Even Esiban had turned traitor. He liked Charlie and sometimes followed him around in the dark days after Hermione left. If he still slept with Cedric it was because Cedric didn't give him a choice; he couldn't be left to run wild in the flat at night. But during the day when Charlie was around (which was rarely), he could be found at Charlie's heels instead of Cedric's.
In Charlie's favour, he didn't flaunt this, although he could have. He could have preened at usurping Cedric's pet and driving away Cedric's girl, but mostly he appeared annoyed (at the latter if not the former). When he was there, he ignored or avoided Cedric, who was glad he didn't have to pretend to be polite to Charlie. Bill avoided them both, although Cedric knew he and Charlie often spent part of the day together. The few times Cedric did run into Bill, the eldest Weasley boy appeared apologetic, although he never actually said anything.
Fleur was the only one who hid neither her feelings nor her preferences.
"Why are you letting him win?" she scolded Cedric on Saturday afternoon when they were the only ones there, Bill and Charlie being out on the town again. Fleur didn't seem bothered by it since Bill saw his brother only rarely - or perhaps she'd wanted the chance to corner Cedric alone.
He was standing at the kitchen counter, making himself a sandwich with one hand, the other gripping his crutch. "I'm not letting him win."
Coming over, she pushed him aside and did it for him. "Go and sit down and I'll bring it to you."
He did as ordered and she placed the plate in front of him, along with a beer. "I think you need that." He didn't reply, just twisted off the cap and took a long pull, ignoring his food to peel the label. He'd had to force himself to eat lately. Fleur sat with hands folded on the table top, watching at him. He noticed that, as beautiful as she was, she had plain hands with short nails and prominent veins. Cedric had always found Hermione's hands lovely, even ink-stained.
"You do not understand women," Fleur said finally.
"It's not 'women' I need to understand. It's Hermione."
She waved a hand. "Of course, but Hermione is still a woman, and uniquenesses - is that a word? - uniqueness? . . . well, despite that, little girls still grow up with different - I don't know how to say, different 'script'? - than little boys, Cederic."
"Expectations, maybe?"
She nodded. "However we try hard not to be influenced by these expectations, we are. All my life, people stare at me. I never even thought of myself as not beautiful. But sometimes, I did not think of myself as worth more than this." She pointed to her face. "It is still . . . " - she placed a fist against her chest - "it is still a fear."
"You're worth a lot more than just your face, Fleur." Reaching out, he covered the hand left on the table.
"I know." Lowering the fist, she opened it to grip his hand between both of hers. "I know so. But I do not always feel so. The heart thinks too. And even if it is true that you boys can become the pinups, it is not what you are most taught to aspire on. You find a good job, you make a good pay, you win respect in what you do. Or you show your courage, your strength - these are what matter. For girls, we are taught to be pretty. Some skill in the home is good, but pretty will do." The words were nearly spat. "The pretty girl will win the best husband. And even if we do not want to play by those rules, they are still all around us. How do we flee them? We tell ourselves, we tell ourselves, but the world is louder than the voices in our minds, yes?"
She tilted her head, then let go of his hand and pushed his plate closer to him. "Eat." Reluctantly, he picked up the sandwich. He did understand what Fleur was saying, and he could even figure out - sort of - where she might be going, but he wasn't sure what to do about it.
"I know that Hermione does not like me - "
"Fleur, she doesn't dislike you. And she's changed her attitude a lot since last summer. She knows we're just friends and you're not a threat."
"Maybe, but dislike is the usual reaction from the other girls. I am used to it. That, too, is what our world tells us. Women learn to see other women - prettier ones - as the challenge. And those of us who are the prettier, we learn to be proud of this, that we are 'better.'" She flicked her wrist. "Women are vicious to other women. It is stupid, but we all fall to this. I told you before, if you are different, and hated, then you learn to hate first. But I know this game - how it sours the mind, makes the reasonable ones to be unreasonable." Ducking her head, she looked right into his face. "Boys do it too, and I think that you have some of this to Charlie, no? I cannot understand otherwise how the handsome Triwizard Champion who convinced the Minister to make a new job just for him bows down to a hard-drinking, womanizing, dragon man who makes his home in a tent for half of the year."
Shrugging, Cedric picked at the lettuce sticking out of the edge of his sandwich. "He's a lot of things I'm not."
"And you are so many things he is not!"
"Hermione seems to like the things he is better."
Fleur actually rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! What Hermione likes is that he flatters her! That is all! Think, Cederic! Here is where you must, indeed, know Hermione, not just the women. Do you think she would want a man who will never settle down? Who will be out more nights than he is home, to drink with his friends? Who can't seem to save a single knut once his bills are paid? Yes, he is great athlete. Yes, he is funny and easy to conversation. Yes, he is brave, and he has a good heart. But Cederic, so are you those same things. People like you as much, and you are dependable. I promise you, Hermione cares more about what you bring. So why did she smile at Charlie? What do you think?"
Cedric can only shrug with one shoulder, although he knows exactly what she's going to tell him. He picks up the sandwich to take a bite finally.
"He flatters her, Cederic! He makes her feel she is the beauty!"
He all but threw down the sandwich. "I tell her she's pretty - I tell her that all the fucking time!"
Fleur sighed. "You adore her, you support her - you are her friend. The two of you are like two peas in a pod - you are comfortable. Sometimes a woman does not want comfort! She wants to be - what is your word? - flustered because a man is pursuing her. Right now, pursuing her is all Charlie has that you do not. He flusters her. He gives her the, ah, butterflies in the belly. But you? You could have her back like that." She snapped her fingers. "Only one thing is required." She pointed to the back door. "Go chase her. Make her feel that you want her."
