Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the bomb for writing this series.

Chapter Sixteen

The next few weeks following her confrontation with Blaise flew by in an indistinguishable blur, and before Hermione knew it, the potion was prepared for its final ingredient.

She sat crouched in the near-darkness of a rather spacious closet conjured up in the Room of Requirement. She, Scott, and Cedric exchanged looks. "Hermione, you've already done more than I could ever repay you for." Cedric said, looking at her seriously. Their eyes locked, and in that one non-verbal exchange, his eyes spoke volumes to her that he hadn't been able to verbalize.

Her coffee-colored eyes drifted to the knife in her right hand, mildly intruiged by how the faint light glinted off of the sharp, polished steel blade. "I'm not backing out. And there is nothing either of you can do about it, okay?" She replied stubbornly. "I have to do this." Her determined gaze landed back on Cedric before flickering over to Scott, who gave her a slight nod to indicate that the time had come.

She drew in a deep breath and clutched it tighter in her grip as she positioned her left hand over the cerulean liquid slowly boiling inside of the pewter cauldron. And in one swift motion, she sliced a small, thin line at the tip of her finger, flinching slightly when she saw tiny crimson beads of blood forming before solidifying into one large droplet.

Although she had grown much more accustomed to the sight of blood considering Harry and Ron had a knack for getting themselves into all sorts of accidents involving either quidditch or mischief, Hermione had always been a little squeamish about blood.

The ruby red drop fell from her finger and into the potion, and she muttered a quick healing spell to seal the cut on her fingertip before stirring the liquid accordingly, watching in awe as it began changing from cerulean to a glowing silvery color. "It's done." She said softly, looking at the boys. They nodded grimly in return before all three left it to mature in the pitch darkness.

Hermione was curled up in a blanket on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room, her worn copy of Hogwarts, A History carefully tucked in her arms. She had read and re-read the same paragraph about the addition of the Astronomy Tower probably one-hundred and fifty times in the past half-hour, unable to focus her attention on the text.

Someone let out a sigh.

"Hermione, you're going to wear your fingernails down to bloody stubs if you don't let up on them," Ron mused from where he sat on the couch opposite of her.

Hermione's eyes snapped over to him, startled, before narrowing in annoyance. "Oh, come off it, Ron." She retorted hotly, unwilling to admit that he was right (darn her Gryffindor pride).

His concerned stare was still fixated on her, clearly unfazed by her sudden snappish tone. "And on top of that," he continued, speaking as if she hadn't lashed out at him in the first place, which mildly surprised her since the redhead had always had a terrible temper, "you're reading Hogwarts, A History, which has always been your source of comfort during a crisis."

Hermione blinked dumbly at the boy, shocked by his accurate observation skills.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, taking on his most brotherly tone—things between them had fizzled out into nothing more than a completely platonic relationship, and he'd become, as Harry had been since they were eleven, a surrogate brother to her—as he said, "Now if that's not a red flag, I don't know what is. Is everything okay?"

The look in his blue eyes dared her to lie to him, but she knew it had to be done for Cedric's sake. "I'm just worried about that Arithmancy test tomorrow," she lied, giving him a weak smile, guilt embedding itself into her gut as the words flowed surprisingly easily from her lips.

It wasn't a total lie, though, she supposed—there truly was an Arithmancy test tomorrow, but she wasn't worried about it in the least because she could do Arithmancy in her sleep. It was the fact that the potion had been completed a week ago and the new moon was scheduled for the following night. If everything went as planned, Cedric would be alive and well in less than forty-eight hours' time.

However, if she were to make even the tiniest, most miniscule mistake in either the spell or the preparation for his resurrection, she would die and eliminate the possibility of him ever coming back. The thought was rather daunting, to say the least, especially when it involved possibly putting Cedric in danger (because if she were to fail, he would fade away completely and cease to exist in any form, which was the ultimate kind of damnation to Hermione).

But luckily for her, as observant as he apparently was, Ron didn't seem to have the slightest inkling about the inner workings of her mind, his face quickly draining of all color. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered wearily, rubbing his hand over his face, "you're right, 'mione." He stood quickly and made a beeline for the boys' dormitories, no doubt to attempt to cram his brain with the advanced Arithmancy equations their class had been studying for the past couple of weeks.

