Disclaimer: Yeah, you know the drill by now but I'll say it again for kicks. I own nothing but the plot of this story.
Chapter Nine
"So," Scott said casually as he approached her, "where to?"
Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards ever-so-slightly as she replied, "The library. Where else?"
Scott chuckled and followed her through the tunnel and out of the barrel. They walked together in companionable silence.
Only after Hermione was certain that they were safely tucked away in her little nook did she finally speak. She settled into one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs, suddenly wishing that she could transfigure it into one of the beanbag chairs she'd come to greatly appreciate during her prolonged stays researching.
After a few moments of listening to the chair groan in protest every time she moved, she gave up and looked across the wooden tabletop at Scott. He was seated nonchalantly in his chair, one arm hanging over the back and the other draped across the surface of the worn table in front of him. Despite his casual position, his eyes were trained inquisitively on her, brows knitted together seriously.
Hermione emitted a sigh that had been built up from months of silently having to carry such a large weight on her shoulders, one that gave rise to a flicker of hope that the burden might be shared between them.
"Scott," she began, "do you remember when Professor Trelawney went to the Hospital Wing earlier this year?"
"Who doesn't?"
Hermione's unsmiling expression didn't change. "Did you hear the rumor that went around school as to why she was there?"
He nodded, suspicion creeping into his voice. "The one where she tripped over the hem of her skirt and fell into a tea table?"
Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip. "That's the one."
"Okay," Scott said slowly, "but what's Trelawney got to do with anything?"
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "That… That's not what happened."
Scott straightened in the chair immediately and leaned forward, eyes swimming with an innumerable amount of questions he dared not to speak.
She knew from past experience that Scott shared her opinion that Trelawney was a fake who didn't possess any sort of foresight at all, so she was certain that her serious expression would be the only thing holding him in place. "She told me a prediction."
He shifted a little in his chair as the information sank in. "Prediction?"
Hermione's hands shook as she undid the metal clasp to her satchel and reached inside, pulling out the parchment on which she had written the prophesy. As he reached out and took it from her outstretched hand, she explained quickly, "It's a riddle of sorts."
Scott's eyes looked over the words and he mumbled, "I can see that." When he finished, he placed the parchment on the table and fixed her with a piercing look. "What's all of this about?"
Hermione sighed exasperatedly, frustration building at the blatant way he'd overlooked her notes at the bottom. She snatched up the parchment and waved it in his face. "Can't you see, Scott? It's about the letters! The ones I thought were from you!"
Scott grabbed her wrist lightly, stilling her hand. He had bent so far across the table that his face was only a few inches from hers, so close that she had to flick her eyes back and forth to see both of his.
His voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes pleading, as he asked, "You figured out who they were from?"
She blinked, startled by his sudden actions, her hand caught right between them. "Yes," she breathed. Then he was seated once more, her hand released from his grasp.
"Who was it, then?" He asked after she had resituated herself in her own chair, the prophecy sitting in the middle of the table, abandoned for the moment.
She pulled out the letters and spread them out across the table. Small steps first, she reminded herself. "You'll need to see these first."
After a moment's hesitation, Scott picked up the first one and read it, followed by the second, and then the last, his brows furrowing more and more with each letter. He carefully folded the third one and slid it into its respective envelope, letting out a soft sigh. His expression was carefully guarded. "What's next?"
A beat.
"The fourth letter."
His gaze fell to the three envelopes resting between them on the table. "There's another?"
"Those three," she said, smiling tentatively, "were meant to look like they were from you." From her bag, she withdrew the last letter. It was the only one without an envelope. Hermione traced her fingers down the outward-facing creases. "The fourth letter, however…" her voice faltered. "Well, that one was harder to get my hands on."
"How so?"
"Look," She handed him the prophecy again, pointing to her notes at the bottom this time. "The letters were really just placeholders—pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together."
Scott smoothed out the prophecy on the table. Something wavering between disbelief and determination shone in his eyes as he looked between her face and the final letter. "So that's the answer, then?"