He glared down at the sandwich, feeling angry. "Why should I have to prove that, Fleur? She knows it. I tell her. She knows how I feel, but she keeps doubting me. Why should she doubt me? I've never given her a reason!" His voice was rising. "I got myself expelled last year for her! Maybe I should be the one doubting her!"
Fleur leaned over and rubbed her temples. "Stubborn fool. Yes, maybe she should have been more firm to Charlie, to put him off. But you - you have been sulking like a little boy since supper last Saturday! From where I sit, I see error on both parts."
Rising, she folded her arms and glared down at him. "So if you do not want her, stay here. If your pride matters more, stay here. But if you love her - go and tell her so. It is okay, you know, to tell her you are angry - and why. To tell her you are hurt - and why. But if you do not tell her, then Charlie wins." She sniffed. "Even Bill doesn't want to see that."
Cedric studied her from under lowered brows. "Maybe he should tell Charlie."
She threw up her hands. "Oh, Cederic! He has! Bill hates this, to be in the middle between you! Charlie is his brother but you are his friend. Why must you be so passive! You float through your life, expecting the others to choose you, side with you! Fight back!" She actually kicked his chair in frustration.
"I put my name in that bloody cup!" he snarled.
"Oh? I remember that you were dragged in by your friends! And you were, in the contests, so apologetic. It embarrassed you, but you do not like to lose! I saw that too!"
"I don't want to look like an arrogant arse! I was taught it's polite to show a bit of humility!"
Bending at the waist, she put her mouth right beside his ear. "No, you have learned that people will forgive you anything. They will fight your battles if you ask them. I am telling you, I will not fight your battles." He jerked his head around to glare, but her smile was bitter and amused. "I could have gone to speak to Hermione, you know. Instead, I speak to you. If you want to keep Hermione, if you love Hermione, then you will go and tell her so. You will fight for her." She straightened up then and glared down at him, hands on hips. "That is all she needs, Cederic. Make her feel wanted. People make you feel wanted. Do you know how to make them feel so? It does not matter if you should need to - can you do it? Or is your pride too big? Be a man."
She left then, headed back up the hallway towards the larger part of the flat, leaving him to mull things over.
Fleur had a point in that he really wasn't any good at pursuing things, even while he could be fiercely competitive. He always felt badly for it, and had to be talked into competing at times. When he did compete, he struggled to be scrupulously fair - keep it about the competition, not personalities. But here, now, this wasn't a legitimate competition, not in the usual sense. Charlie had been up-front with him, but beyond that, this game had no rules and they were playing for keeps. All was, indeed, fair in love and war, and he was acting like some spoilt princeling who deserved to win just because he'd entered.
He was best for Hermione, not Charlie - nor any other man either . . . ever. Maybe they were young, maybe they still had a lot to experience, maybe their world was on the verge of war, but what he felt for her was the one solid thing in his life. She centred him, she grounded him and she gave him a purpose. He wasn't fickle and never had been. He'd known from a young age what he wanted to do with his life; all he'd needed was the courage to pursue it. And he knew, now, with a soul-deep certainty, that Hermione Granger was his ideal match. Maybe he could meet another women he might love, but he wasn't terribly interested in looking for one when he already had what he wanted. He'd never been a "the grass is always greener . . . " sort.
Cedric liked certainty in his life, or what certainty he could get. Grand passions and extreme emotions might sound romantic, but right now he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even concentrate, and he didn't like it. He preferred constancy; he wasn't made for these highs and lows. His heart hurt, and it was fear more than pride that held him back from going after Hermione. Down deep inside, he worried that she might have come to her senses and realised that a whole, fully mobile man was a better catch.
Cedric Diggory, Golden Boy of Hogwarts, feared rejection most of all. Sandwich plate pushed aside, beer forgotten, he bowed his head over the table until his forehead touched it; he sobbed once, hard. He needed to find some courage or he'd spend the rest of his life in regret.
Outside, he heard sudden voices approaching the back door. Bill and Charlie. They sounded cheerful and pissed, and the last thing he wanted was for them to find him bent over the kitchen table like a broken creature. In an instant, he'd Apparated from the kitchen back to his bedroom, leaving his sandwich, his beer bottle and even his crutches on the floor beside his chair.
"Coward," he muttered to himself as he flopped back on his bed. Not only had he not gone after Hermione, he'd trapped himself in his own bedroom in his own flat.
It took all Friday night and much of Saturday morning for Hermione to screw up her courage, re-pack her trunk, and ask her dad to drive her back to the flat. "Do you want me to wait?" he asked when he pulled up to the kerb.
"No," she said, getting out and going around to fetch her trunk from the boot. The Muggles weren't watching, so she used a little Levitation charm to get it out. Then she went around to give her dad a kiss through the driver's side window. "Thanks."
"You'll call?"
"Yes," she promised, glad that Cedric had a Muggle land line. She kissed him again, turned and took a deep breath, then headed up the pavement through building's entry to the flat's front door.
Charlie answered her knock, which she found a bit cheeky as it wasn't his home. Seeing her, he grinned and leaned into the door jamb. "Miss me, sweets?"
She sighed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" And she pushed past him.
"Actually, I would," he told her, following her in and closing the door. "But then, I wouldn't have let you walk out of here in the first place, if you were my girl."