Hermione let out a giggle despite herself, knowing that he'd give up after an hour out of frustration before roaming around like a lost puppy to find Lavender, his girlfriend of about a month, to occupy himself.

On the morning of what was sure to be one of the most important days of her life, Hermione found herself doing the one thing she did best when she found herself in a moment of crisis: study.

Of course, she couldn't read more into the book she'd stolen from Malfoy Manor since it was currently in Scott's possession and had been since she'd reluctantly given it to him, upon his insistence, the day after she'd read about the potion and the spell, so she made do by trying to get her overstuffed brain to soak up as much information as possible about Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, and pretty much anything and everything else to distract herself from the real issue—she was scared.

Actually, no. If she were completely honest with herself, she was out of her bloody mind with panic.

What was she going to do if she messed up? Let Cedric disappear forever? Oh, and there was also the fact that she could, well, die.

Hermione took a deep breath and continued pacing the length of the woven rug at the hearth of the fireplace, oblivious of the threadbare trail taking shape beneath her feet after hours of walking back and forth in the same line. She really needed to calm down and stop being such a pessimist. Where was her infamous Gryffindor bravery?

She was the curious, selfless Hermione Jean Granger after all, and never, in all her life had she had such treaturous thoughts of backing out (setting aside, of course, the countless times she had tried convincing her stubborn, thick-headed counterparts of the Golden Trio to stop their scheming and leave things bloody well alone). This was possibly the most important task that had ever befallen her, and she refused to allow her cowardice to get the best of her.

Besides, the potion had already matured, and—she cast her brown eyes to a nearby arched window, walking over to it and peering out into the clear, moonless sky. There wasn't a single cloud in sight to obscure the twinkling starlight, and Hermione sighed, running her slender fingers through her curly tresses and pulling her hair into a loose bun, securing it with a rubber band and tucking a few stray ringlets behind her ears.

The potion was matured and tonight was the new moon. There was no avoiding her fate, whatever it would be a few hours from now, at this point. And she was willing to risk everything if it meant Cedric could have his second chance. Merlin knew he deserved it.

She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room with fierce, magestic lions carved into its smooth wooden surface, and read that it was nearing eleven o'clock. Her delicate brunette brows drew together anxiously.

Where was Scott? They only had until midnight to prepare—

"Oi!" Hermione turned her head towards the closed portrait hole, an amused smile gracing her lips at the familiar yell outside. "Open up, you idiotic, hormonal bint!"

She laughed at the Fat Lady's indignant reply. "How dare you speak to me as if I'm no more than a mere child's piece of artistic rubbish! I'll have you know that not only am I worth more than your entire house and everything in it, I was painted from the finest oil paints England had to offer at the time—"

Hermione chose that moment to step through the portrait hole, effectively cutting off the rest of the enraged painting's rant. "Scott!"

He gave the painting an I-told-you-so look before turning to Hermione with an annoyed look on his face. "Hermione, can you please tell your dense, moody portrait that I come in peace?"

Hermione sighed and looked at the Fat Lady. "He's right, you know," she said.

The woman crossed her oil-painted arms and huffed, "Either way, he's not a Gryffindor, so I couldn't have let him in if I wanted to."

And judging by her hurtful, slightly murderous expression, she didn't look like she'd ever been the slightest bit inclined to want to.

"I didn't ask you to let me in, you insufferable woman!" Scott exclaimed irritatedly. He gestured toward Hermione as he said, "All I wanted was for you to fetch Hermione." He put great, exaggerated emphasis on those last two words.

The Fat Lady gave a dainty sniff. "I wouldn't dare leave my post." She paused for a moment, almost as if deliberating whether or not to elaborate, before adding, "Especially not for a self-righteous Hufflepuff, no less."

Hermione decided it was best not to point out the fact that paintings in Hogwarts, as the Fat Lady so eloquently put it, "left their posts" quite often. And yes, that clearly included the incident in her Second Year when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the hypocritical portrait had fled to another painting for safety from the basilisk.

