"So it's not helping?"
"It's not curing me, no. Helping - maybe. They're not sure yet."
Hermione just stared at his face. He wasn't looking at her, was looking instead at his cup of tea. It was the day before she had to return to Hogwarts and they were in his flat's little eat-in kitchen, but he was only now telling her what he'd apparently known since early December. She debated whether she should be angry, then pushed it aside. She knew Cedric; he hadn't been concealing this to deceive her. She suspected he'd just needed a month to process it himself, whatever he'd said about not being surprised. They'd all hoped . . .
But his condition was permanent. He wouldn't get better, ever. She'd known that for a year now - since last year's Christmas holidays - and yet some part of her had resisted it. Acceptance wasn't linear. She circled around through denial, bargaining, anger, depression and finally acquiescence, only to do it all again when faced with something new. And if she was going through this, how much worse must it be for him? "I wish dad and mum hadn't talked you into it, got your hopes up and all for nothing - !"
"No, poppet." He laid a hand over hers. The amber-brown velvet of his sleeve cuff almost glowed under the overhead kitchen light; he was wearing the robes she'd bought him for Christmas. "Your parents were trying to help. And it may not have been for nothing, even if it's not curing anything. They want to wait till next summer, then decide if the treatments are worth what they're probably costing tax payers. The Ministry takes their chunk from my salary, to be sure, and pays fees to Inland Revenue - but still."
"It's your time and bother I'm more concerned about," Hermione told him. She knew Cedric had an honest streak, but really. If the Muggle government could afford to support the royals, they could pay for treatments that reduced a brave man's suffering. "You helped Harry keep Voldemort in check, and if that's not a service to the Muggles worth some medical treatments, then I don't know what is." She gripped his fingers. "If they're keeping you from suffering those horrid attacks, then I'm all for continuing them as long as you want to. Don't stop just because you think you haven't . . . earned it or something."
Sighing, he let her hand go and sat back. For a long moment, he just watched her; she wondered what he was thinking. His face was so serious, but he smiled less these days generally. They all did. The atmosphere in the Wizarding world reminded her of the air before a storm - electric and heavy. "They're still thinking 15-20 years," he said finally.
She started to ask, 'Until what?' - but she knew. Until he was paralyzed permanently. "That's good then, right?" she asked. "It's not speeding up."
"It's not slowing down, either," he replied, face dark. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't, just lifted the tea cup and sipped. Sometimes she worried that they'd taken to not voicing what they once would have said. In the beginning, it had been easier to be honest as they navigated the rapids of their new infatuation. The quarrels and doubts might have been scary, but if the boat had capsized, it would've been easy to swim away. Now, they were invested, and sometimes she just chose not to tell him things - such as her confrontation with Umbridge in the women's toilets. It would only upset him. She suspected there was something he wasn't telling her too, now, and if that worried her, she had to trust it wasn't critical. She knew what he'd say about Umbridge - she could hear him in her head - and maybe he could hear her now too.
Their last evening lacked the frenzy of that final August night four months earlier. They made love of course, but it was gentle not frantic, and they slept afterwards. There was no trip to King's Cross Station the next morning either. The Ministry had arranged a one-time open connection to the Floo Network in order to return students to Hogwarts safely. Hermione left from Cedric, Bill and Fleur's fireplace, her parents there to bid her goodbye as well. She held onto Cedric longer than anybody else, but it wasn't effusive; as before, they'd had their real goodbye the night before.
It was easier this time. It was easier to let go, to step into the fireplace. She didn't cry, unlike that autumn, although their separation would likely be longer. After what had happened to poor Katie Bell, there would be no Hogsmeade weekend in February or March this year, and she wouldn't see him again until the Easter holidays. But they'd done this once before and survived it. They could do it again. She'd learned she could live day-to-day without him.
Sometimes, that worried her.
Of course many couples - even married couples - spent time apart out of necessity. Being able to do so confidently was the mark of a mature relationship, wasn't it? Hermione had never had a long-term relationship before. She'd observed them, but living one was different. She didn't know the normal rhythms. All she knew was that things were changing. She could feel it, and that left her uneasy. She'd begun to notice the change over the holidays; the old thrill wasn't there anymore. Cedric was comfortable now, not exciting. Honestly, part of her liked that. Her intrinsic nature was fixed rather than cardinal, preferring stability over excitement. She was the girl who read about adventures; she didn't have them, and sometimes, she wondered how she'd ever become part of Harry's story because really, that just wasn't her. She was a researcher, not a mover and shaker. So she liked that she could guess what Cedric was thinking much of the time. She liked that she could predict him. It was comforting.
Yet another part of her - the small voice of pessimistic uncertainty - wondered whether she was just falling out of love altogether? We're only kids, she told herself in the dark of night behind her bed curtains, we have years of experiences left ahead of us. What were they doing, playing at house and sharing a bed as if they lived together, as if they were married? She was too young to get married, even if she thought about it sometimes. She knew Cedric thought about it too, because he slipped up occasionally and said something. They mostly didn't discuss it, however, by a mutual, unspoken agreement. A future together might be something they assumed these days, but they kept it deliberately vague in the details, and the fact she'd always been mature for her age - her mother had once called her 15 going on 35 - didn't help. Her very maturity made it difficult for her to imagine how she'd be at 27, much less 37. When she tried to imagine her future, mostly she saw herself as she was now but working instead of going to school, and married instead of just dating. She'd even found somebody who seemed perfect for her.
