Disclaimer: Hey, guess what? Harry Potter isn't mine.
Chapter Five
Hermione nearly jumped out of her own skin in fright. "D-Diggory?"
She shot shot up from the couch, her back still facing him.
"Don't be scared," Diggory said. His voice didn't carry the same teasing note that had been there mere moments ago. "Please."
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, staring pointedly at a peeling spot of paint on the wall. "It's just that talking to you is rather—um—disconcerting."
He sighed. "I'm still a person. Just like you."
"I'm sorry," she repeated. She didn't really know what else there was to say.
"Don't be. I've heard about as many apologies as I can take." Another sigh. "This would be a lot easier if you would at least look at me."
Hermione swallowed and closed her eyes, counting to ten before slowly spinning around. "There," she whispered.
"My apologies," Diggory said, gentle as ever. "It's going to be a bit of a shock when you're ready to open your eyes."
Hermione took a trembling breath, trying to mentally prepare herself, then opened her eyes. A hand clapped over her mouth in shock at what she saw.
Floating only a few feet away from her was the iridescent form of Cedric Diggory, still dressed in his yellow and black Triwizard uniform. He looked the same as he had then, angular jawline and hair parted carefully down the middle, except parts of his translucent body appeared to be…faded.
Hermione squinted at the place on his chest where the proud Hogwarts crest had been. It was blurred beyond recognition.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, a thousand questions crossing her mind before she settled on one. "What's happened to you?"
"That's why I need your help," Diggory explained. He beckoned for her to follow him as he floated lightly to the sitting area before the fire, a faint trail of incandescent light following in his wake. Hermione couldn't help but gape openly at him as she settled carefully into a corner of the couch.
He hovered over one of the armchairs—an illusion of sitting—and seemed uncomfortable under the weight of her stare. She cleared her throat. "Well, what's the problem, then?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "I wasn't ready to die," he finally blurted.
Hermione swallowed hard as her dinner churned in her stomach. Jump right to it, then, why don't you, she thought.
He looked down at his hands, his fingers clenching into tight fists. "I was stubborn and I wanted to win. I went into the maze and fought and ran and just played the game." His lips pulled into a tight, pained smile. "I'm sure you can imagine how relieved I was to find the cup—Harry and I both. When it turned out to be a portkey and we went to the graveyard, I..." Diggory shook his head, stopping himself.
Hermione leaned forward. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "Harry's told me all about that night. It happened too fast for either of you to escape."
He let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe, but I'm still dead when it comes down to it."
As they lapsed into silence, Hermione couldn't help but pity him. He looked so lost, torn between two worlds.
"Why me?" She finally asked.
He had an unreadable expression on his face as he replied, "Because you were the only one who could see me."
Hermione sank back against the couch cushions. "What?"
"It didn't take long for me to realize I was a ghost," he said. "I tried going to my father first, sure he'd have some way to help, but he couldn't see me. I suppose it was for the best, considering his last glimpse of me had been my body slung over Harry Potter's shoulder." He shuddered. "The same happened when I tried to see Scott, then Dumbledore…"
"So," Hermione said, "you decided to appear to—me?"
"Not, erm, intentionally," he admitted. "I was drifting through the library one day and there you were, your face buried in a book. You glanced up for a moment and—"
Realization dawned on Hermione's face.
"It was you," she murmured. "The shadow I saw in the library, it was you. The day I received the first letter."
"Now you're getting it," Diggory said with a fervent nod. "When I first realized you could see me, I panicked. After more than a year of—shall we say, forced invisibility—I wasn't exactly used to—that. Besides, I thought a letter might be a little easier to digest, at first, than, well…"
He gestured to his ghostly body with one hand, as if that alone spoke for itself. Hermione nodded understandingly; it did.
"That brings me to what I need help with, which is unfortunately the tricky bit…" Diggory hesitated for a moment. "About a year ago, I heard whispers from a few students that there was a way to… Bring people back, if you know what I mean."
Hermione reeled at this information. "Diggory, I—"
"Look, I know it sounds mental," he cut in quickly. "Just let me explain."