Anger flared in Scott's eyes at the insult she had not-so-subtly made against his House, raising an accusatory finger. "Now you listen here—"

Hermione sighed, stepping between the dynamic duo before things got nastier than they already were. "Enough already." She gave Scott a pointed look as she said, "I'm here, so let's go."

He heaved a disappointed sigh as he mumbled, "Alright, Hermione." As they turned around, he descreetly shot the Fat Lady a look that clearly said this-isn't-over-yet, which she replied to by haughtily crossing her arms and sticking her nose high into the air until they turned the corner, when her angry expression morphed into a pleased look.

"Well, that certainly was entertaining." She murmured to herself with a smile, mildly curious as to where Miss Granger was wandering off to so late after curfew with, dare she admit it (and sweet Merlin, yes, yes she did), the dashingly handsome Hufflepuff boy. Her round face promply turned a deep shade of red as she whispered breathlessly, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "Oh my, I had no idea Miss Granger was that kind of girl..."

However, what the extremely mislead painting didn't know certainly wouldn't hurt her.

After all, how could she possibly know that Hermione and Scott were, at that very moment, hurrying to the Room of Requirement to save their partial-ghost friend from fading into oblivion?

They raced inside to find Cedric Diggory, the almost-Triwizard Champion, former Hufflepuff, fallen classmate of two years, and newest resident Hogwarts ghost (unbeknownst to anyone else, of course) pacing nervously. Although, since a large portion of his legs had recently disappeared, he looked rather more like he were floating gracefully one way and the other, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips drawn into a frown.

Which, considering the fact that he would most likely be alive once more in less than an hours' time, was certainly odd.

"Cedric," Hermione said slowly, her voice soft, "what's wrong?" Scott, who couldn't see his troubled friend unless both males made some sort of physical contact with Hermione, stepped off to the side to double-check that they had everything they needed to perform the spell in the room to allow the two some privacy.

When Cedric turned his head, Hermione found that he was more distraught than she'd ever seen him. "Maybe..." He stopped, swallowed and tried again, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea." He whispered.

Hermione reeled in disbelief. "You've got to be joking, Ced."

He broke eye contact and slowly shook his head, running both hands through his hair. "No, I'm not." When he looked at her again, his eyes were like twin hurricanes. "I don't think we should do this, Hermione."

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" She hissed at him, taking a step towards him, anger simmering dangerously in her eyes.

For his part, Cedric quietly stood his ground, squaring what was left of his shoulders. Hermione turned her back to him, rubbing her temples to satiate her oncoming migraine and dispelled her fury in a soft whoosh through her nose.

When she whirled back around to face him, her eyes burned with stubborn determination. "Cedric, this is what you want, I know it is! It's what we all want! And we've risked far too much—"

"That's just it, Hermione!" Cedric exploded heatedly, the loud volume of his voice matching hers only moments ago. She was stunned into silence. "You've already risked enough for me!" He threw his hands in the air as if it would emphasize his point.

"Listen—" she weakly tried again, intimidated by his thunderous voice.

"No, Hermione, you listen!" He interrupted before she could finish. His face softened and he closed the distance between them to hover a few inches in front of her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but I'll be bloody damned if I let you—" he broke off, clearing his throat. "I refuse to stand by and watch you die for me." His voice was barely a whisper. "I'm already dead anyways, so there's nothing for me to lose if this doesn't work."

Hermione shook her head defiantly and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's already done, Cedric, and frankly, I refuse to watch you disappear forever."

His eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation and sighed in defeat when he found none.

"It's nearly time, you two." Scott said, and Hermione turned and saw that he had already moved everything from the center of the room and set up the cauldron with its seven candles around it. He nodded to her to signal that it was time for her to do her part.

She had already discussed with him the fact that Cedric couldn't leave the castle walls, and since the spell was meant to be performed outside beneath the moonless sky, she had come up with an alternative plan. Hermione squeezed her eyes and Cedric's words from all those months ago came back to her, reverberating in her head.

Think only of that thing you want. Clear your mind of everything else.