But would he be still in 20 years? At Hermione's age, her mother had been a fiery young feminist determined to have an independent career and medical degree before 30 - but not a husband. Only six years later, she'd already changed to dentistry as more practical, and was walking down the aisle to pledge herself to Charles Granger. Five years after that, she'd had Hermione. If Hermione knew her father adored her mother and supported her career, respected her intelligence and agreed with her politics - just like Hermione could count on Cedric - the truth was her mother had changed between 17 and 23. For a boy.
Of course, Hermione already had a boy and it hadn't changed her, but her boy had ambitions - and they weren't necessarily the same ambitions she harboured. He feared his dream of being an ambassador was too grand, and thus, arrogant. She feared that, if anything, he was underselling himself. Cedric could be Minister, if he decided he wanted to be. And unlike Harry, he might one day decide he wanted to be.
Did she want to be the Minister's wife? No, she didn't. She loved Cedric, but she was starting to realize there was more to a long-term commitment than love. Whatever the romantics said, love was not enough. Her ambitions didn't involve the public spotlight (mostly). She was happy for Cedric to have it, but she didn't want it. Yet if she stayed with him, could she avoid it? And was she ready to tie herself so thoroughly to somebody who was so thoroughly certain of where he was going in life? It might be easy to do - to drift along in his wake. But she knew she'd come to resent it, and she couldn't see Cedric giving up his dreams for her, either. Nor would she want him to. She might not be any expert on relationships, but she was pretty sure that wouldn't have a happy ending. They were both too headstrong.
These were the questions she found herself asking that January in the dead of winter while the snow blanketed the Scottish countryside and the winds howled between the castle towers. But it wasn't the first thing on her mind as term began. On Monday morning, notices appeared in house common rooms as well as the main Common Room on announcement boards:
APPARITION LESSONS
If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st of August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons.
It caused quite a stir among the sixth years, who jostled each other in their eagerness to add their names to the bottom of the notice. Hermione was no less excited than the rest, and perhaps more so. If her Trace had broken in September, allowing her to perform magic outside of school, she'd be chuffed to have this last barrier removed so she no longer had to depend on Cedric or another adult to take her to places. She marked her calendar for the date of their first lesson and ducked questions all day from classmates who knew that she, like Harry, had experienced Apparition.
That evening, after dinner, while Harry had one of his lessons with Dumbledore and Ron was doing . . . whatever it was he did with Lavender . . . Hermione went to the library for research. If the storm of war hadn't yet broken, it was only a matter of time. Cedric might not talk about it much, but she knew anxiety was everywhere, tensions high as people disappeared, attacks on Muggles increased, and more and more of Voldemort's people infiltrated the Ministry or Imperiused workers.
"Some days, I think Dumbledore is the only dyke left holding back the flood," Cedric had said not long before she'd returned. "The Aurors sure as hell can't. Tonks and Scott think about a quarter to a third of the department are in Voldemort's pocket already, or otherwise under his control. Robards has already collapsed the three-year training program for new Aurors down to two, and Kingsley - he's still on assignment in Major's office - thinks there are some Muggle politicians Imperiused as well. He's worried about whether Voldemort will attempt to interfere with the General Elections when they come, although nobody's sure exactly what outcome he'd seek. It's looking like Labour will take control of the House, but I doubt that's something Voldemort wants. He'd be more likely to back the Conservatives, I'd think."
"Well, a Labour gain in seats might weaken the Lib Dems, who I suspect he likes even less."
"True, that."
Remembering their conversation made her smile now as she automatically went to "their" table beneath the Butterfly Woman. The novelty of being able to discuss Muggle politics with Cedric hadn't worn off yet and she'd been amazed at how much he'd learned in only half a year, and not just about politics. His knowledge of Muggle life and his facility with Muggle technology exceeded that of some Muggle-born wizards and she'd have been terribly proud, if it hadn't made him such a high-profile target. She kept her fears to herself, just as he didn't pester her about how dangerous it was for a Muggle-born witch to cosy up to Harry Potter.
Sitting down in the nearly deserted library, she pulled out the new, large blank book she'd bought over the holidays. She intended it as a repository for spells she didn't have in her textbooks but thought might prove useful. Useful for what, she still wasn't certain. Right now, the Order of the Phoenix seemed focused on keeping Harry safe for as long as possible, allowing him to finish his education, but ever since Harry had told her about that Prophecy, she'd been dead certain they'd eventually have to go on the offensive against Voldemort. Yet if Dumbledore had taken Harry under his wing for private lessons, he didn't seem to be teaching him any of the high-level defensive magic Hermione had expected. Ergo, somebody had to learn some pragmaticspells because, heaven knew, neither Harry nor Ron could cast even a healing charm.
By the next morning, however, she had a new research project. Harry took both her and Ron out to the snowy (and thus deserted) courtyard for the break between classes, confiding what he'd learned from Dumbledore the night before, and explaining Dumbledore's assignment for him to get the real memory from Slughorn.
Ron seemed unconcerned, "He loves you - won't refuse you anything, will he? You're his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him."
Hermione resisted sighing in open frustration. In her opinion, Ron wasn't taking any of this with proper seriousness. Lavender's air-headedness was rubbing off on him, making him even worse than usual. Shooting him a glare, she said, "I don't know. He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him."
Harry nodded, albeit reluctantly, although Ron scoffed. "Always such a pessimist, Hermione. Slughorn probably just didn't want to tell Dumbledore because he knew Dumbledore would judge him." He glared at her. "Sort of like somebody else around here."
"Don't be so sensitive, Ron. Just because you insist on making a spectacle of yourself in the common room . . . "
"Oh, yeah! Like snogging Lavender is so much worse than shagging Cedric! At least we keep our clothes on!"