Spinning, she glared up at him. "What? You'd have held me hostage?"
"Of course not. I just mean I'd have followed and begged you to come back."
That was the heart of the problem, wasn't it? Cedric hadn't followed her, hadn't attempted to contact her at all. She'd had to return to confront him. Charlie would have followed. But did she really want that? A part of her did, but another part liked that Cedric respected her enough not to chase her around; he gave her some space when she was angry.
What do you want?, she asked herself. Trouble was, she wanted conflicting things. She liked Charlie's vigorous attention, but she also found it a bit tiring - and didn't trust it. Right now, she was his ambition, but she'd heard Fleur and Bill joke about Charlie's conquests. Charlie loved women; he didn't necessarily love her in particular. And she certainly didn't love him, just how he made her feel. Her father had reminded her that love wasn't about feelings.
Smile wry, she sighed yet again and turned to face Charlie in the foyer near Cedric's bath. The long hall to the kitchen and Bill and Fleur's room were behind her, the entrance to the living room to her right and Cedric's bedroom right in front of her. She willed the door to open but it stayed closed. She wondered if he was even in the flat.
"You just want a notch on your bedpost," she told Charlie.
He slapped a hand over his heart as if struck - but grinned. "I'd treat you right, Hermione. I know how to please a woman."
That made her laugh. "I'm quite certain you do! But that's part of the problem, isn't it? You're quite the expert on women."
"What's wrong with that? Do you really want some bumbling git?" He stepped closer to her. At least today, he was wearing a shirt. "Look, if you want Diggory, then say so. I don't go after another man's woman - not one who wants to be his woman. You haven't seen me make a move on Fleur, have you?"
"She's your brother's fiancée! Bill would hex your bollocks!"
Charlie laughed. "He probably would - but that's not why. I don't chase Fleur because she doesn't want to be chased. But I see how you react to me. Right now, you're leaning towards me, aren't you?" And blast him, he was right - she was. It was a purely unconscious reaction. "I think it's me you want." He'd leaned in, too, so that his mouth was only inches from hers. "I'm the one who makes your blood race - not Diggory," he whispered.
Her blood was racing, but not quite in the way he meant. All of a sudden, she felt distinctly uncomfortable. This had stopped being a little game of flatteries and compliments and turned into something else. He smelled of man and a little of beer, and he was looking right down her shirt - without apologizing. It was, yes, a bit exciting, but when Cedric did it, he was playful about it and she felt prized. Charlie made her feel like a prize. Attractive, yes - but she wasn't the sort of girl who was used to being admired so openly. She didn't like it. She'd thought she would, that it was what she wanted. But it wasn't, and she found herself leaning away.
Fortunately, the door to Cedric's door finally opened and there he sat in his chair. Rage was written all over his face and she feared it was aimed at her, but he wasn't looking at her - he was looking at Charlie. "Your girl isn't telling me to stay away, Diggory," Charlie said.
"She looks to me like she's trying to get away from you," Cedric retorted.
Abruptly, Charlie stood up straight and took a step back. "I don't push myself on a woman," he said. "That's not how I operate." His eyes met Hermione's. They were warm and brown. "It's Hermione's choice." He cocked his head and spoke to her. "I'll make you happy, sweets."
"For how long?" she asked him, but it wasn't sarcastic and she shook her head before he could answer, stepping back - and closer to Cedric.
This wasn't what she wanted - two men fighting over her. This wasn't who she was, and the little thrill wasn't worth the pain and hurt she saw on Cedric's face. It struck her again what Charlie had said about Fleur: he hadn't pursued her because she hadn't wanted him to. Fleur might be used to men fighting over her, but she'd made her choice, and it was Bill. Just like Hermione's Uncle Phil had made his choice, and it was to pursue a new and uncertain fling instead of twenty-plus years of marriage. Fleur had chosen certainty, Uncle Phil possibility. Of course possibility sounded tempting - like open doors and the smell of far-away places wafting through a bedroom window. Certainty was so deadly dull - predictable. Boring. Neat lawns and perfect hedges, a dead-end job and tea precisely at 5:30 while inside, the soul screamed for more.
But was that certainty? Or was that just the myth her father had alluded to? She'd never thought she could be the sort to fall into a trap of illusions, but here she stood on the ledge looking down into the pit. And she felt ashamed.
She took another step back towards Cedric - away from the ledge. He didn't imprison her soul, he held it softly. He wasn't predictable, he was dependable. He didn't trammel her, he was the foundation from which she could launch herself into flight. "There's not really any choice to make," she heard herself say. "I'm flattered that you're interested, Charlie, but I love Cedric." She glanced back at him over her shoulder and the expression on his face drove a spear right through her heart - such complete gratitude. His eyes were wet and his throat worked, as if swallowing back a sob.
She did the only thing she could do, she smiled at him and held out her hand. He gripped it. Hard. They both looked back then at Charlie.
He didn't appear shattered by her choice - or even much fussed, really. His grin was a little sardonic, but he offered Cedric a small bow. "The best man . . . " he said, trailing off before heading down the hall towards the kitchen and the back door. Hermione could see him taking down his cloak and slinging it around him. "Tell Bill and Fleur I'll be back late, kids."
When the door had closed behind him, Hermione sank down into Cedric's lap. He held her tightly, his face buried in her breasts, but not the way Charlie had been eying them. She ran her hands through his messy hair. "I'm sorry - " she started, but he raised a hand and felt around until he found her mouth, covering it. She fell silent.