"Yes, it is," Hermione replied. Scott held out his hand for it, but Hermione withdrew it from his reach, drawing herself very close to him. "This is important, Logan." He blinked, evidently stunned by her stern tone. "What I'm about to show you is something you cannot tell anyone. I haven't told a soul – not even Harry, Ron, or Ginny. Do you understand the magnitude of that?"
Scott's expression grew solemn in an instant. "You have my word, Granger."
Hermione nodded once and pushed the letter in his hand. Before letting go, she whispered, "It might be a bit of a shock."
His body immediately tensed as his eyes drank in the words. His chin quivered briefly before he slammed the letter down. His eyes locked with hers, and she was astonished to see a slight glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Is this–" He cut himself off, swallowing hard before continuing in the same hoarse voice. "Is this your idea of a bloody joke?"
Hermione leaned over the table and took one of his hands in both of hers, a purely platonic gesture, never breaking eye contact. Her voice trembled as she murmured, "Why would I lie to you about something like this?"
The wet sheen in his eyes vanished at her reply, his faced hardening as he wrenched his hand from hers and stood. "Take me to him, then." Hermione opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "I want to see him for myself."
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in. "Okay," she said quietly, gathering her things and carefully tucking them back away into her satchel. "Okay. Let's go."
Before she knew it, they were standing at the end of that familiar empty corridor watching the door to the Room of Requirement materialize in front of them. Hermione reached for the handle but Scott's anxious voice interrupted her.
"What—what do I do?" He asked, quickly running a hand through his unstyled hair. "What do I say?"
"Don't think about it too much." Hermione smiled encouragingly at him. "He's still Cedric; his being dead or alive doesn't change that."
Scott swallowed hard and nodded toward the door. "Best jump to it, then."
Cedric's translucent form hovered over one of the recliners as they stepped inside, his head turned toward the low flames in the fireplace. Hermione's heart was beating so loud that she was surprised the boys couldn't hear it.
"Cedric, you've got company."
The puzzled look on his face as he turned toward her was replaced by something far more unreadable when Scott stepped through the doorway. Hermione ushered him toward the couch and they both sat.
"He can't see me, Hermione," Cedric said dully. A pained look flashed across his face. "Why would you do this?"
Hermione glanced at Scott, who was currently staring blankly at what she guessed appeared to be an empty armchair. She could see from the increasingly tense way both boys sat, the very air around them crackling with loaded, unspoken questions, that they cared far more deeply about this moment than either would admit.
Finally, she said, "I want to try something."
Unbeknownst to each other, both boys turned to her with identically skeptical looks.
Cedric was the first to speak. "What're you on about now?"
She fixed him with an incredulous stare. "Do you trust me or not?"
The moment was broken as Scott loudly cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but it's a little awkward when I can't see who you're talking to, Granger."
Hermione let out a snort. "You two are just alike!"
Both boys wordlessly stared at her.
She held out her hand, palm up, toward Cedric. Raw magic crackled from her fingertips and her mind willed the Room of Requirement to yield to it. "You asked me to take yours once and I didn't take the chance. I hope that you will."
His eyes locked with hers, his gaze smoldering with an emotion that Hermione couldn't quite place burning in their depths, before he obediently took it.
As his fingers closed firmly around hers, electrifying tingles shot out from her fingers, eliciting a shiver as they jolted through her spine. His touch felt unnatural, biting like a bitter wintry draft everywhere it touched her skin and stirring within her a strong desire to recoil from it. But she did not release his hand, not even as heat bloomed across her cheeks.
After a sharp intake of breath, Hermione held out her other hand. Scott timidly looked at the magic that sparked like electricity from her palm before taking it.
He shuddered, blinking rapidly, then stilled.
In the moment that followed, he was staring past her with a stricken look on his face. For the second time since she'd come to know Scott Logan, tears shone in his eyes, and she knew.
His mouth opened, shut, then opened again. He blinked, dispelling a single tear. "H—hey, Ced."
Cedric's eyes were wide in shock but he recovered quickly, flashing his trademark crooked smile, his eyes positively glowing. "Hey, mate. Where've you been?"
For the remainder of the day, Hermione simply watched the two best friends talk again for the first time in two years, taking in the gratitude and joy shining in Cedric's eyes every time he looked at her as well as the gleeful smiles that both boys couldn't seem to wipe off of their faces, and she felt good again for the first time in a while.