"Ron!"
"Time out!" Harry snapped, glaring from one of them to the other. "Can we maybe get back to the subject - which isn't snogging or shagging?"
Both Hermione and Ron blushed. "Sorry," Hermione muttered, then added, "Horcruxes . . . horcruxes . . . I've never even heard of them."
"You haven't?" Harry seemed both surprised and disappointed. "I was hoping . . . "
"They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information. You should think about strategy - the best way to approach Professor Slughorn - "
"I still think he ought to just hang back after Potions this afternoon - "
"Oh, well, of course, Won-Won!" She spun on Ron. "When has your judgment ever been faulty?"
"Hey! I'm the one who wins at chess - !"
"This isn't chess, Ron! It's psychology! Not something you normally excel in!" and she stalked away, although she couldn't have said why she was suddenly so angry. Perhaps it was just how cavalier he'd been about it, or perhaps it was the fact he'd brought up the apparently common gossip about her private life. Whatever she and Cedric did, it was nobody else's business - unlike Ron who made certain the Gryffindor common room was at least half full before putting on a groping show with Lavender.
Potions was uncomfortable that day, seeing as Hermione had to share her desk with Ron and Harry and she wasn't inclined to forgive Ron just yet, and when Harry shot her a mildly disapproving glance, Harry was added to the list of people she didn't want to talk to that day, so she moved closer to Ernie. As it turned out, the lesson involved understanding the theory, not just mindlessly following directions, and Hermione was unduly pleased because it was time for Harry to learn that he actually had to understand something. If he didn't, he was going to wind up making a critical error at the wrong moment. She couldn't resist saying, "It's a shame the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry. You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!"
The annoyed expression on Harry's face made her regret her words - but not regret them enough to repeat the incantation aloud so that Harry and Ron could hear it. It really was time for them to learn an important lesson. "Tough love," her mother would call it. Life didn't favour cheaters, and as much as she respected and cared for Harry, he needed to find that out. In fact, it was because she respected and cared for him that she wasn't going to protect him now. He was extremely clever, just occasionally lazy.
Nonetheless, and whatever her self-proclaimed motivations, she couldn't hide a small smirk as she filled her vials with the separated potion and watched as Slughorn hurried away from an inspection of Harry's cauldron, coughing from the bad smell. Expression harried, Harry bent over his potion book as if it would provide him with an answer even as a glum-faced Ron sighed dramatically and tried staring at Hermione with puppy-dog eyes. She ignored them both and worked on her bottling, only to be startled as Harry abruptly dropped the book on the tabletop and hurried over to the supply cabinet and Slughorn called, "Two minutes left, everyone!"
Oh, surely not, she thought to herself, finishing her sixteenth bottle in a rush. Harry wasn't going to pull another fast one. He was not! She just couldn't bear it, and she tried to hide the tears threatening, which made it difficult to get the stopper in.
It wasn't fair! She worked so hard, studied so hard all the time. This was what she had to offer - who she was. Her intelligence. But Harry didn't need her anymore . . . She had to show him this time, had to prove that cheating wasn't the answer and this "Half-Blood Prince" wasn't his salvation.
Slughorn called time, but she pretended not to have heard, trying to get just a few more of the fifty-two ingredients for her antidote bottled. She hadn't been able to complete it all, but she'd got further than anybody else in the class. She could see that much. Surely, this time she'd be praised. She ignored Harry's nervous look as Slughorn finally made his way around to their table. He inspected Ernie and Ron's potions first, struggling not to make a face, then - annoyingly - moved on to Harry before Hermione. But, she tried to tell herself, that was probably because he was saving hers for last. It would be a little humiliating for him to praise her, then move on to Harry's disaster. "And you, Harry. What have you got to show me?"
Harry didn't indicate his cauldron. Instead, he held out his open palm on which sat a wrinkly . . . what was that? A rock? He was offering Slughorn a rock?
For several breaths, Slughorn just stared, then - abruptly - he threw back his head and started laughing, startling everybody in the class. "You've got nerve, boy! Oh, you're like your mother, . . . well, I can't fault you . . . a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!"
Hermione felt her jaw drop as Slughorn continued to sing Harry's praises. A bezoar? He had . . . that was . . . how DARE he? Slughorn didn't even look in her direction, didn't even notice how far she'd got - he just beamed at Harry as if the very sun shown out of his backside. "You thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you?" she snarled, unable to help it. "Seems like cheating to me."
"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!" Slughorn admonished her before Harry could say anything. He still didn't even look at her results and she wanted to fling it all across the room. Instead, she ignored everything and everyone as she packed up.
What was the bloody point? Why bother at all? Harry obviously didn't need her anymore. She wished Cedric was there - then didn't. In her current mood, all her doubts about everything boiled up like disturbed sludge in a cauldron. Cedric would no doubt tell her she was being petty and irrational, but Cedric didn't seem to think there was anything so terribly wrong with Harry's potions book either. He'd even suggested she take a look at it! "No harm in tips from a former student - at least not if they actually work."
"But he's not learning the theory! I thought you were going to talk to him about that!"
"I did."
If he had, Harry obviously hadn't listened. And Hermione was too sick at heart even to go down to dinner, or to hang out in the Gryffindor common room after. And she sure as hell didn't intend to spend that night in the library. Instead, she went to the Hogwarts Common Room with the Daydream charm the twins had given her. Tonight, she needed a little fantasy, although she made certain to find a couch off in a corner and then pretend to sleep. She wasn't too sure about the "drooling" on the warning label - or anything else she might do unconsciously.