After a minute, he raised his head. His grey eyes were still red. "I should have gone after you. He was right about that. He would have. I was an idiot."
"You heard that?"
"Doors and walls aren't that thick, poppet. Like I said, I was an idiot. I just . . . never mind." He pulled her head down to kiss her hard. He tasted of salt and mustard and beer, and his lips and tongue were insistent. "It wasn't that I didn't want you," he muttered. "I want you too much."
She felt like he was stealing her breath, and she pulled away just a little. His head followed, still trying to kiss her and she actually had to push his forehead back, gently. "I should have put him off from the outset. I'm just . . . not used to being flirted with. I didn't really take it seriously. By the time I did, you were, well - "
"Acting like a prat?"
She laughed a little. "Yeah, you were. I felt like you didn't trust me."
"I was afraid you were having second thoughts."
She buried her face against his neck so she didn't have to look at him because truth was, she had been, a little, in the last months. "I've just never been with anybody this long before," she told him quietly. "We're . . . young. Sometimes I worry we're getting in too deep, too fast." She pulled away then to see the side of his face. "Do you?"
"Sometimes," he admitted, eyes sliding sideways to watch her. "But I reckon when you find the right person, you find the right person."
"I'm the right person?"
He turned his head to eye her. "What do you think I've been telling you for the past . . . year and a half? Well, for a year at least. I wasn't sure immediately."
Head lolling on his shoulder, she smiled up at him. "How are you sure now?"
"You make me more myself," he replied without hesitation. "I don't have to be anything for you except myself."
It was the last puzzle piece she'd needed and her heart twisted. She buried her face in his neck again. "You make me more myself, too," she whispered. "From the first time we talked, I felt like you saw me. I wasn't thinking about my frizzy hair, or that I wasn't born in your world, or that you might resent me for knowing things. Talking to you was fun. It was like . . . like brewing a potion you've done a hundred times before. No effort."
He laughed. "Or like flying, for me. Being with you is like flying." He ran his hand down her hair. "And I love your frizzy hair. It feels wonderful."
She burst into relieved giggles. It was still there - the way he made her feel. It might not be as spontaneous, and it no longer came with all the excited scramble of boiling infatuation, but it felt more solid, more certain, more real. This was home for her, to be in his arms. "Let's go to your room. I've only got one week left and we wasted most of the last one being stupid."
Make-up sex, Hermione mused to herself later, might be as spectacular as people claimed, but it wasn't something she planned to engage in often. The misery of quarrelling wasn't worth it, and the past few days had taught her that she really did prefer a bird in the hand to any number of them in the bush. Nor was it a handsome face that led a man (or woman) to cheat. It was a person's own choices, and insecurity.
Turning on her side, she hooked one ankle over the back of Cedric's leg and buried her nose against the bare skin of his arm where it pillowed his head as he lay on his belly. His breathing was heavy if not quite a snore. Asleep. Peaceful at last. So was she.
"Fifteen minutes!" Hermione's dad called up the stairs.
"Dammit, dammit!" Hermione muttered as she tried to get her hair to behave. She'd left the bulk of it down, but stray strands had been pinned into submission with pearl grips. Her mother hurried in with a multi-strand necklace of freshwater pearls and hung it around her neck, then she added Cedric's rose pearls atop. They matched the rose-beaded dress Hermione was wearing. "You're beautiful," her mother declared. "Cedric will be very proud to have you on his arm tonight - well, with him anyway. You know what I mean."
"But do I look old enough to be there?"
"Yes," her mother said without hesitation. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you in your early twenties. It's as much a person's carriage that tells age as looks."
"Cedric's here!" her dad called from below.
Hermione took a deep breath and grinned. She was going to the Royal Festival Hall for a campaign party. In fact, Dumbledore had permitted her to skip school tomorrow in order to come home tonight on election day, just so she could accompany Cedric and be present when the next Prime Minister gave his acceptance speech - well, probably the next Prime Minister. Her parents had been listening to the news all afternoon in their surgery and when Hermione had arrived by Floo after supper, they were both glued to the TV in their living room. "Exit polls are looking very good for Labour," her father told her as she stepped out of the fireplace. "I think you kids will be in the right place tonight."
Then her mother had whisked her upstairs to get ready. Whatever else was going on in the Wizarding world right now, she was going to the Royal Festival Hall to see Tony Blair in person. Even the idea of it made her giddy and she swept out of the upstairs bathroom, making her way down to where her father was chatting with Cedric in the living room, showing him - yet again - how to use the recording equipment. He had to look like a real reporter tonight.
He glanced up when he heard her, and his jaw dropped. It made her smile. He certainly looked none too shabby himself in a dark charcoal Muggle suit and tie. Distinguished. Even with the crutches. She thought he could easily pass for 25 instead of 19.
Her father handed over his camera equipment to her in its shoulder bag. She was to be the photographer tonight - in large part because she had two free hands, but also because the camera was more complicated to work than a mike and recorder. It was a good thing her father fancied himself enough of an amateur photographer to have a decent camera; it made their cover more believable.
When she joined Cedric, he bent to give her a kiss on the cheek so he wouldn't smudge her lipstick. "Hullo, pretty woman."
"Hullo, handsome man."
"Ready to go?" her father asked. They nodded and followed him out to his car. He was acting as chauffeur. Hermione accepted her mother's mobile phone as she told them goodbye at the door.
"Ring us when you're ready to leave. We'll be watching on the telly, but we won't know exactly."
