vine is still safe in the Tropical greenhouse. If Helen will stay in the willow and why the Centaurs gave Hermione a hank of tail hair…did I miss anything? x