When Hermione returned to the castle on Sunday afternoon through McGonagall's fireplace, she didn't go immediately to the Gryffindor tower. Instead she stopped outside a long hall on the third floor.
As Cedric had been removed from the office of Head Boy before the year's end, the official records would list his successor, Adrian Pucey, as Head Boy for 1995-96, even though Cedric had held that office for almost nine of ten months. The third floor contained his real legacy.
Hermione's fingers stroked the brass plate beside the north entrance. It wasn't a big plate, but he'd be embarrassed to death if it were. Above both this door and the southern one, a much larger, painted sign read: Hogwarts Common Room. That's what he'd always called it, and what he'd want it called. But it had an official name too: The Cedric Diggory Common Room for all Hogwarts Students. Her lips curled, thinking what he'd say if he saw the plaque. Well, when he saw it, because he'd be here for Slughorn's Christmas party in just two months, and knowing that would have to get her through until then because there'd be no more Hogsmeade weekends after what had happened to poor Katie Bell.
Like the curse on Cedric, the one on Katie had proved too serious for Madam Pomfrey, so Katie had been sent to St. Mungo's. That's what Professor McGonagall had told Hermione when she'd returned. Unlike Cedric, Katie had never regained consciousness - and might never do so. At least she wasn't dead. 'Where there's life, there's hope,' and all that.
Now, Hermione peeked into the Common Room. Once the hall of armour, long and dank and formal, it wore a softer mien these days. There were tables for studying, and couches from multiple eras in all the house colours for lounging. House banners lined the back wall and the Hogwarts banner itself graced the southern end while the trophy room lay to the north. The Triwizard Cup sat on its plinth outside. Cedric had left it here, saying it belonged to the school not to him personally, even if that weren't strictly true. He just didn't like seeing it; it had cost him too much. Fires were burning in both fireplaces, and the place was half full of students from various houses doing homework or meeting. The green and silver ties of Slytherin could be found among them. With the changed political climate and the return of Dumbledore, only a handful of students still avoided the room on principle. Personally, Hermione liked knowing there was one place in the castle she could go besides her own common room where Draco Malfoy wouldn't set foot.
But she did need to get back to the tower, so she didn't enter, hurrying on past to the staircase instead. When she reached Gryffindor's common room, it was solemn, and Harry and Ron pounced on her almost immediately, Harry spouting his theory that it must have been Draco who'd given Katie that cursed necklace, whatever McGonagall thought. Tired and depressed after leaving Cedric, as well as upset over what had happened to Katie, Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Let me go and put my things away, all right? But if Professor McGonagall said Draco was at the castle, it can't have been him."
"He could've had an accomplice, like Crabbe or Goyle!" Harry protested.
"Katie went into the girls' toilet. Why would either of them be hiding in there?"
"I don't know!" Harry snapped back. "Maybe his accomplice is a girl. We saw Pansy leaving the castle yesterday."
"We didn't see her in the pub, however," Hermione pointed out, adding, "I'll be back in a minute."
The rest of the afternoon went much like that, Harry obsessing over his theory that Draco was a Death Eater. Hermione tried to reason with him for a while, then gave up and just let him talk. She and Ron exchanged long-suffering looks.
Monday evening, Harry went to his second lesson with Dumbledore whilst Ginny and Hermione attended Slughorn's dinner party for the "Slug Club", as the professor called it. He seemed aware of how ridiculous it sounded, but found it amusing. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about these dinners. On the one hand, it was nice to be recognized for her abilities not her birth - and by a Slytherin too. Plus Slughorn fed them well. That night, glazed grouse, baked potatoes and baked apples with toffee crumble graced the table. Slughorn didn't play favourites by house either, unlike Snape. Students from all four houses were represented, even Hufflepuff, whatever Slughorn had implied about them when talking to Cedric on Saturday. Susan Bones was there, probably due to her late aunt, along with a second year whose name Hermione couldn't remember but recognized as the little Jewish girl who idolized Cedric. It seemed her mother was well placed in the Israeli diplomatic corps, which was why she'd come to England to begin with.
Yet it was this very favouritism Hermione found distressing. She was used to being a teacher's pet, but preferred Professor McGonagall's impartial fairness, or Professor Vector's casual assumption. Vector even forgot to give Hermione house points for correct answers sometimes. By contrast, Slughorn seemed to relish bestowing house points on students he liked or who impressed him, and he saw nothing wrong with ignoring the rest - like poor Ron. Although Ron was Ginny's brother and best friend to both herself and Harry, Slughorn often acted as if he didn't see Ron - and perhaps he didn't. He had selective vision. He might not subscribe to an aristocracy, but he did subscribe to a meritocracy, and as far as he was concerned, Ron had no merit.
"Oh, Hermione, it's Gwennog Jones!" Ginny said, clutching Hermione's arm in excitement as they were ushered into Slughorn's private rooms, the spicy smell of apples pervading the air.
"Gwennog who?" Hermione asked.
Ginny popped her on the arm. "Gwennog Jones! Captain and Seeker of the Holyhead Harpies!"