"We'll ring." She joined the men in the car. Cedric was in the back because it was easier for him. Far from the first time he'd ridden in a Muggle vehicle, he was familiar enough now to close a door and secure his seatbelt himself. "You're looking like a regular Muggle these days," she told him, grinning as she watched him over the seat back.
He grinned back. "Tonight's going to be fun, poppet."
"No matter what?" What she didn't say - because her dad was right there - was, 'Even if there are Death Eaters?'
The smile dropped off his face, and he just nodded. "No matter what. They wouldn't know us anyway. Our goal's to blend in. You can bet they won't want to."
Hermione shot a nervous look at her father, but he didn't say anything, just kept his eyes on the road as he pulled out of their neighbourhood and onto one of the main roads, headed for the South Bank of the Thames. She was still a bit surprised how quickly her parents had signed on to help with this, but she thought they were excited not only at the prospect of their little girl being at a campaign party, they wanted to do something to help in this fight against Voldemort even if they had no magic to offer. This was something they could do and it made her heart proud. Being able to talk to them about the war, she felt less of a magical orphan these days, and was glad Cedric had convinced her to tell them finally. She still didn't want to alarm them unduly, but they'd proven surprisingly tough and supportive. Maybe that was the result of her mother's friendship with Lucy Diggory, but she thought it might just be her parents' basic natures. They'd been activists once. "It'll be like the good old days," her father had said when she and Cedric had first explained to them Cedric's assignment from the Minister. "A little spying and subterfuge!"
Her mother had whacked him playfully in the chest. "Relax, James Bond," she'd said. Then they'd got down to business, planning what Cedric and Hermione would need to pass as a minor press team covering the election.
Now it was time to put that into action. Traffic outside the South Bank Centre was horrendous - predictably. Hermione's father had put up the Blue Badge sticker he'd managed to secure and was waved in much closer than most transport would be permitted so that Cedric could exit without as far to go to the doors. He and Hermione had their fake press badges on lanyards around their necks and their invitations in hand, equipment prepared for the inevitable security searches. Security would find nothing out of the ordinary. Their wands were secreted in Hermione's camera baggage Transfigured into a tripod, but what Muggle would think to question a pair of sticks in any case?
"Are you excited?" Cedric asked as they made their way slowly forward past an embankment with fountains towards the front entry.
She nodded, feeling hot with nerves, and wiped hair off her cheek. His own cheeks had a handsome flush from the cool night air and the thrill of the evening. "Do you think we'll actually spot anybody?" she asked him softly.
"I don't know, Granger. That's why we're here. You know what to look for?"
"Yes. Dumbledore briefed me before I left. Somebody Imperiused may appear distracted, anxious, irritable, or even drunk. Although to be honest, I suspect a lot of people in there will look like all or some of those things without the help of curses."
He chuckled.
Inside the hall's foyer at last, the two of them were completely ignored. They didn't know anybody, and in the Muggle world weren't celebrities of any stripe. Despite their media equipment, their youth marked them as almost certainly low on the totem pole. A few men looked twice at Hermione in her pretty dress, and people of both sexes glanced at Cedric's crutches but had better manners than to stare. The two of them were somewhat overdressed - or at least Hermione was - but she didn't mind, and thought it better that nobody was paying them too much attention.
Music from a band in the auditorium could be heard even in the foyer. "Should we at least pretend to interview people?" she asked Cedric over the noise as she got out her camera and fitted a lens onto it. Here on assignment for the Minister or not, Hermione would be taking pictures for her father. She even had his best telephoto lens so she could get close shots of Blair himself when he arrived.
"I don't know," Cedric said, head craning so he could get a good look around - one of the advantages of his height. On one side, the multistory picture windows overlooked the embankment and river beyond. Shops and restaurants on all three stories were connected by stairwells, and couches invited guests just to sit and relax. "Maybe we should observe first. I don't know how easy it'll be to spot anything suspicious, but we can try. Get out that charm from the twins. It might pick up signs too." He had his pocket watch in his left vest pocket, the little fob with the jade dragon dangling out of sight under his coat.
Hermione blushed. "I, ah, took mine off for the night," she admitted. "It didn't really match the dress, and there wasn't much of a place to hide it. But I have it in my camera bag." She pulled it out to show him.
He stared at her. "Granger, I don't care if it's fashionable, or if this hall is full of Muggles. Please put it on. It'll make me feel better."
"Okay," she said, a bit meek. She clipped it behind her neck and shoved the crystal heart between her breasts. His eyes followed as it disappeared behind fabric and she couldn't help but blush a little. "So," she said. "You want to take the foyer and I'll take the concert hall? Meet back here in a hour?" 'Here' being one of the artful central stairwells. She checked her wrist watch as he checked his pocket watch.
"Sounds good," he said, bending to give her a peck on the cheek. "See you in an hour."
The auditorium itself was large and raked, which was why Hermione had volunteered for this area. It was easier for her to get around than him, especially with all the people. Methodically, she made her way along the aisles, studying the crowd while pretending to look for photo opportunities. She had her camera out. Some photos were real, such as the stage area beneath the orchestral canopy, a shot of the enormous hall pipe organ, and the side balconies beneath their iconic boxes. Onstage, a Britpop band she didn't know was playing, "Things Can Only Get Better" to raucous shouts and applause from the surging mostly-youthful crowd in the seats. The older crowd occupied the foyer, enjoying food and chatting, or watching the large, strategically placed television screens. Labour signs and slogans and hats, badges and rosettes, streamers and balloons completed the atmosphere. Hermione had already picked up a few as souvenirs for her parents from foyer tables. Change was in the air throughout Muggle Britain, albeit tempered by the anxiety generated by Voldemort even if the Muggles didn't understand the cause. Freakish weather, rising crime, and questions about the European Union - and John Major - were blamed. (Major and the Tories being blamed more in this crowd. Hermione was amused at how easy politics made it to point fingers at whomever was in office.) But tonight was for celebration and the people here felt confident Blair would win. A sense of impending victory hung in the air.