"I thought it was crazy too, especially after what I saw in the graveyard when," he shuddered, "You-Know-Who came back. But those students, they just seemed so sure, and especially after I knew that someone—you—could see me, I couldn't help but…"
Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. She may have been considered the Brightest Witch of the Age, but not even she knew of a spell that could bring someone back from the dead.
"Dig—Cedric," she amended, "Of course I want to help but I don't know if there's even a way to do what you're asking, regardless of what you might have overheard."
"Granger, I… I don't have anyone else to turn to." His voice was desperate, pleading. "Even if it's just a chance, couldn't we at least try?"
Hermione searched his face and caught the hopeful gleam in his eye, however small it was. She wondered when the last time he had felt hope was, but a sinking feeling in her gut told her it had probably been a while.
"Okay. I—" She blinked back tears. "I'll try."
When she met his eyes once again, she saw something different in them, a lightness that shone like nothing she'd ever seen before. She saw his determination to live, his willingness to try.
"You have no idea how much that means to me," he whispered, and she believed him.
"I think that's enough for today," she finally said. She offered a watery smile, then took a deep breath and brushed her sweaty palms off on her skirt as she stood. As she crossed the room to the door, she couldn't help but hope that she wouldn't let him down.
"Wait," Diggory called as she reached for the door handle.
"Yes?" She turned and saw him floating in the middle of the room, staring after her.
"Thank you," he said.
Hermione glanced at the door, sure that her friends would be looking all over for her by now. "You're welcome. Is there anything else?"
"Yes, actually, there is." He lifted one of his arms and peered down at his bare wrist. "If my watch is correct, I do believe that you're running a bit ahead of schedule."
Hermione was reminded of his most recent note, where he had suggested they meet at 9 o'clock.
"Yes, well," Hermione said with a shrug, "on time is early, I suppose."
He chuckled at that. "Goodnight, Granger."
"Goodnight, Diggory," she returned before slipping out the door.
Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor tower in something of a daze. She didn't run into anyone on the trip, which was a relief because she wasn't in the mood for talking—not even to exchange simple pleasantries. Her head was swimming with thought the whole way, broken only by the voice that greeted her as she stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.
"Where have you been?"
Her eyes landed on a very irritated Ronald Weasley, who was sitting on one of the common room couches. His freckled arms were crossed over his chest.
"I just want to go to sleep, Ron," Hermione said tiredly, trying to stifle a yawn as she pulled her leg into the room right before the portrait swung closed.
He looked taken aback. "Are you serious?" He strode across the room to stand in front of her, frustration rolling off him in waves.
She sighed, too exhausted to argue with him. "What are you talking about?"
"Have you gone bloody mental?" He was getting more fired up, she could tell, but she really wasn't looking for a fight. "Or did you conveniently forget about how you stormed off at dinner?"
Truthfully, Hermione had almost forgotten about it. That argument felt like it had taken place ages ago.
"I don't want to argue with you any more tonight," she said.
His eyes lost some of their fire. "We aren't arguing, we're—we're just sorting things out."
Hermione raised a brow before yawning again. "Well, it's been a great chat, then. Things seem fairly sorted to me." She pushed past him and made her way to the stairwell that led to the girls' commons. "Goodnight, Ron."
"Mione, wait."
Hermione turned, her foot balanced on the bottommost stair. "What?"
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "I just…I wanted to say…"
Hermione's exhaustion was momentarily put on hold as she held her breath, daring to get her hopes up. Her heart pounded away in anticipation as he opened his mouth, his arm moving to pull something from behind his back.
Her eyes widened slightly and she blushed a little.
Had—he gotten her a gift? It was quite out of character for him, but still a thoughtful gesture all the same. She bit her lip to hide the smile threatening to creep onto her face.
"You, er, forgot this." He awkwardly proffered the book to her. Her heart plummeted to the ground. "At the table, I mean."
She stared at it for a moment, blankly observing the way the firelight danced across the cover. Her eyes blurred with tears and she struggled to catch her breath.
"Oh," Hermione said impassively. "Right. My…book." She took it from his outstretched hand. "Is that it?"
"Well…" He frowned. "Yeah. Were you expecting something else?"
She could feel the tears threatening to spill over. "No," Hermione said, forcing a smile, "There isn't. Thanks for..." She quietly cleared her throat, holding up the book. "Thanks for this."