O-O-O
"Now what?" Scott asked. Hermione had already gotten the sneaking suspicion that he'd get around to posing the question eventually, so she already had an answer prepared for him. She looked from Cedric to him from her comfy perch on the soft, brown plush couch in the Room of Requirement.
Hermione opened her mouth to reply but Cedric beat her to it. "We've been—well, Hermione, mostly," Hermione blushed at that comment and lowered her head. "has been trying to figure out how to bring me back."
"Right. Resurrection." Scott said blankly. He turned to Hermione. "What've you got so far?"
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. I've searched everywhere, read every single book the library has in stock about ghosts, dark spells, and ancient magic. I've even perused through the Restricted Section—" she spared Cedric a glance out of the corner of her eye to see him watching her intently, "but still. There's nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"You've already tried the bookstores in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley?" Scott asked.
"Hogsmeade practically has nothing of use to begin with," she said with a grimace. "I went to Diagon Alley over Christmas break and—nothing. I even tried Knockturn Alley," she ignored the frown on Cedric's face at this, "but not even they had any books of that sort in stock."
Scott was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, "I think I've got an idea that might help widen our range of available books," he said. "It might turn out to be rabbit trail, but I still think it's worth considering."
Hermione and Cedric shared a questioning glance before they both shrugged and turned back to Scott, just missing his eyebrow raise at their silent interaction. Cedric spoke first. "What do you have in mind?"
Scott's lips spread into a mischievous smile in response.
O-O-O
Hermione awoke in the middle of the night after hearing a creak in the floorboards. She shot up, grabbing her wand to defend herself against the intruder, and found herself staring into the alarmed face of Lavender at the end of her bed.
"It's me!" Lavender whispered, tentatively holding up a glass in her left hand. "Just needed a drink!"
Hermione lowered her wand, glancing around to find that no one else had been awakened. "It's fine. Bit of a loose board there."
A tired smile graced Lavender's face. "Thank you," she murmured before scurrying back to the sanctuary of her warm blankets. Hermione heard her place the cup carefully on her night table followed soon by soft, rhythmic breaths as she drifted back to sleep.
Hermione, however, wasn't so lucky.
She tossed and turned for a good five minutes without feeling the fog of sleep descend upon her mind. She stared up at the ceiling for a while, wide awake, knowing full well that she wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon. Eventually, she gave up and rolled onto her side. As her body stilled and her mattress stopped its infernal squeaking beneath her, a wave of restlessness washed over her and she snatched her wand from beneath her pillow before slipping out of her dormitory.
As she crept into the corridor, she cast a quick disillusionment spell over herself just in case she might run into Filch and his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris. Noiselessly, she glided down the corridors and staircases until she stood in front of the Room. She had never visited Cedric at such a late hour, but his company was far better than the loud snores of her dormmates.
When she entered, she expected that same comfortable room as always to appear before her. Instead, lush grass tickled her ankles and the ceiling – or what used to be the ceiling – was a deep shade of purplish-black, twinkling with innumerable brilliant stars. In the distance, a weeping willow appeared to be glowing in the light of the full moon overhead.
She realized as she made her way toward it that she was treading up a slight incline. At the peak, just short of the tree, a vast lake stretched out before her. The water appeared smooth as glass, shining like liquid silver in the moonlight. Softly, the willow's flowering branches barely skimmed its surface.
"Hermione?" She jumped at the sound of Cedric's voice. His curious gaze briefly fell to her tartan pajamas and he chuckled. "Gryffindor through and through, I see."
She blushed, sparing a glance at the embroidered lion on the pocket of her pajama top. "Tease all you like, but I happen to like these pajamas. They were a Christmas gift." The, a thought occurring to her, she raised an amused brow at his Triwizard uniform. "Besides, bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"
A laugh escaped him as he looked down at his own clothes. "Point taken." He began to drift toward the lake, pausing to call back, "Care to join me?"
With a nod, she followed him to the edge, watching as he lowered to stretch out on the grass. After a moment, she did the same, folding her arms behind her head. "How did you do all this, anyway?"
"Lots of practice."
She rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin up on one palm. "You've mentioned that before. What, exactly, does practicing look like?"