Hermione not only didn't see anything suspicious, she couldn't see much at all given the size of the crowd, and feared this would be a pointless endeavour. If she were one of Voldemort's agents, she'd have a spot in the balcony, or better yet, one of the side boxes. Determined, she made her way up the stairs toward the balcony region, one hand holding the camera, and the other gripping the crystal heart. With all this noise, she'd never hear it sing a warning.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She walked the halls behind the boxes. Still nothing. "Argh!" she hissed to herself. Although she wasn't sure why she'd expected this search to be easy. They weren't even certain anybody would be here. Glancing at her watch, she noted that she still had between ten and fifteen minutes, but decided to go back out to the foyer anyway. She'd had rather less area to search than Cedric.
Despite the excitement of the election crowd, Cedric found his particular assignment tedious. He couldn't just enjoy things for searching, but it was like much else that he did - sift the normal for any hint of the abnormal. He was getting good at it.
Yet in the end, he didn't need his carefully cultivated sixth sense at all. The face he spotted at a table in the fancy Skylon Bar and Grill was one he'd never in a million years forget. Rage raced through his veins and he felt hot all over. Certainly, he was trembling, half from anger, half from fear.
Antonin Dolohov. The man who'd nearly killed Hermione the previous year in the Department of Mysteries. Wasn't he supposed to be in Azkaban? Obviously, he'd got out somehow, which Cedric feared spoke to just how far Voldemort had already infiltrated the Ministry. Either that, or there'd been another break-out that the Minister was keeping hush-hush. Cedric had no idea if Dolohov would recognize him, but even if he'd seen Cedric that night only as a large eagle, Cedric's picture had been in the papers more than once and who knew what Dolohov had had access to in Azkaban, or since. Deciding not to take any chances, Cedric backed up until he was strategically hidden behind a white column, but able to watch what the older man was up to.
Of Voldemort's inner circle, Dolohov was among the few who looked almost normal. He had a long, lined face, slightly curly hair, and a trimmed beard with just the right amount of grey to appear distinguished. Only his eyes gave away the depth of his withered soul. They were flat and cruel. Tonight, he wore a dark suit and long grey cape, which he somehow managed to pull off even among Muggles without looking idiotic. There was a large amber ring on his thumb, like a seal. Cedric's little jade dragon was hissing softly inside his jacket. "Merlin," Cedric muttered to himself. If the Minister had expected there might be somebody Imperiused in Blair's personal circle, Cedric didn't think any of them had expected such a high-placed Death Eater to show up here tonight.
What did Dolohov have planned? Surely Voldemort wouldn't try to have Blair assassinated. Or would he? That'd be one certain way of causing complete uproar - kill the new Prime Minister on the very night he was elected.
Peering out from behind the column again, Cedric watched Dolohov, who was watching the crowd, but with disinterest. He seemed to be waiting for something rather than trying to spy, sipping at a drink to pass the time. When he was certain Dolohov's attention was elsewhere, Cedric slipped away (as much as a disabled man could slip anywhere), back out to the stairwell, hoping Hermione might be early.
She was. And she must have seen something in his expression because she hurried up to him, gripping his sleeve. "What?"
He cast a Muffling Charm, then said, "Dolohov is here."
"No! He's in - "
"Apparently not anymore." Cedric shot a look back over his shoulder, just to be certain he hadn't been spotted and followed, but there didn't appear to be anyone. "He's in the Skylon, having a drink."
"Alone?"
"It looked that way, although for all I know, there might be somebody else here with him. Death Eaters rarely travel alone because Voldemort doesn't really trust anybody, although Dolohov is high enough in the ranks he might have been sent by himself tonight, especially if Voldemort is low on people. Then again, if he's got Dolohov back, you have to wonder who else he's got out of prison."
"Oh, no," Hermione whispered and abruptly pulled Cedric behind the stairs. "I know who else he's got. Lucius Malfoy! He's walking down the middle of the foyer!"
"Shit," Cedric hissed. "There's no way he wouldn't recognize us if he spots us." He peered out to see what Hermione had seen. Sure enough, there was Malfoy, his pale hair tied back, wearing a Muggle suit. He didn't look the least happy to be among Muggles in Muggle clothing. He was headed for the Skylon restaurant.
"We've got to get out of here!" Hermione said.
"No." He gripped her arm, perhaps a bit roughly by accident because he had to shift his weight. She squeaked. "We don't dare leave. We don't know what they're up to, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're going to try and kill Blair."
"All the more reason to go and get somebody better at this than we are!"
"No, poppet, we're going to keep an eye on them and call in help."
"If we send a Patronus, one of them will see it. So might the Muggles."
"I'm not going to send a Patronus. Give me your mum's phone."
A minute later, Hermione had it out of her handbag, and Cedric was trying to remember how to work it. It only took a couple of wrongly punched buttons before he managed to ring up Mrs. Granger. "Hullo, Helen? It's Cedric. We have a situation. Please ring up Bill and have him come to the Royal Festival Hall with others from the Order. We've spotted trouble. Ring me back when you know they're on the way."