"And this matters because . . . ?" But she was mostly teasing, knowing well Ginny's love for the all-women's team, even over her local Chudley Cannons. Now, of course, she had to listen to it all again as Ginny sung the praises of the Harpies even while hanging back in the crowd around Jones. Ginny could be uncharacteristically shy when faced with a personal hero like Jones, or once, Harry. Compared to Viktor, Hermione found this pro player a bit full of herself, but Hermione was probably the only one present who didn't give two figs for Quidditch - although Blaise Zabini appeared somewhat bored too. Then again, he always appeared bored, so Hermione wasn't sure his expression had anything to do with the choice of dinner guest.
Spotting Hermione and Ginny at the rear of the crowd, and being a good host, Slughorn drew them forward to introduce them. Ginny tried to refrain from gushing, but didn't succeed. Jones ate it up, if kindly, and signed a napkin for Ginny even as she asked Hermione if she followed the Harpies too? Hermione had to reply, "No, I'm sorry. I'm not much of a Quidditch fan, really, and, er, a friend of mine is with Puddlemere United, so I reckon I have to cheer for them." She didn't mention knowing Viktor Krum, who didn't fly for a British team in any case.
"Oliver Wood, right?" Jones asked now. "He was in your house, if I remember."
"Actually, no. Well, I mean, I knew Oliver, yes, but not well. I meant Ed Carpenter."
"Their new reserve Chaser? Oh, good heavens, he's as thick as a brick, that one. But I reckon he's handsome enough to win the female fans." That drew laughter from McLaggen and a couple of the others standing in the circle around Jones.
Hermione resisted bristling even as Slughorn waddled up again, dragging a reluctant-looking Blaise. "Making jokes again, Gwen?"
"Oh, just teasing a bit. Miss . . . Gardener? - no, Granger. She has a crush on a player I know."
"It's not a crush," Hermione corrected, trying not to sound prim. "I happen to be seeing one of Ed's best friends; that's how I know Ed."
Slughorn chuckled and patted the woman's shoulder in a friendly way. "Gwen, Gwen - young Miss Granger here is Cedric Diggory's girl. You've heard of the Triwizard Champion, I'm sure? Lucy Malfoy's son? Excuse me, Lucy Diggory these days - old habits die hard." But Hermione didn't think it had been a slip of the tongue; he made it too often. Whatever he thought of Lucius Malfoy, the name itself still carried prestige and he liked to tap into that.
Just now, Jones was looking at Hermione with new respect. "Ambitious and handsome, that one is. Diggory's going places. I wouldn't let him out of your clutches, if I were you."
"I don't plan on it," Hermione said, resisting insult at the older woman's choice of adjectives. Cedric certainly was handsome, and if ambitious wasn't the word she usually associated with him, he was that too. Not ruthless about it perhaps, but he was ambitious, and she was reminded again that the Sorting Hat had offered him Slytherin before Hufflepuff. The older he got, the more comfortable he seemed with that side of himself.
At Slughorn's subtle-not-subtle prompting, Gwennog Jones turned to say something to Blaise Zabini, and Cormac McLaggen took that opportunity to look down his long, straight nose at Hermione. "So you're still seeing Diggory?"
"Yes," she said, adding, "He came to meet me in Hogsmeade on Saturday, in fact," because the frank surprise in McLaggen's voice had annoyed her.
"He did, did he? Well" - McLaggen shot her a smile she assumed he thought looked sexy - "when it's over with him, you come and look me up. At least I can carry your books for you, you won't have to carry mine." He laughed, as if that were funny.
Hermione pursed her lips, but Ginny - not the least shy with somebody not Jones - snapped, "What on earth makes you think Cedric and Hermione will be over any time soon?"
"Oh, Diggory always goes through one girl a year." That nasty, confident smile was back. "I give it until Christmas at most."
"One girl a year?" Hermione asked, astonished. "And you have . . . what for evidence of that? Cho Chang and me? And he's still with me?"
"Oh, for pity's sake! Before Chang, there was Zoë Smythe, and before Smythe, there was Julia Simmons, although I don't think he was sleeping with her. And before her . . . I don't remember, but there was some girl before her, too. Diggory's always had a girlfriend, except maybe his first or second year. He's a lady's man."
Hermione struggled to conceal her shock as Ginny came to her defence once more. "All that proves is that girls like him . . . maybe because he's nice?"
McLaggen ignored the jab, shrugging instead. "Every year, a new girl. That's how it's been ever since I've known him - " He cut off as Slughorn called them to be seated for the meal. "Remember that, Granger," McLaggen added. "When it's over, come and look me up, yeah?"
He hurried over to hold the chair for Gwennog Jones, then sat down beside her, all charm and white smiles. Hermione just stood there, shocked. "Come on," Ginny said, tugging at her arm. "And ignore him, you know he's an idiot, and you know Cedric adores you."
"Did he really have those other girlfriends?" she asked. If so, why hadn't he told her about them? He had admitted he wasn't a virgin when she'd asked, but he hadn't named names - he was too much the gentleman - and she'd, well, assumed it had been Cho.
"Does it matter?" Ginny asked now. "McLaggen can't stay with the same girl for three months, so he's hardly one to talk! Staying with a girl for a year is a long time, Hermione."