She blocked out everything—her fears about the spell backfiring in some way, the possibility of death looming over like a dark raincloud, Blaise's warning about the Death Eater attack, Voldemort wanting her head served to him on a silver platter as an appetizer for his terrifying pet snake...

Her mind was completely blank.

I want to see the sky overhead, she thought. She pictured a room with stone floors and walls and no ceiling, the stars winking at her from where they hung in the sky.

I want to see the sky overhead. I want to see the sky overhead. I want to see the sky overhead.

She felt the familiar shifting beneath her feet as the Room rearranged itself. She opened her eyes as she felt a piece of parchment being pressed into her palm.

"The spell." Scott explained simply as his arm fell back into place at his side. She nodded and found herself standing in the room of her creation, and she looked up at the sky.

"Is it time?" she asked softly, her gaze fixed to the dark sky to admire the sprinkling of stars that glittered above her, although she already knew the answer.

"Yes," Scott replied.

She looked down at the folded parchment in her fist and carefully opened it. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Cedric take his place standing in the cauldron, his worry gone. They both knew fear wasn't an option at this point.

A clock somewhere off in the distance chimed its low, brassy notes into the lonely night, signaling that it was midnight. Hermione took a deep breath and pulled her wand from where she'd stuck it through her bun for safekeeping, grasping it tightly as she recited the old Latin words.

"Surge, cor de mei cor." She began evenly, watching in slight fascination as the candles around the cauldron lit themselves, one by one. Her wand tip had also lit up with a dim white light after she had finished the first line, and after the seventh was lit, she continued, "Expergiscere, oculos de mei oculos."

She was startled when she felt her wand heat up in her hand, sending strangely pleasant electric impulses down her arm and throughout the rest of her body. It was almost as if she could feel her magical essence running through her veins...

She forced herself not to lose her focus, and glanced down at the paper for a moment before continuing, noting that the electric pulses grew more excited with each word and the light from her wand grew in intensity. "HALO, os de mei os."

The light from her wand tip was nearly blinding her, it was so bright. Steam had begun billowing from the cauldron, engulfing Cedric's ethereal form, but Hermione couldn't dwell upon that.

She had to finish this.

"Surge, amica mea!" She shouted with an air of finality, and the ball of light burst from her wand and flew across the room at light speed, encircling the candles—which promptly burst into roaring shoots of flames—and whirling around the steam to create a billowing funnel of fog. The force of it all sent Hermione flying backward into the wall, her head slamming against the stone and causing brilliant white starbursts to bloom across her vision.

"HERMIONE!" She faintly heard somebody shout, definitively male.

Who was it, Harry? Ron? She couldn't tell.

Suddenly, she heard someone else speak, their voice seemingly all around her at once.

This is him?

Hermione lifted her head and looked dazedly around for the owner of the knowledgeable-sounding female voice, her vision fading in and out, but couldn't seem to find anyone. It was then when she registered, somewhere in her disoriented mind, that she recognized that voice from somewhere...

Why couldn't she remember?

W-what? She thought, shaking her throbbing head to keep herself from fainting. She touched the back of her head with a shaky hand, her drooping eyes apathetically gazing at the sticky blood glistening on her palm.

Your friend, the one you were trying to help. Is this him?

She finally dimly recognized it as the same voice who spoke to her at Malfoy Manor when she tried to get into the library.

Yes.

And you still regret nothing you did to try to save him?

Hermione could feel unconsciousness beckoning to her at the edges of her clouded brain, but desperately tried to evade it for a few more moments.

No, she thought firmly, sliding down the last couple of inches to the floor and gingerly resting her head on the cold stone. Her hair whipped all about her head as wind continued to whirl around her, howling into her deaf ears. She dimly acknowledged the fact that she should feel some kind of pain in her head, instead of the absolute numbness she was experiencing.

His warm smile danced in front of her disoriented eyes, causing her lips to unconsciously pull up into a shaky smile as her energy began failing her.

"Cedric..." She whispered, finally succumbing to the lull of unconsciousness, her heavy eyelids shuttering closed.

And somewhere in the very back of her head in those last fleeting seconds before she was fully gone, she could have sworn she the voice murmur faintly, Ah, but all dark magic comes at a price...