"Are you two all right?" Helen asked, a bit frantically.
"We're fine. We're staying out of sight. We'll meet the others when they arrive."
He ended the call and handed the phone back to Hermione. "The Death Eaters are so arrogant, they don't expect us to use Muggle technology to get around them," Cedric muttered. "Poppet, get your camera and take some pictures, if you can." Malfoy had stopped to lean casually against a column, surveying the crowd - but fortunately not looking in their direction. If he moved much, however, Cedric wasn't sure they'd be able to stay hidden from his view.
Hermione did as he suggested, clicking away. "Do you really think they'd try to kill Blair?"
"I'm not sure. But they're clearly here waiting for something. We were looking for Imperiused Muggles, but I think they're up to more. Imagine the trouble if the new Prime Minister were murdered on election night?"
"But who would they blame it on? Surely not the Tories!"
"No, not the Tories!" He almost laughed at the very idea. "They'd make it look like some small radical group, maybe some splinter group of the IRA. Any would do; I doubt Voldemort's fussy."
"If we stop them tonight, they might just try again tomorrow at Downing Street."
"They might. But does Voldemort have enough top-level Death Eaters he'd trust with this job? And if we can arrest Dolohov and Malfoy again, he may not have anybody to send tomorrow, or the day after. He's also probably betting on surprise. He's not expecting anybody to be here to spot them. If they fail, he'd be certain there'll be Aurors around Blair tomorrow. I don't think he'll try again. Too much effort for not enough gain."
They watched Malfoy watch the crowd. Shortly, Dolohov joined him. "Camera!" Cedric told Hermione. But she already had it out and was snapping away. At almost the same time, their mobile phone rang again and he answered.
"Cedric?" It was his mother's voice, almost shouting.
"You don't have to talk so loud, mum." He smiled faintly.
"Don't you dare try anything! You and Hermione stay out of the way and out of sight. Just tell us where they are."
"In the foyer, main level, about midway down. Right now, they're just watching. They're dressed mostly like Muggles with Malfoy in a brown suit, but Dolohov is wearing a grey cape. I think Dolohov has some sort of enchanted ring on. Whatever he's got, it was making my charm hiss. He keeps his hand out, too, arms crossed."
"It's probably a scrying glass so the Dark Lord can see everything going on there. We'll have to be careful as we approach them. Is there any open space behind them?"
"No. They're backed up against the big windows."
"Damn. Where are you and Hermione?"
"The central stairwell sort of across from them on the main foyer level. We can see them, but they're not really looking in our direction and we're half-hidden by the stairs."
"Good. Stay put and do not - absolutely do not - perform any spells." Cedric hoped the Muffling Spell he'd cast earlier wouldn't count. "Helen and Charles are driving us to the hall so we don't need to Apparate anywhere in the vicinity. They'll be expecting that, but not for us to come in normally. If they move, contact us again. We'll have this phone."
"Who's coming?"
"Me, Kingsley, Bill, Tonks and Arthur - and that trainee friend of Tonks', your old roommate, Scott. Oh, and Helen. She's insisting."
"Hermione's mum?" Hermione's head twisted immediately, her mouth open, and she started shaking it vigorously. "Hermione's saying, 'No.'"
"She can tell that to Helen when she gets there. Her daughter is in danger, Cedric. Just like my son is. We're coming. See you shortly. We're already in the car on the way."
Cedric hung up and handed the phone to Hermione.
"There will be six of them, plus your mum. And I assume your dad is driving."
"How are they getting seven people in dad's car?" Hermione asked, astonished.
"Enlarging charm, poppet."
"This is crazy! Why is my mother coming? It's dangerous!"
"Because you're here."
Hermione actually humphed in frustration, which made him smile and run the end of his finger along her cheek. "It'll be okay. She's not going to be fighting. In fact, if we're lucky, there'll be no fighting at all. There are Muggles all around."
"Which is precisely why you're going to come quietly and not make a scene, isn't it, Mr. Diggory? You actually care what the Muggles think."
Cedric spun about so fast he almost fell and only Hermione kept him on his feet. They were facing not Dolohov or Malfoy, but a pair of squat wizards, male and female, with the sort of grey dough faces that didn't merit a second look. Cedric didn't recognize them and didn't think Hermione did, either. He felt a flash of fear scorch his nerves. The woman, at least, had a wand in hand in the form of an antique cigarette holder and he was sure the man had one at the ready too, perhaps up his sleeve. "Who are you?" he demanded, trying to sound brave - and shifting to stand in front of Hermione. They'd have to go through him to get to her.
"Doesn't matter, Muggle-lover," the woman said. "Now come along, out of this crowded area."
Cedric did nothing. How close were his mother and the rest of the Order? Could he stall? And how much had these two overheard? Had his Muffliato been sufficient to keep them in the dark? His mother had said not to use any spells. The two must have found them by that one, but if he and Hermione were lucky, they'd not been able to hear what had been said until they'd pierced the border of his spell. "I think it'd be really foolish of me to go anywhere," he said now.
"Well, we could just blow this entire building to smithereens," said a new voice and Cedric jerked his head around to find Lucius Malfoy standing behind him, Dolohov at Malfoy's shoulder, smile positively evil as he considered Hermione. Cedric was certain he recognized her.
"You wouldn't do that," he said to Malfoy.
"Oh, but why not?" Malfoy reached past him to yank the camera bag out of Hermione's hands, tossing it to the squat wizards. "Check that for their wands." Then he said to Cedric, "Really, Mr. Diggory, we'd all be long gone before the final explosions finished. Do you really think the foolish Muggle police could catch us?"