And that was true, at least at their age, but it didn't entirely console her. Why hadn't Cedric mentioned these other girls? She spent the rest of the evening mulling it over, worrying at it like a sore tooth. On the way back to Gryffindor Tower later, Ginny slipped her arm into Hermione's. "You're still obsessing about what McLaggen said, aren't you?"
"I'm not certain I'd say I'm obsessing - " Hermione began.
"You're obsessing," Ginny interrupted. "Don't be silly. I've never heard anything bad about Cedric's reputation with girls until last year and Cho. That's why it was so shocking." Ginny pushed hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "And of course, we both know what went wrong there, don't we?" She squeezed Hermione's arm. "McLaggen is just being a git."
Hermione didn't respond immediately, but when they reached the portrait hole, she said, "He's out of school now, working at the ministry." She didn't mean McLaggen. "There are lots of pretty women working there, some closer to his own age."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Actually, most of them are old enough to be his mother - at least. Now stop it!" They'd entered the common room, and Hermione didn't want to express her doubts there so she gave in to Ginny's admonition. But her mind wasn't entirely eased.
Even in Britain, one of the bigger Muggle news stories that autumn involved the American presidential elections. Cedric found himself caught up in it despite being neither American nor Muggle, and if Bill Clinton's victory was no surprise, Cedric made certain Scrimgeour was well-informed. Yet it was on 19th November that something more critical happened. Cedric received a phone call a little after five in the morning. With only one phone in the house, it was Bill who got up to answer, then came into Cedric's room carrying the receiver. "It's Hermione's father."
Panicked and fearing that something had happened to her, he took the receiver and put it to his ear. "Hullo?"
"Cedric? Get up and turn on the news. There's been a major fire in the Chunnel ... er, the Channel Tunnel."
He breathed out in relief that it had nothing to do with Hermione, then did as Charles Granger said, wondering what the other man was doing up at that hour - probably had an early surgery. Grabbing his chair, he expanded it then slipped in and rolled out into the living room to turn on the telly. Sure enough, the news was full of the story, although the immediate danger was past by this point. It had occurred before midnight, and the report said seven people were in hospital, but nobody was dead. It hadn't been a passenger train that had caught fire, but a shuttle carrying heavy-goods vehicles. Cedric was rather dubious that Voldemort lay behind it as the shuttle had been coming from the French side, but the resulting chaos was something Voldemort could use.
Dutifully lighting their hearth fire, Cedric woke up the Minister by Floocall. A grumpy looking Scrimgeour in a dressing gown and cap was led into his living room by a house-elf. "Diggory? What the devil happened?"
"There's been a major fire in the Channel Tunnel," Cedric replied, hoping this wouldn't take too long. Getting onto the floor in order to speak to somebody by Floo wasn't easy for him. He had to lie down, being unable to kneel.
"What's a Channel Tunnel?"
"It's a railway that connects Britain to France; it runs under the English Channel." He hadn't known that either beforehand.
"The Muggles have a railway that runs under the sea?"
"That's right."
Scrimgeour shook his head. "What will they think of next? Anyway - a fire, you say? In a long tunnel, that could be - "
"Disastrous, yes. The immediate danger is past, actually; it happened late last night and I didn't hear about it until Hermione's father rang me up a little while ago. I checked the Muggle news and then called you. The train that caught on fire came from the French side, and nobody's dead, so I'm not sure You Know Who was involved - but it is the sort of thing he might try to make use of. A lot of trade will have to go by ferry or airplane until the tunnel's repaired, so the impact on the Muggle economy will be significant - and that, in turn, won't help the current Prime Minister whose party approval rating is, forgive me, in the toilet."
"Point taken, Diggory. I met the Muggle Prime Minister this summer when I took office, talked to him briefly about You Know Who. Nervous man."
Cedric couldn't help smiling. "I doubt news of yet another looming problem would have made him happy. The Grangers expect that a new party will take charge when the Muggles have a General Election next year."
"Hmm. Not what we need right now, instability with the Muggles is just one more opportunity for You Know Who."
"Exactly. I'm sorry to have woken you, sir, but I thought you needed to know about the train, even if Voldemort didn't set that fire."
Scrimgeour had winced. "Diggory, you've got to stop calling him by name."
Cedric wanted to say he refused to be superstitious, but the Minister was already in a bad enough mood. Pulling off his nightcap, Scrimgeour ran a hand through his bushy, grizzled hair. "I'll send some Aurors over there right away, just to be certain there's no Death Eater involvement. Er, where is 'there', by the way? I assume this tunnel has an end point on our side?"
"Folkestone, Kent," Cedric replied promptly.
Scrimgeour nodded. "See you in a few hours, Diggory. Get me as much information as you can on this tunnel. We didn't even know it was there; I wonder if You Know Who knows? We have fly-in detection wards all along the coast, but this tunnel offers a new way to violate the Blegen International Magical-Travel Agreement if wizards can sneak in via a tunnel."
Cedric hadn't considered that. "Yes, sir, it does."
"Good job, good job. Loads of implications for our national security . . . " and he wandered off, mind clearly elsewhere.
Sighing, Cedric pulled himself out of the fireplace and shook ash from his hair. It sounded as if he'd earned his keep again, and with something that had a larger impact than Voldemort.