As his head tilted to the side, she could faintly see blades of grass through his translucent face. "Mostly, thinking about what I desire most. I try to picture all of the details and—sort of—will the Room to allow it to happen."
The thought of raw, electrifying magic at her fingertips came to her. "Like the way I was able to manipulate the Room's magic to allow Scott to see you?"
His face softened. "Yes, I suppose just like that." He turned his face back toward the sky and closed his eyes. "Tell me something about yourself, Hermione."
She tilted her head slightly, surprised, brushing her free hand over a patch of grass. It was smooth and supple beneath her fingers. "Well, I believe I'm set to get top marks on my OWLs this year and—"
A warm breeze caressed her face as he said, softly, "Not that. Something that no one else knows." His eyes fluttered open briefly, watching as she tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "Something good," he said, echoing her words from that day in the library.
She plucked two strands of grass and released them, watching as they were carried a short distance away in the wind. They swirled around each other, close but not touching, before drifting lightly to the ground. "I want to be a healer. Maybe start out at St. Mungo's, but eventually open my own practice."
"I always thought the three of you—Harry, Ron, and you, that is—would be aurors, but I can't say I'm surprised," he mused. "What field of healing would you go into?"
"I'd like to go into a specialized field, one where I could offer healing services for magical creatures like house elves, werewolves, and the like." She folded her arms and rested her head on top of them, letting out a low laugh. "Sounds a bit radical, I know."
"No," he said firmly. Then, more gently, "I think it sounds equal parts brilliant and compassionate." The earnest look in his eyes when they made eye contact stole her breath away. "Which, I'd say, seems quite fitting."
Another breeze passed between them, tenderly brushing against her flushed face. She rolled onto her back, sucking in a shallow breath to calm the sudden spike in her heart rate. "Thank you," she breathed, hoping that he didn't catch the tremble in her voice.
O-O-O
It was around two or three in the morning when she decided to leave him. "I'd better head off to bed," she announced, sitting up and brushing grass from her pajamas.
He was already standing by the time she got to her feet. "It is getting rather late."
She started for the door and froze, whipping around and fixing him with an unblinking stare.
The hole in his chest had noticeably widened. Now, it covered a good two quarters of his chest and had begun to creep its way across his left shoulder. She closed the distance between them and raised a shaking hand to it. His eyes dropped to his chest as her fingers fluttered over it, touching only air.
When her horrified eyes met his, his mouth was set in a grim line. "I'm fading faster and faster every day."
Hermione dropped her hand to her side, her eyes never leaving his. " Scott and I will bring you back."
One of his hands rose instantly, hovering centimeters from hers. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as his hand fell back to his side. "The chances are starting to look pretty bleak, Hermione."
"Don't—" She swallowed hard. "Don't say that, not yet. We agreed to try."
A wan smile touched his glowing lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "We did."
She wanted to argue, wanted to fight until he returned to his optimistic self, then bit her tongue. They stood so close, close enough that the forlorn look on his face spoke volumes that his words did not. He didn't need her arguments; he needed her comfort.
She closed her eyes, willing the Room to help her do this, reveling in the crackle of magic that rose pleasantly through her body and made her toes curl. "Cedric," she said quietly, "don't move."
When she opened them again, her cheeks flushed under the intensity of his gaze as she leaned forward, brushing her lips lightly across the air where his glowing cheek hovered. A sharp sting, like ice, shot through her mouth. As she pulled back, her fingers rising to her cold, tingling lips, his eyes were brighter than she'd ever seen them.
"Goodnight," Hermione whispered. And then she smiled at him, heart fluttering, before slipping quietly through the door.
Author's Note: Alright, for my revisiting readers, the end of this chapter is almost entirely different. I took out the previous scene, which involved Cedric actively walking Hermione through the steps of manipulating the Room of Requirement, because this new scene better fits where the story is going. I also wanted to add more details that deepened the connection between the two of them, so that was another motivator.
Drop me a review and let me know what you think, friends! For my new readers, what do you think about this spin on the Room of Requirement? And what do you think Scott's got in mind for helping with Cedric's "mission"? It will all come together in the following chapters, I assure you. ;-)