She was well into her third turn with the charm featuring an ambulatory Cedric (not that she'd ever confess that to him), when she felt somebody shaking her shoulder. Starting and sitting up, she started to snarl at whoever had interrupted her, only to swallow the words when she found herself looking up at a contrite-faced Ron who held out a small tray with food. "You weren't at supper," he said. "Stopped by the kitchens and got this from Dobby."
Hermione just blinked, glanced past him, then back up to his face. Harry wasn't with him. Neither was Lavender. It was just Ron, and both confused and cautious, she swung her legs over the side of the couch to take the tray like the peace-offering it probably was. "I didn't feel like eating," she confessed, studying what he'd brought her. She was a bit surprised to see it consisted of fresh fruit and sliced vegetables with a dip, along with some bread - her sort of dinner, not Ron's. Either Ron paid better attention than she credited, or he hadn't specified and Dobby had assembled the snack.
Ron seated himself beside her on the couch and rubbed his hands together as if nervous. "Lavender said she heard you crying in your dormitory earlier." Humiliated, Hermione stiffened, but Ron hurried on, "Don't be angry. She wasn't making fun. She and Parvati were worried. And, well, everybody's a bit put out with Harry tonight. We know the whole bit with the bezoar wasn't really on. Harry knows it too, I think."
She felt her face harden and started to set the tray on the floor. "Oh - don't defend him!"
He gripped the tray and held it on her lap. "Hermione, I'm not. I was just saying . . . "
"Saying what? That I'm as good as useless now? That neither of you need me anymore? That I haven't got anything to offer?"
Ron's expression hovered somewhere between shock and mild annoyance. "Hermione - what are you on about?"
With the food in her lap, she couldn't stand but did throw up her hands. "Harry's Slughorn's darling these days, and you're always with Lavender. I never even see you anymore!"
His lips thinned. "Well, we could say the same thing about you and Cedric last year."
"I still hung out with you! I made an effort to!"
"With him tagging along, sure." But abruptly, he let the irritation fall off his face. "This is stupid," he said. "You and me quarrelling all the time. Look, last year I was jealous - I admit it. But Diggory - he turned out to be an okay bloke. He stood by you. And now I've got somebody myself. Couldn't you at least be happy for me?"
Hermione blinked. For once, Ron sounded more mature than she did, and it brought colour to her cheeks. She looked down at the food he'd brought - that he had brought, not Harry. And he was the one sitting here, worried because she'd not been at dinner, and because Lavender had said she'd been crying. Now, her eyes were leaking again. She wiped away a tear and muttered, "I'm sorry. I am happy for you. Honestly, I am." She felt Ron slide an arm around her shoulders and pull her in against his side, solid and warm. "If Lavender makes you happy, Ron, then I'm happy." She remembered what Cedric had said; Ron was trying to make her jealous - and that Cedric might have been less gracious about it all than Ron was being.
"So," she said after a minute, picking up a pear slice. "Did Harry talk to Professor Slughorn?"
"Yeah - didn't go so well. He told me later. Slughorn blew him off, wouldn't tell him anything." Ron's smile was sheepish. "I suppose you were right about that."
Hermione smiled back and squeezed his knee gently. "Too bad it couldn't have gone like you thought it would."
Ron shrugged. "Well, yeah, but he's going to have to think of something else now."
"You're not going to help him strategize?" she asked, only half-teasing.
"Nah." Ron shook his head. "I'm a bit shirty about the bezoar too. Let him stew for a week or so, then I'll give it some thought."
Hermione laughed. "Don't let him stew too long. Harry sulking is a bit annoying."
"No kidding. In the meantime, you think you can find out anything about these horcruxes?"
"I'll have a look in the library tomorrow." She picked up a carrot and took a bite. "But not tonight."
Ron let her go and leaned over to pick up the Daydream Charm box that she'd left on the floor beside the couch, studying it with a frown. "So are these things any good?"
Hermione struggled to conceal her blush. "Well, it's not as if I'd have bought one, but . . . "
"You'll be brilliant, mate."
"But what if I'm not?"
"Well, then you wait for the next time you're up and be brilliant that time."
Ed just glared at Scott, who raised both hands and said, "What? I'm just being practical."
- which was true. Trust Scott to be the practical one. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew three sharp bursts. "Five minute warning," Ed said, grabbing his broom, his navy blue robes swirling around his ankles. "I have to go. See you lot afterwards." He left the dressing room.
Peter, Scott and Cedric left too, making their way up to the high seats Ed had been given for his family and a few select friends. Unlike a Muggle stadium, there was no disabled access, so Cedric had to Transform and fly to his seat, arriving there before Scott and Peter. Ed's mother and sisters were seated already, looking as nervous as Ed, but also excited. Lisa, the elder, grabbed Cedric's arm as soon as he'd returned to human form, almost knocking him off his crutches. He sat down before he fell down. She settled beside him. "How is he?"
"Nervous," Cedric replied.
Lisa sighed and let go, shoving her hands between her knees instead and jiggling in her seat. "He'll do fine."
"I'm sure he will."
Ed's step-father returned shortly after, and Scott and Peter finally made their way up to their seats too. Everyone was tense, except perhaps Scott; this was Ed's first played match for Puddlemere United. Despite having been on the team formally since the summer, as a reserve, he spent most matches on the bench. This match today was only the second time he'd played, and the first he'd started. When playing a lesser team like today's Appleby Arrows, the coach liked to slip in a reserve player for a whole match in order to eyeball their strengths, weaknesses, and endurance.