As he was up, he decided he might as well go into work early to gather the information Scrimgeour wanted. They had another meeting in the late morning that took up all of lunch. After that, Cedric thought he'd earned some time away, so he made a visit to St. Mungo's to see Katie Bell. This was the second time he'd tried. The first time, he'd been turned away at the front desk. He wasn't related to her and with her condition still critical, the staff hadn't been willing to let her receive random visitors, even if he were an old schoolmate. He'd been thinking about it since, and had decided he just wouldn't ask permission this time. He'd spent over a month in the place; he knew it well enough that he could find her without too much trouble. He hoped.
He wasn't sure why he felt a need to do this. He and Katie had talked a few times at Hogwarts, usually about Quidditch, but he knew Angelina better. In fact, Angelina had secured special permission from Katie's parents to visit Katie in hospital, and she brought the rest of their lunch crowd regular reports - so it wasn't as if Cedric didn't know Katie's condition. Nonetheless, he felt a need to come here himself. He'd lain where she lay now. It made him feel a connection to her in a way he wasn't sure Angelina could.
As it turned out, he found her without difficulty. When he arrived on the fourth floor, he waved to the matrons and mediwizards who knew him, smiling and accepting hugs from a few. They all assumed he was there for a checkup of some sort, and didn't question his presence. Katie was in the third ward he checked, the Janus Thickey Ward for permanent brain damage. Did that mean they'd given up on her if she'd been moved in here? It had been less than a month. They hadn't given up on him in that time.
There was nobody around when he arrived so he sat down in the chair beside her bed, studying her face. Her eyes were closed, faint purple bruises beneath. A tiny frown cut her forehead as if even unconscious, she was aware of the pain. He snuck a look at the patient notes at the bottom of her bed, but couldn't make head nor tail of them. He was just putting them back when the door opened and he heard a man's voice say, "What are you doing here - who are you?"
Turning, he found a middle-aged wizard with his wand drawn and trained on him. "I'm Cedric Diggory," he replied. "I came to see Katie."
The man studied his face a moment more, then lowered the wand. He had a cup of tea or something hot in his other hand. Steam wafted from the surface of the liquid. "You look like Lucy," he said and approached the bed, pausing to run a hand over her greasy hair before taking the seat that Cedric had just vacated to read the patient notes. His face was drawn and he clearly hadn't been getting enough sleep.
"You know my mother?"
"Of course I know your mother. We were in the same house. She was a year above me. I'm Jordan Bell, Katie's father." He offered his hand, almost as an afterthought, and not paying any attention to the fact Cedric was on crutches. Cedric shifted his weight to shake the hand.
He didn't know much about the Bell family except that they were filthy rich, counted up there with the Malfoys and Blacks - and like both, pureblood and proud of it. That Jordan Bell had been in Slytherin probably shouldn't have come as a surprise. It was more of one that Katie hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. "How did you get in here?" Mr. Bell asked now. "I thought this ward was off limits to visitors."
"Er - it is. I tried to see her a few weeks ago, but they wouldn't let me." He blushed under the hard look from Katie's father. "I was on this floor last summer myself. So I just . . . came up here. I needed to see how she was."
Mr. Bell was still looking at him. "She's not good," he said bluntly. "They don't know if she'll ever wake again."
"I'm sorry," Cedric blurted, unsure what else to say. He was living proof that dark curses couldn't always be repaired. Mr. Bell took in his crutches, but didn't stand to offer the chair. Either he was too distracted, didn't care enough, or it was a not-so-subtle hint that Cedric wasn't welcome to stay.
"I remember reading about you all last year," he said. "Lucius cursed you."
"Yes, that's right."
"He and Lucy always hated each other." He turned back to focus dully on the bed. "This wasn't supposed to happen to Katie. Your mother set herself against the rest of her family. We thought her quite mad, you know, but she brought it on herself.
"Katie, though" - he reached out to touch her hair - "what did she do? We're not on the Dark Lord's side, my family, not exactly - but we're not on Dumbledore's either. The Dark Lord has some things right when it comes to Muggles. I don't understand why he'd hurt our daughter."
"Voldemort is a megalomaniac," Cedric said, watching the man start at the name and spill a little of his tea. Apparently Jordan Bell didn't realize the degree to which his daughter had sided with Harry Potter. "He doesn't care who he hurts along the way. Katie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mr. Bell."
Her father didn't reply to that. Instead he said, "Don't use the Dark Lord's name casually, you little fool."
"I won't let the fear of a name rule me."
Mr. Bell's smile was bitter. "If you're not afraid, then you're an even bigger idiot than I took you for already. You were extremely fortunate to get out of that graveyard alive, young man. He could have killed you in an instant. Don't mock him."
"I'm not mocking him, but I'm not letting him have control over my life, either. I'll fight him." Mr. Bell just eyed Cedric's crutches, and Cedric set his jaw - angry. He didn't need to be reminded that he couldn't walk and wield a wand at the same time. "There's more than one way to fight back, and if we don't fight, he'll win - and Katie'll be just the first on his casualty list."
"And you think that little speech will make me fall into line behind Dumbledore and Harry Potter?" He almost sneered the names. "What a hopeless idealist you are. I don't care anymore who wins, Diggory. He took my baby from me."