Ron beamed, oblivious to the inner turmoil he had caused.
"No problem," he said brightly. "G'night."
Hermione turned and silently made her way up the stairs, her limbs suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever before. She felt utterly wretched, unattractive, and unwanted.
Thankfully, all the girls inside were asleep when she arrived. Usually Parvati and Lavender would stay up until the wee hours of the morning gossiping endlessly, ultimately forcing Hermione to place soundproofing charms around her four-poster bed if she wanted any sleep.
She walked to her bed and set the book on her bedside table before collapsing, fully clothed, onto the mattress. As much as she tried to tell herself that she was tougher than this, that it wasn't worth her tears, she couldn't help but succumb to the sobs she'd barely been able to hide from Ron.
Instead, she lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling for a long while until her silent tears subsided and her eyelids began to slide closed. Sleep began to sink into her, blanketing her troubled mind in the blissful numbness of unconsciousness.
O-O-O
Hermione sat up, rubbing her pounding temples with her thumb and forefinger as a headache came on from sitting up too quickly. She swayed a little dizzily for a moment, her stomach churning as a wave of queasiness hit her.
She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A chilly gust of wind tore through the air, whipping her hair around. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself to shield her body from the cold.
She opened her mouth to speak just to realize that no words would come out, rendering herself unable to verbalize her thoughts as she looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. She was sitting on limp, frost-covered grass, a cloudy night sky stretching endlessly overhead. She reached out and ran her fingers over the cool growth, a sense of déjà vu overcoming her.
Because it was so foggy, Hermione decided she would get up and walk around a bit to explore, but her legs seemed to be disconnected from her brain. Instead of dwelling on this, she turned, noticing a large, looming shadow through the dense fog. She strained her eyes to make out more details.
The fog slowly began to clear, revealing long, wooden benches and the different signs and banners hung around them. She read one that said, 'Hogwarts will dominate!' and another close by that had the words, 'Cedric, Our Only Champion!' written across it.
Further off, a sky blue banner with shiny gold trim around the edges was hung on one side, bearing the name and slogan of the French school, Beauxbatons. A few feet from it was another, smaller sign, this one a deep maroon color, that said, 'Durmstrang's Victor Krum will get the cup!'.
Her brain processed this and she finally realized what this strange structure was: the stands where the students from the competing schools could observe the Triwizard Tournament.
She turned the other way and saw the gloomy maze entrance several feet from herself. Fog was creeping out from between its leaves in the bushes, beckoning to her. She shivered but it was not from the cold.
There was a thud beside her and she started, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She turned to look at what had caused the sound and suddenly wished she hadn't as she found herself staring into a pair of blank, grey eyes.
She fought back a wave of nausea that threatened to overtake her as her eyes instantly blurred with tears. She forced herself to tear her eyes away with a gag, staring at her hands instead—her very warm, very alive hands. Hands that had blood coursing through veins in them. Veins that ran through her body and led to her very much alive and beating heart.
As if they were operating on their own, her eyes drifted back to Diggory's body. His cheeks were pale and colorless beneath the dried sweat and mud caked to his face, flecks of dirt clinging to his wavy brown hair. She reached out a shaking hand and touched his cold cheek with the tips of her fingers, instantly recoiling upon the contact.
She looked from her hand to his face for a moment before extending her hand, flinching as her fingertips once again brushed against his skin, but she forced down the bile rising in her throat and began carefully brushing the grime from his face. After that, she shook the dirt from his hair.
She may not have known him very well, but she was certain that he would not appreciate being so filthy.
"Thank you," a voice whispered, and then all her surroundings blended together in a whirlwind of color until there was nothing left except total, silencing darkness.
O-O-O
Hermione awoke with goosebumps all over her body. Her hair and face were sticky with sweat and she was breathing hard.
She heard the creak of mattress, followed by a soft voice in the dark coming from the direction of Parvati Patil's bed.
"Hermione?" Parvati called out. "Are you okay?"
Hermione swallowed thickly. "Y-yeah," she whispered back. "Just a dream. Thanks."
She waited until she heard Parvati's soft snores before casting a silencing spell around her bed, her body doubling over as she dissolved into shuddering, dry sobs.