Cedric would have liked to say it was an exciting game, but it wasn't really. The Arrows in their sky blue weren't on a par with Puddlemere, who crushed them. The match lasted barely two hours. Cedric thought Ed did well at least, rising to the occasion. That was his great gift. He might not be the best self-starter, but when handed the Quaffle, he could fly with it - as he'd shown when he'd taken over the captaincy of Hufflepuff, and when he'd led the revolt against Umbridge. Likewise after today, Cedric didn't think he'd be a reserve Chaser for too many years.
After the game, the four former Denmates went out to a local pub for drinks. They hadn't been all together since Cedric's birthday party the previous autumn that had ended with Dumbledore's little "chat" about the Order. In the end, all three had joined, which hadn't really surprised Cedric. He'd known Scott would leap at the chance, and Ed. Even Peter had thrown his hat into the ring, although he persisted in saying he didn't have much to offer. Cedric thought him underestimating himself. His main contribution had been keeping up with gossip in Diagon Alley, where he worked as a paralegal for one of the Wizarding solicitors. It was a good job for gossip gathering as he heard a great deal working on cases, and if he kept his promise of confidentiality for the most part, there were a few cases that he'd brought to the attention of the Order - things he suspected had Death Eater instigation. They usually involved acquiring property, or suits against Muggle-born Wizards for supposed trespass of the 1692 International Statute of Secrecy.
"There's even talk," Peter said now after his second pint, "of introducing a bill that would outlaw marriages between wizards and Muggles."
"Who'd try such a thing?" Ed exclaimed. His mother's mother had been a Muggle.
"I hear it's coming from Pius Thicknesse."
"That big bag of bigoted wind? Muggles already take a vow of silence! What more do people want?"
"Well, I think that's obvious, me," Scott said. "You Know Who wants to get rid of half-bloods and Muggle-borns altogether, and he's using proxies to promote his campaign. It's already getting harder and harder to get hired at the Ministry if you're Muggle-born."
"There are anti-discrimination laws - " Ed began.
" - and a good two-dozen ways of getting around them," Scott finished. "Nobody ever says the reason somebody wasn't hired is due to blood, but the pattern is pretty clear." Cedric could only nod; he'd noticed similar biases. Scott thumbed at him. "I'm surprised Ced here still has a job, given the current anti-Muggle feeling."
"I'm useful," Cedric told them, finishing his beer. "And whatever else he might be, Scrimgeour isn't a bigot. Some of the other departments discriminate but his doesn't."
"Robards doesn't either," Scott added. "But I hear Magical Transportation has laid off four workers since November, three without recourse to pensions, and every one of them was Muggle-born or married to Muggles."
"Reasons given?" Peter asked, clearly interested. Cedric thought he might be mulling over the possibility of a suit.
"Incompetence mostly. I think one was accused of granting unauthorized Floo access. The investigation went through the Improper Use of Magic Office, not Aurors, but scuttlebutt says she was set up."
"Framed?"
Scott shrugged. "Or maybe just bribed by an undercover officer. Anyway, Hopkirk had to send the termination letter, but she's dubious about the whole thing."
Cedric called for another pint and considered this new information, given what Harry had told him about Voldemort's past. Harry hadn't said he couldn't share it, at least not with Order members so he leaned over the table and said softly, "Voldemort's father was a Muggle named Tom Riddle - not a wizard."
Peter and Ed looked gobsmacked, their jaws dropped. Scott seemed unsurprised, so perhaps he already knew. "You mean . . . you mean he's not a pureblood?" Peter asked.
"Nope, he's not." None of them inquired as to how Cedric knew this, thankfully. "Supposedly, his mother used a love potion on his father - made him fall for, marry, and even get his mother pregnant before the potion wore off. Then he left them. She was the last of Slytherin's line, she and her brother. Her father was furious over the marriage and threw her out of the house. She had no skills - I gather she was, well, sort of messed up in the head. To stay pure, that family must have had some serious inbreeding. Anyway, she wound up at an orphanage, where she gave birth. There must have been complications because she died not long after. She gave the baby his father's name - that's why Voldemort got rid of it. He didn't want any Muggle ties." Cedric frowned at his empty glass. The barkeeper still hadn't triggered the Refill Charm. "Pureblood women sometimes have a hard time carrying children to term or giving birth. Inbreeding again." There the charm went. Brown liquid bubbled up from the glass's bottom until it was an inch from the rim, then stopped. Cedric took a long pull.
The other three chewed over this new information, but still didn't ask him how he knew - even Scott who was usually nosey. Instead, Scott leaned his elbows on the table and said, "I finally saw Vol- Voldemort" - he forced himself to say the name - "with my own eyes."
They all looked at him. Even Cedric had only seen him once, in the graveyard.
"Ugly bastard," Scott went on. "Skin like a snake's belly, red eyes slit-pupiled. He's got no nose, like Ced said - but damn scary. You'd think somebody who looked like that would just be laughable but he's not. He's not." Scott shivered.
"What happened?" Ed asked.
"It started out as a minor skirmish, not all that important, which is why the trainees were allowed to engage and weren't all herded away. Later, Robards said he thought it was all a set-up, meant to seem minor. Right in the middle of the fighting, Voldemort himself Apparated in. He took out three Aurors and four trainees in less than a minute."