And there spoke despair as much as resentment or bitterness. Cedric could hear in it the echoes of his own resentments and depression last summer. "Katie wouldn't want that," he said softly.
"How do you know what my daughter would want?"
Should he tell her father that she'd been in Harry's D.A.? "I didn't know Katie well, sir - don't know her well." He corrected himself from the past tense. "But I know she's on Harry's side, and Dumbledore's, even if you aren't. She's brave, and willing to take a stand."
"And look where that got her," Mr. Bell snapped. "You can go now, Diggory. Give Lucy my regards." He turned his back on Cedric. After a long pause, Cedric thunked out of the ward, feeling as if he'd lost that round even if he didn't know what he might have said to change Jordan Bell's mind.
He was on his way back downstairs when he heard his name called from behind and turned, half afraid Mr. Bell had reported his unauthorized visit. But it was Healer Grant, the young, blond Curse specialist who'd been one of Cedric's chief Healers the summer before last. He came trotting down the hall, green robes whipping, to join Cedric near the lift. "How are you?"
"I'm doing well," Cedric said, and although Grant hadn't asked, added, "I came to see a friend."
"Er, ah - " Grant seemed oddly nervous. "How are those Muggle treatments going?"
Cedric had, of course, told his Healers about the treatments Hermione's family had arranged for him. He'd had to, in order to get the Ministry to release him from work in the first place. "Fine, I reckon. I got a little control back in my pelvic region. Didn't you get a report from Dr. Guest?"
"Oh, yes, we did. I even arranged to meet her in Muggle London. She offered me a tour of her surgery. Interesting place." Cedric suspected Grant meant 'interesting' in the way one did when saying, 'May you live in interesting times.' Grant cocked his head. "Have you experienced any further improvement?"
"Not really. But nothing's getting worse either, at least - or not that I can tell."
"So there's been no more of those nerve attacks?"
Cedric shook his head and Grant nodded, then frowned. He looked . . . reluctant, but finally said, "The improvement was to a part of your spine that wasn't actually hit by the curse. It just suffered collateral damage."
"I know," Cedric said, sensing this was headed somewhere but uncertain where.
"We'll do a full battery of tests when you come for your half-yearly check in December," Grant went on, "but since I saw you here, I thought I'd ask how you are." Cedric nodded. Grant took a breath, then blurted out, "We're not sure this is going to help. I don't . . . I don't mean to be discouraging, and it certainly can't hurt or we wouldn't have let you pursue it - but, well, you suffered a major curse, Cedric, not a problem with your body attacking itself. If it were just the latter, I could give you a potion that'd clear it up in about three hours."
"So you've heard of this Guillain-Barré Syndrome?"
"Not by that name, but we understand what they're treating you for. We just . . . " He bit his lower lip. "We were glad to hear of the improvement with your pelvic muscles; it's something we couldn't do. But it may be the most these treatments will manage." He looked apologetic. "At least it's something."
"Yes," Cedric said, unsure how else to reply. Grant was telling him more or less what he'd told Dr. Granger that summer. Ultimately, the treatments wouldn't work because they were treating only his apparent symptoms, not what he actually suffered from. He supposed that if he never got anything more from it than what he'd already achieved, that was something - as Grant had said. "At least I can sit up unaided now."
Grant patted his shoulder. "Well, let's hope it might be more. This has never really been tried before - a comprehensive Muggle treatment in a Muggle hospital applied to heal a curse."
"So I'm a medical curiosity, again?"
Grant's smile was wry. "A politer description might be a trail blazer, yes? If nothing else, this has shown that Muggle treatments can do things we can't, or you wouldn't have control of your pelvic muscles back." He gave Cedric a little nod. "Take care. I'll see you in a month."
That evening at dinner, he told Bill and Fleur about his conversation with Katie Bell's father. "There are several families like the Bells," Bill said. "Even if they're not former Slytherins. They may not be allies of You Know Who, but they are in favour of restricting Muggle influence on the magical world. It's an old struggle. How separate should we really be? And realistically, how separate can we be while we still live cheek-by-jowl with them? Anything new and Muggle is suspect, as if we'll lose our identity and become Muggles ourselves."
"That is silly," Fleur said as she sent a now-empty bowl that had held potatoes back to the sink with a flick of her hand. "Why would we become like the Muggles when we have the magic?"
"They feel outnumbered even while they feel superior," Bill explained to her. "Muggles aren't just different, they're a threat to our way of life." He speared a bite of rosemary chicken. "But they don't want to do anything about it actively, even while they'd be happy for somebody else to do the dirty work for them."
"They are cowards," Fleur said.
"Well, yes - but would you rather them join You Know Who?"
"Of course not! They are still cowards."
Bill just grinned at her but Cedric was frowning down at his plate. "Why are they afraid?" he asked. "I don't understand it." He looked up at them. "I'm not denying they feel that way - I know they do - I just . . . don't understand it."
"That's because you don't think that way to begin with," Bill replied. "You're a glass-half-full sort of person. I'm convinced there are two ways that people respond to something new. Either your natural instinct is to approach and examine it, or your natural instinct is to flinch back and regard it as a potential threat. Unfortunately, I think there are more people who regard it as a potential threat than the reverse. They may pretend they're superior to it, or they claim they're protecting their way of life, but it's coming from the same basic root - fear."
"But why?" Cedric replied, frustrated. "That's what I don't get. Why assume something's bad until you know for sure?"
"Experience," Fleur said, and her angel's face was pulled into lines of sadness. "If you have been hurt before, you will learn to distrust. I did not want to come to England, you know - for the Tournament. I did not like you English." Her smile was half impish, half sad. "But more, I was afraid of the new. When you are . . . different . . . when you grow up different . . . you learn to protect yourself. Even among my own at home there was dislike. So I disliked them first." She shrugged. "I still do. This is a hard thing to learn not, yes? Others think they want to be me, but they would not, if they were me."
Bill had reached over to lay a hand on hers in wordless comfort. "So I understand this thinking," she went on. "I understand this fear. Who of us wishes to be turned away from?" She clenched her free fist against her chest. "It hurts, no? So you turn away first or pretend you do not care. And you grow . . . afraid of what you do not know. You learn from what you have lived before. If you have lived with acceptance, you accept. If you have lived with rejection, you reject. It becomes a struggle to live the opposite of what you know, to learn not to fear, to learn not to hurt when you are judged before you are known."
Cedric had set down his fork while she talked, struck as much by her willingness to confide this as by what she'd actually said. Some of these things he'd already guessed about her, but hearing them verbalized helped him to understand. However - "Some of these people, like the Malfoys, really do believe they're better," he said. "It's not just a defence mechanism."
"Oh, but absolutement." She slipped her hand free of Bill's and picked up her fork again. "That is real, the feeling superior. I did think myself better than you." She pointed her fork at him. "It takes a long time to see where you are not seeing right, yes? Not until you understand you have been a fool, can you see why you were so." She smiled. "But I still do not like the English cooking, or the English weather."
"You and me both," Cedric replied. They all laughed and it broke the serious mood. And while Cedric understood what Fleur and Bill were saying, it was an intellectual understanding only. In his gut, he still didn't get it and doubted he ever would. Yet he thought Bill might be right that people tended to approach what they didn't know either with curiosity or with fear, and that basic difference informed everything else. If he continued on the path he wanted to walk, working in international relations, he'd have to remember that. He'd have to figure out how to evoke curiosity about the Other, not fear - the politics of hope. The glass was half full.
Hermione couldn't believe it. She honestly couldn't believe it. Harry had given Ron Felix Felicis. That was cheating - bald cheating! - and if one could hardly say Harry never cheated, he didn't cheat for this sort of thing. In fact, he'd given away his advantage with the dragons two years before in the Triwizard Tournament, or at least had brought Cedric up to speed with the rest of them, because he was fair-minded. She couldn't believe he'd lower himself to cheat for a school Quidditch game, even if it was against Slytherin.
Hermione had been so angry with both Harry and Ron that she'd stormed out of the Great Hall - although not before receiving her morning mail. Today was a letter-from-Cedric day and she wasn't about to miss that.
She unfolded his letter as she made her way down to the Pitch. She needed something to cheer her and he began with the usual soppy schmoop, which never failed to make her smile. Even after three months apart they weren't over the "miss you"s and "wish I could touch you"s. But it seemed a bit perfunctory this time, and it took him only a paragraph to get to the meat of things:
Bill, Fleur and I had an interesting conversation at dinner on Tuesday, and I've been thinking about it ever since. While we all know V. keeps and extends his power based on fear, we tend to say it's about Wizarding supremacy. But it's not. I'm convinced it's not; it really is about fear. He uses fear of Muggles to scare up support, then fear of himself to maintain it and suppress any opposition.
So far, our resistance to him has been built around that resistance, not around something positive. We need to find something to fight for, not just something to fight against, you see? That's why he makes headway; he has something he's fighting for, or at least that's how he's couching it. But at the root of it, he's also fighting a 'defensive' war and we can use that because he's all about the fear. We need to fight for the opposite - faith and hope. And I don't mean just the hope that we can defeat him, it's bigger than that. It has to be bigger than that.
His writing had grown sloppier as he continued and Hermione knew he was getting carried away by the power of his own vision. She loved this passion he had for things.
Harry and I discussed what Dumbledore told him about the prophecy - that love is the power Harry has that V. knows not - but personally, I think it's hope. It's faith and friendship and compassion and, yes, love, but love alone can be terribly selfish. Hope and faith seem to me less so. Maybe that's just how I personally interpret the words, but I think hope is the opposite of V.'s fear, not love. And that's what we have to fight for, poppet - hope.
Hermione couldn't resist smiling at that. Cedric and his rhetoric. She'd almost reached the Pitch, although she had to walk more slowly when she was reading in order to avoid tripping, or letting the brisk autumn winds whisk the letter away. She paused long enough to climb up into the stands and take the seat Neville had saved for her. Luna was on Neville's other side, wearing that ridiculous lion-headed hat that roared, but Hermione found she didn't mind it too much. Luna had grown on her in the last year. "Thanks," she told them both as she settled into the seat, pulling her cloak more closely around her against the wind.