Cedric felt his own jaw drop now. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Scott shrugged. "Didn't want to worry any of you. We'd all have been dead if not for Anu Patil." Scott glanced around at them. "Remember those twins two years below us? One in Ravenclaw, one in Gryffindor? He's their older brother. Hasn't been an Auror that long, but he's something to see in action. He uses spells his grandmother taught him - Old Sanskrit. They're things Voldemort's unfamiliar with, so he didn't know how to block them. We got away because of Anu. Robards has ordered him to teach everything he knows to the rest of us. He said he has to get permission from his grandmother but Robards supposedly told him, and I quote - 'Screw permission. Teach those damn spells and get forgiveness instead. It's easier.'" Scott snorted. "He's got a point. So yeah, we're memorizing spells in Sanskrit. Hell of a language, let me tell you. But at least we've got something Voldemort doesn't have."
"It won't take him long to figure it out," Peter said. "It's not like England doesn't have ties to India."
"True enough, but it's a leg up in the meantime, and maybe we can find somebody else to help out. Old Celtic spells are no good - he'll know them the same as we would. But Robards is sending an embassy to the Rom in central Europe to ask them for help."
Pressing the side of his pint glass to his mouth, Cedric pondered Scott's story as Peter said, "Aren't the Rom a pretty insular lot?"
"Robards isn't holding out a lot of hope, but it's worth a try. With Voldemort's exclusivist policies, I doubt the Rom would side with him. Gypsies have been treated like the pimple on Europe's arse for centuries. We'll be lucky if they even give us the time of day."
"And if they do, they'll probably hustle us," Ed said.
Scott just shrugged. "They have their own code of honour. But you'd think at least the French would help. Or the Germans."
"The French?" Peter snorted. "When pigs fly the French'll help. We saved their arses against Grindelwald, but they'll leave us hanging now."
Cedric considered arguing with him for Fleur's sake, but didn't. Peter had no love for the French, or most of Europe, for that matter. If he were a Muggle, he'd be a Eurosceptic. "Tell Robards to remind the Rom of Hitler," Cedric said now to Scott. "Voldemort has similar ideas to Grindelwald, who shared Hitler's ideology." The other three were looking at him.
"Hitler?" Scott asked.
"The Muggles' Second World War? Some have said Hitler was just Grindelwald's Muggle puppet. Anyway, Hitler put the gypsies into camps right along with the Jews, and Voldemort won't really trust any form of magic that isn't ours.
"For that matter, somebody should talk to Rose Zeller's mum. She has some position in Israel's Ministry. Jewish magic is arguably as old as Indo-Aryan. Rose tells me the magicians of Simon bar Kochbah helped drive the legions out of Jerusalem in the winter of 134, and destroyed the entire Twenty-Second legion in the Judean hills. If they could take out the Romans, I think they can handle a few Death Eaters." His eyes narrowed. An idea was forming in his head. "I'll send a couple of letters myself. All these European magics, even the Jewish, are ones Voldemort may know at least something about. Supposedly he knows more about magic than even Dumbledore, even if he's not as strong a warlock. But I know a type of magic he'll be completely unfamiliar with."
"What? Martian?" Scott asked, half laughing.
"Almost, as far as he's concerned." Cedric sipped beer. "Ojibway." He looked around at the other three, then locked eyes with Scott, remembering their earlier conversation about Voldemort's long-term goals. "We can't win this on our own. Britain will have to call for help, and the rest of Europe had better pay attention, because Voldemort certainly won't stop at our shores if he wins."
"Ron was poisoned!"
It was Lavender Brown, shrieking and wringing her hands in full-scale panic mode as she came through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had been up early that Saturday morning, already to breakfast and back. Now, she sat in front of the couch, going through yet another pile of books to take careful notes on useful spells for her little journal and waiting for Ron to get up and come downstairs so she could give him his birthday present.
"Poisoned?" she said, her whole body seizing. "What? How?"
"I don't know! I just saw them taking him up to the hospital wing and - "
Hermione didn't wait to hear more, abandoning her books to race out. She made it up to the infirmary double doors only to find Harry brooding outside them, hands stuffed in pockets. Grabbing him by the shoulders, she shouted, "What happened?"
He told her how Ron must have eaten the chocolate cauldrons that Romilda Vane had given Harry for Christmas with their love potion -
"Didn't I tell you to watch out for her, Harry!"
"Well, yeah, and I did! I didn't eat them! I just shoved them in my trunk, then when I was getting the Marauder's Map out of it this morning, Ron grabbed them by accident - thought they were a present that had fallen off his bed."
Hermione resisted throwing up her hands. "Why didn't you destroy them when Romilda gave them to you, you muppet?"
"I don't know; I was in a hurry that night." His expression was mulish and she realized all of a sudden how white-faced he looked. "I didn't mean this to happen! Ron almost died, Hermione!"
"Of course you didn't mean it." Hermione forced herself to calm down and stop yelling at Harry. She put an arm around his shoulders. "All right - what happened after that? Romilda's potion wasn't bad, was it?"
"No - it worked, all right. I took Ron to see Slughorn, hoping Slughorn could help me with an antidote, which he did, but then Ron was really depressed - love-potion hangovers must be a bear. So Slughorn opened this bottle of mead that he'd meant to give Dumbledore for Christmas, to toast Ron's birthday. Ron had a sip and then just . . . it was awful." His face looked haunted. "He turned blue and started choking and twitching and stuff. Slughorn didn't seem to know what to do, just froze up, so I ran to his potion kit and grabbed that bezoar I gave him that day in Potions class. He still had it in there."