"A letter from Cedric?" Luna asked, nodding to the parchment in Hermione's grip.
"Yes," Hermione replied.
"She gets one almost every other day," Lavender said from where she was seated behind them. She was wearing a silly paper crown with Weasley is Our King on it in blinking letters. Hermione resisted rolling her eyes.
Luna gave Lavender a beatific smile and said, "Cedric loves her," as if that were explanation enough.
Hermione wanted to hug the breath out of Luna even as Parvati, Lavender and the girls with them snorted giggles. "Love or something!" Romilda Vane crowed, and somebody whose voice Hermione couldn't place added, "Cedric loves that he can get in her knickers is what he loves."
Luna frowned, as if perplexed. "But the fact they're having sex doesn't mean Cedric doesn't love her. Sex is sex, love is love." She said this as if it were self-evident.
And all the girls behind them fell into screaming laughter again. "You ninny - boys use love to get sex!" Romilda told her.
Luna merely shrugged. "Some may. Cedric doesn't."
Poor Neville - stuck in the middle of it all - had turned bright red. "Ignore them, Hermione," he muttered almost too softly to be heard. "They say that because the only sort of boys they can get are the sort they describe." It so reminded her of what Cedric had said to comfort her the previous Christmas when Pansy and Millicent had cornered her on the Hogwarts Express that she hugged him tightly. Then she opened Cedric's letter again, holding it inside her cloak so that the nosey neighbours behind her couldn't read over her shoulder.
All this started when I went to visit Katie Bell in St. Mungo's on Tuesday. She was unconscious, but her father was there. We had a discussion about V. and what had happened to Katie . . .
Hermione blinked down at the letter. He'd gone to visit Katie Bell? Why on earth had he gone to visit her? He didn't know her. Hermione read through the abbreviated summary of his conversation with Bell in a state of confusion, still wondering why he'd gone to St. Mungo's in the first place - which he didn't explain. Instead he returned to his central theme:
I realized, while talking to Bill and Fleur, that I don't really understand that sort of fear - the fear of the Other. I'd say the fear of Muggles, but it's really just a fear of anything different from what we know, the dismissal of it as lesser so it feels less threatening. When we start to think like that, our circle just gets smaller. Soon it's not only Muggles, but anybody not a pureblood, or anybody not in our house, or anybody not in our own personal circle . . . we saw it at Hogwarts under Umbridge. The politics of fear are the politics of shrinkage.
But the politics of hope make the circle bigger until there's just one circle that fits everybody inside. I looked up that little poem your mother quoted to me back in June. It was written by Edwin Markham. 'They drew a circle to shut me out. Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But love and I had the wit to win. We drew a circle and brought them in.' That's become my motto, and that's what we're fighting for, Hermione. A circle where not just you and I can stand, but one that includes my parents and yours. One that includes me and my Ojibway friends. One that includes us and our house-elves. It's the opposite of what V. is fighting for. Hope, and bigger circles.
Cedric was, Hermione thought, just a bit of a preacher. His own violent conviction in what he said had infused his words with such a rhythmic vigour that it could sweep most anybody along in his enthusiasm. Yet she found herself oddly distracted by the little detail of his trip to see Katie Bell. On the face of it, that was ridiculous. Why shouldn't he go and visit somebody in hospital? It meant nothing. The summer before last, she'd gone to see him in hospital despite knowing him even less well than he knew Katie. True, she'd gone because Harry couldn't, but there had been no ulterior motive behind her trip beyond that. Everything that had sprung up between them had done so after.
And because of it, a traitorous part of her mind reminded her. She hadn't felt anything for Cedric except pity when she'd first seen him, but by the end of that week, she'd been half in love with him - and he with her, despite the fact he'd already had a girlfriend.
Stop it, stop it, stop it! she scolded herself. He hadn't even spoken to Katie because poor Katie was still unconscious. And if he felt something for Katie already, he certainly wouldn't have been so free about telling Hermione he'd gone to see her -
- but he hadn't told her, had he? He'd gone to see Katie on Tuesday, but he hadn't mentioned it until the letter he wrote yesterday, and then only because it mattered to his little speech about circles and hope. For heaven's sake, he told her what he had for lunch some days, why wouldn't he have mentioned that he'd made a special trip to St. Mungo's to visit one of her housemates?
You're paranoid! she scolded herself. When had she become like this? She hadn't used to be like this. Was she going to worry over every girl he spoke to? And why? Because stupid Cormac McLaggen had said he found a new girlfriend with each new year? How idiotic. If he'd wanted a new girlfriend, he'd have broken up with her this summer, not clung with both fists and even scraped knuts together to come and see her in Hogsmeade, rent them a room to share for the night. He'd certainly not acted as if he were on the pull for a different girl.
He wasn't on the pull when he met you, that traitor-voice whispered, and she wondered if he'd been seeing anybody when he'd first met Cho? McLaggen had named those other girls but Ginny had said he'd had no bad reputation before. Of course while Ginny was typically more in tune with Hogwarts gossip than Hermione, Ginny was also three years below Cedric. Would she necessarily have known what the older students were whispering about him?
And thus did Hermione spend the rest of the game - warring in her own mind. Only Ginny's straight broom-dive for Zacharias Smith in the announcer's booth at the game's end managed to put a temporary grin on her face. Neville noticed and bent over to ask, "You're not still thinking about what those girls said, are you?"
Slipping her arm through his, she squeezed. "No, it's not that." And she smiled at him. After the game, they walked down together towards the changing rooms, Luna trailing after and leaping across little drifts of snow that still clung inside the shadows. Hermione had something she felt compelled to do, but needed to do it without Neville or Luna being a witness.
Fortunately, by the time they'd reached the changing rooms, most of the team was heading out. "Party in the common room!" Dean was shouting, one arm around a triumphant, beaming Ginny. "Party in the common room, everybody!"
"Which common room?" Luna asked. "Yours or the Common Room?"
That gave Dean pause. "Er, well" - he stared at her blue-and-white scarf - "I reckon it could be the Common Room. Doubt Slytherin will want to be seen in there tonight."
Hermione left them to decide the details of their interhouse entertainment, ducking into the changing rooms and hoping Harry and Ron were decent. They were. In fact, both were almost ready to leave. She stopped right in front of them, fiddling with her scarf in her fingers. "Harry, I'd like a word with you." She took a deep breath, then plunged on, "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal." Then she added, for good measure, "Cedric will be so disappointed in you."
Ron was glowering. "What are you going to do, turn us in?"
Harry was hanging his robes. "What are you two talking about?" he asked, playing innocent.
"You know perfectly well what we're talking about! You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"
"No, I didn't," Harry said, turning to face them both. He looked . . . rather disturbingly cheerful for having just broken the law.
"Yes you did," she scolded. "That's why everything went right; there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"
"But I didn't actually put it in," Harry said, his grin turning positively luminescent. And he held up the little bottle - still full of brilliant golden liquid and the cork still sealed with wax. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He glanced at Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky, mate. But you did it all yourself."
He pocketed the bottle.
Ron appeared gobsmacked. "There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice? But the weather's good . . . and Vaisey couldn't play . . . I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?"
Harry just shook his head, and Ron rounded on Hermione, mocking her in a high sing-song, "'You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything!' See I can save goals without help, Hermione!"
And she felt absolutely terrible. She'd said that without thinking about how it would sound. "I never said you couldn't!" she protested, ignoring that what she'd said had more or less implied that very thing. "Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!"
But Ron wasn't to be fooled and he shoved past her out the door, broomstick gripped tightly in one hand. "Shut it, Hermione. Diggory isn't the only one with talents, you know."
The door was left swinging, and Harry appeared as upset as she was. After a moment, he asked, "Er, ah - shall . . . shall we go up to the party, then?"
But between the letter from Cedric and her worries, and putting her foot in her mouth with Ron, Hermione wasn't in the mood for parties. "You go on," she said, a bit sadly. "I dare say Ron'll have a better time if I'm not there. Oh, and I think they're moving it to the main Common Room instead of the one in our tower so Luna can attend, and maybe some others."
"As long as it's not Zacharias Smith," Harry muttered, propping his broom up on his shoulder. "Stupid git. I hope he spends the night in the infirmary. McGonagall needs to find a better announcer." And he headed out after Ron.
Hermione dragged her feet all the way back to the castle, wanting to be certain everybody was gone from the Gryffindor common room before she arrived. And they were. Mostly. One small first year sat in a corner, reading a book. Hermione didn't know her, just knew she was painfully shy - which seemed like a strange trait for a Gryffindor, but then, so had Neville been at first. She gave the girl a small smile, then settled in beside the fire, unfolding Cedric's letter again to reread it. But a second reading left her feeling no better about his visit to St. Mungo's, no matter how ridiculous she told herself she was being.
Finally unable to remain in the common room worrying it to death, she rose and headed out. Perhaps the party would be busy enough that she wouldn't have to rub elbows with Ron.
So, naturally, she had to run into him as she made her way to the Common Room. She turned a corner and nearly ran down both he and Lavender Brown, whom he was pulling along by the hand toward an empty classroom. They were giggling, faces flushed, but both stopped dead in the hallway to stare at Hermione. "I didn't mean what I said earlier," Hermione blurted. "Not like it came out, Ron. You know I think you're a brilliant Keeper."
He snorted and stalked past her, still pulling Lavender behind him. "Save it, Hermione."
Notes: The exact dates of events from the book depicted in this chapter are uncertain. I've assumed the Hogsmeade visit was at least the second full week of October, and perhaps the third. It then seems to be a couple of weeks before Harry breaks down and puts Dean on his team in place of Katie, but unlike the Lexicon's calendar, I haven't assumed he did so just the Monday or Tuesday before the big Saturday match. In the book, several practices are mentioned, and I don't think even Harry could finagle scheduling the Pitch every single night. Ergo, I'm assuming the Gryffindor-Slytherin game occurred on 23 November after the Channel Tunnel Fire the previous Monday. Jordan Bell and Katie Bell's family history is based on that created for her by Kathryn for the Stoatshead Hill RPG, and is used here with her permission. As for "Healer Grant" (and the rest of Cedric's original team) ... a couple folks have asked, so ... YES ... Healer Haus = Dr. House, and the other three are the original 3 Ducklings from the TV show.