On impulse, Hermione hugged Harry hard. "Thank God," she muttered. If at the time, she'd been furious with Harry for pulling that stunt, now she was infinitely grateful. He'd known just what to do to save Ron. They clung to each other for a minute, then he let her go. "Slughorn went for help, and McGonagall came back with Madam Pomfrey, who says Ron'll have to stay here for a week and keep taking essence of rue."
It seemed he'd barely finished telling Hermione what had happened when Ginny arrived and he had to repeat it all, then Dumbledore showed up and took Harry aside. They talked a long while. Hermione sat with Ginny against the wall, one arm around her, and waited. Ginny was tense but not panicking like Lavender had, although Ginny was also sensible - unlike Lavender - and Ron was out of immediate danger. "Who would want to poison Ron?" Ginny asked, over and over.
"I don't know," Hermione kept replying. Two things were spinning through her head. First, why Ron? And second, if Ron, was she next? What would Cedric say - or her parents? Could she avoid telling at least her parents? (She reckoned Cedric was going to hear about it one way or another.)
Finally Dumbledore let Harry go and he came back over to sit beside them, only to have Ginny grab and hug him like Hermione had earlier. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she said. Harry's expression was shocked but also, Hermione thought, rather pleased. His own arms were around Ginny, clutching her close but not too close, although his expression said he wanted to squeeze her tightly. Well, isn't that interesting? Hermione thought.
The three of them sat on the floor then and went over and over what had happened, what it might mean, and theorized on who would want to poison Ron. They even forgot lunch. Dumbledore had gone to contact Ron's parents, and only a little before Madam Pomfrey appeared at the double doors to allow them in, the twins arrived. Apparently they'd been in Hogsmeade looking over Zonko's, thinking about buying the place and had planned their trip for Ron's birthday so they could see him. "Not how I'd expected to hand over his present," George muttered.
"Yeah, I thought he'd at least be conscious," Fred agreed.
The five of them made their way over to the bed where Ron lay. "Now, don't disturb him! He needs his rest!" Madam Pomfrey warned before leaving them there.
Hermione thought he looked terrible, all pale with blue circles under his eyes. He was the only patient in the infirmary at the moment. The windows were shuttered and candles lit the place. A little gingerly, Ginny sat down on his bedside and brushed hair out of his face. "I just don't get it," Fred said softly. "Why Ron? And you're sure the poison was in the mead?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Slughorn poured it out - "
"Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"
"Probably," Harry answered. "But why would Slughorn want to poison Ron? And why then? He wasn't exactly expecting us this morning."
Fred frowned. "Well, maybe he mixed up the glasses by mistake, Harry."
George was nodding. "He could have been after you."
"Why would he want to poison Harry?" Ginny asked. "He thinks Harry walks on water!"
"That could be a front. There are loads of people who'd love to poison Harry, with You Know Who at the top of the list."
"So you think Slughorn's a Death Eater?" Harry asked. Hermione could tell from his tone that he was dubious.
"Well, anything's possible," Fred said.
"I doubt it," Hermione said now, settling down beside Ginny. "For one thing, Harry said that Slughorn was on the run from Voldemort when Dumbledore found him." She ignored their collective winces. "I don't think he'd willingly join their ranks now." Harry was nodding.
"Maybe he's under an Imperius Curse?" George suggested.
"Or Slughorn himself was the original target," Ginny said.
"Who'd want to kill Slughorn?" George asked.
"Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side," Harry explained. "Like Hermione said, he was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And . . . and maybe Voldemort wants him out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore."
"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny reminded him. "So the poison could just as easily have been for Dumbledore."
"Then the poisoner doesn't know Slughorn well," Hermione said. "Anybody who did would realize Slughorn would want to keep something that tasty for himself."
They didn't get any further because Hagrid showed up. He must have come straight from the forest because he was muddy and wet and carrying a crossbow. His platter-sized free hand was flapping in distress. Harry had to go over the whole story again for him, then Hagrid asked all the same questions the five of them had just been asking - who, why, and for what purpose? "Someone couldn' have a grudge against the Gryffindor Quidditch team, could they?" Hagrid asked. "Firs' Katie, now Ron . . . "
It was a rather ridiculous suggestion, Hermione thought, but didn't say so. "I can't see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team," George told him.
"Wood might've done the Slytherins if he could've got away with it," Fred said.
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. "Well, I sincerely doubt it's Quidditch," she said, voice dry. "But" - her mind was turning - "I do think the two events are related."
"How d'you work that one out?" Fred asked.
"Well, firstly, both attacks ought to have been fatal but weren't, mostly due to sheer dumb luck. And secondly, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was meant to be killed." The more she'd thought about it, the more she felt certain Ron had not been the intended target. "But that makes the person behind it even more dangerous in a way, because he - or she - doesn't seem to care how many people get finished off on the way to the victim."
But at least it meant she probably wasn't in any more danger than she had been before.
Ron's parents arrived then, and Mrs. Weasley grabbed Harry like Ginny had earlier, although Harry didn't look quite as thrilled. "Oh, Harry, what can we say? You saved Ginny . . . you saved Arthur . . . now you've saved Ron . . . "
Hermione turned to Fred and George, speaking softly, "Don't mention this to Cedric, all right?"
Fred's eyebrow went up. "Why not?"
"He'll worry about me, and he doesn't need to. Ron wasn't the target here. And I wouldn't be either."
Fred and George both just eyed her. Finally George said, "Well, he's got good reason to worry, Hermione. First Katie and now Ron - Hogwarts doesn't seem a lot safer than outside the gates."
It was a sentiment that Hagrid echoed just a few minutes later. Madam Pomfrey had arrived to remind them that only six visitors were allowed in at a time, so Harry decided to leave Ron to his family and Hermione went with him, with Hagrid trailing after. "It's terrible," Hagrid muttered into his beard as they headed for the marble staircase. "All this new security, an' kids are still gettin' hurt . . . Dumbledore's worried sick . . . He don' say much, but I can tell . . . "
"Hasn't he got any ideas?" Hermione asked. A worried Dumbledore worried her even more.
"I s'pect he's got hundreds of ideas, brain like his, but he doesn't know who sent that necklace nor put poison in that wine, or they'd've bin caught, wouldn' they? Wha' worries me" - Hagrid had lowered his voice considerably and was glancing around - "is how long Hogwarts can stay open if kids are bein' attacked. Chamber o' Secrets all over again, isn' it? There'll be panic, more parents takin' their kids outta school, an' nex' thing yeh know, the board o' governors'll be talkin' about shuttin us up fer good."
"Surely not?" Hermione asked, mind racing. If Hogwarts was closed, what would stop her parents from doing something drastic - like leaving the country? They'd let her come back here because Cedric had argued she was safer wherever Dumbledore was. Of course, she was also of age now where she hadn't been that summer. She could do magic of her own, and she wouldn't - couldn't - let her parents take her away from Harry. (Or Cedric.) Harry needed her.
She would have to write to Cedric about this herself. She didn't trust the twins not to tell him at their first opportunity, even if she'd asked them not to. In fact, that might have been a mistake in itself, convincing them that it was somehow their solemn duty to inform Cedric and make him worry about her even more than she knew he already did, just as she worried about him - another of those things they didn't talk about anymore because what was the point?
Turning to Harry and Hagrid, she said, "Listen, I need to go and write a letter. I should . . . I should tell Cedric what happened before somebody else does." And she scampered off.
By the time she returned to the Gryffindor common room (and after curfew), there was a lot of discussion concerning Ron's condition. Lavender was no longer wailing and ringing her hands; instead she appeared shirty over being "left out and overlooked" all day. "I mean, I am his girlfriend!" she said over and over, just in case somebody had forgotten. Hermione resisted rolling her eyes and let Harry draw her off alone into a corner.
"Between her and McLaggen," he muttered, "I think I may poison somebody!"
"What's McLaggen doing?"
"Going on about Quidditch. With Ron in hospital, he's insisting on taking Ron's place as Keeper, and since he was sort of runner-up, I don't reckon I can argue too much. But to make it worse, he wants to discuss strategy with me. Like he knows anything about Quidditch strategy!"
Harry sounded indignant, and although Hermione felt sympathetic, she was also dead on her feet and suppressed a yawn. "I'm sorry," she said. "Tell McLaggen to put a sock in it. I think I'll go on up to bed now - "
"Well, actually, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." He paused and met her eyes, lowering his voice even more. "Dumbledore argued with Snape. Hagrid overheard it."
"What did they argue about?" She was curious despite Harry's eternal suspicions regarding of Snape.
"Well, Hagrid said that Dumbledore asked all the Heads of Houses to look into what happened with the necklace, and if he didn't get to hear exactly what Snape and Dumbledore were talking about, he did hear Snape tell Dumbledore that he 'didn't want to do it anymore.' Dumbledore told him that he'd agreed to do it, and that was that. Hagrid thought Snape sounded overworked, but I think it has to do with those investigations. Snape doesn't want to look further into it because he knows Malfoy is behind it and - "
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she interrupted with a hiss, voice equally low. "Harry, that's reaching even for you."
"Reaching!"
"Yes, and keep your voice down." She glanced around the room. People were shooting them looks, but so far, they were being let alone. "The 'it' Professor Snape doesn't want to do could be almost anything. Don't jump to conclusions."
"But they were arguing! Despite the fact Dumbledore's always saying how much he trusts Snape."
"And that's very interesting, I agree. I just don't think we can make a reasonable guess what it is Professor Snape doesn't want to keep doing."
Harry clearly didn't agree, still certain it involved Malfoy, but he let her go. Hermione couldn't help mulling it over too, wondering what Dumbledore had asked of Snape. Did he know about this 'Unbreakable Vow' of Snape's? Could Snape be regretting having made it, whatever it was?
The next day, she received an owl from Cedric:
Dearest Poppet,
After getting your letter, I spoke to Arthur Weasley over lunch today. We both agree that Ron probably wasn't the intended target, as you said. But we also agree that Harry very well might have been. Or at least, both accidental victims are uncomfortably close to Harry in one way or another. I know you're being careful, but please - eat and drink nothing that's not from a common table and be careful what you touch . . . We know this person, whoever it is, works in secret and indirectly, which is why both attempts have gone awry. It's impossible to watch everything, but take no chances. I'm enclosing a special charm the twins concocted. I may not always approve of their methods, but I trust their skills a hell of a lot more than most things being sold on the street right now. The charm is supposed to whistle in the presence of Dark Magic. I'm also including a bezoar since I don't know what happened to the one that saved Ron. Keep both things with you at all times. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to bear it.
I love you,
Cedric
She opened the small package that had come with the letter. Inside was the promised, wrinkled nut of a bezoar (and she didn't want to imagine what it had cost him; she knew they weren't cheap). There was also the promised charm in the form of a small Austrian red crystal heart on a long silver chain. She could wear it under her blouse. Slipping it over her head, the cold stone came to rest right between her breasts. She reached up to lay a hand over it.
Notes:For Americans readers - 'dyke' is the alternative and slightly more British spelling of dike, not a double-entendre. :-)