Cedric knew his mouth was hanging open. "Blowing up the entire hall would hardly be keeping the Statute!"
"Why would the Dark Lord care about that?" Dolohov asked as Cedric noted the two searchers had found their Transfigured wands, changing them back and handing them to Dolohov, who secreted them in his cape. "That Statute of Secrecy is long overdue for a revision. We've let these Muggles muddle along like insects with their pathetic, pointless lives while we - their natural masters - take precautions so we don't startle or frighten them. That's just one of many things the Dark Lord will change."
"So," Malfoy added, voice almost cheerful, "it really won't matter to us if we get to blow up a couple of thousand Muggles in order to get you two. But - your choice."
"To get us?" Hermione blurted. "I thought you were here for Tony Blair?"
Sneering, Malfoy made a random motion with his hand, sealing Hermione's mouth closed. Seeing that, Cedric surged toward him, but stopped when he saw the woman Death Eater's wand touch Hermione's throat. Hermione was struggling to breathe, terror clear in her eyes. Why weren't any of the Muggles around them paying attention? But when he looked, Cedric could spot the faint shimmer of a Disillusionment charm encircling their group beneath the stairwell. "Now, now," Malfoy said. "Mr. Diggory, I don't think you want me to do anything more permanent to your, ah, paramour. Although I must say, the sealed mouth is a definite improvement. She always did talk too much."
Cedric bit his tongue and just glared back.
"I see that you, at least, know when to keep your mouth shut. How like your mother you look - the Malfoy genes breed true. It's a pity she had to sully them with that impure oaf from Cornwall. Nonetheless, the Muggle taint is far enough back it could be overlooked. There are others like you in the Dark Lord's lesser service, scions of old lines with a little unfortunate mud in their veins. Another generation or two and any effect will be erased. You could have made a good marriage, but . . . " Malfoy's faint smile was vicious. "You'll make a better example. Your perverted interests and your whore of a Muggle-born mistress, your awkward, crippled movements. You are the face of current Magical degeneracy, Mr. Diggory.
"I find it amusing the Mudblood thought we came here for the Muggle Blair, that puffed-up parrot. We've already got him well under observation, and under control, too, if need be. No, we came tonight to collect you, Diggory. We couldn't believe our luck, that the Minister would send you out without any guard except, well . . . a schoolchild hardly counts as a guard, especially not a Mudblood."
Cedric risked a glance at Hermione again. She was no longer struggling to breathe, but the squat female Death Eater had her by one arm, wand nonchalantly aimed at her neck. Her face was wet with tears, smearing her makeup. Just seeing that broke his heart, but when he stepped towards her, Dolohov slipped a leg between, stopping him. "Ah, ah," he said.
"What do you want with us?" Cedric demanded.
"From you, we want a statement that you've seen the error of your ways. After spending so much time studying Muggles, you realise just how worthless they really are and how desperately they need to be controlled for their own good. That would be extremely convincing - and thus, useful to the Dark Lord - coming from an honest Hufflepuff, a Triwizard Champion, and a young man everyone knows to have had extensive contacts with Muggles. If you give us this, we'll let Miss Granger live . . . not in the country, of course. We'll send her to Canada, perhaps, or better yet, to Australia. A good long way from here. Oh, and we'll be certain she's stripped of her wand and had all magical ability she's stolen burned out of her, as well as her memories."
Hermione was frantically shaking her head as she held Cedric's eyes. "Of course," Dolohov added, "at least she'll be alive. If you don't cooperate, we'll kill you - not pleasantly - and keep the girl to use against Potter. If that idiot boy ignored all sense last year just because he thought we had Sirius Black, imagine what he'd do if he were quite certain we had Hermione Granger?"
"You are a sick bastard," Cedric hissed.
"No, merely practical," Malfoy replied, then moved in close so that his face was mere inches from Cedric's. "If I had my druthers, I'd have you exterminated, your taint on the family name erased. But the Dark Lord thinks you of more worth left alive."
For a long moment, Cedric couldn't speak. He'd never in his life felt so cornered, even the previous year when hauled before Umbridge and Fudge. That had been only their reputations on the line, not their very lives. The world had grown infinitely more dangerous since. "Hurry up, boy!" said one of the two Death Eaters whose name he didn't know. "We haven't got all day!"
"Patience, Alecto," Malfoy cautioned. "Give Mr. Diggory a moment to think it over . . . all the consequences of his refusal. I'm sure the prospect of his own death is frightening, but the boy is almost brave enough - and rash enough - for a Gryffindor. It's the Mudblood'scaptivity he needs to consider - all the entertainment a Mudblood could provide until we'd finished with her."
Cedric was certain his face had gone as white as a sheet. He could imagine only too well what they'd do to Hermione. She was still shaking her head at him, tears streaming, but he could also see that she was trembling from pure fear. She wanted to be brave, she wanted to do the right thing, but the prospect of that sort of pain and torture terrified her. Her fear was a sword in his gut and he couldn't condemn her to that. Even if he died first and didn't have to witness it, he wasn't capable of surrendering her to what he knew they'd do.
"If I promise to make this statement, will you make an Unbreakable Vow right here, right now, that you'll take Hermione immediately to the airport, give her a passport and all the money in my wallet" - it wasn't much, he knew, but it would keep her from being completely penniless - "put her on a plane to Australia and Obliviate her? Tonight - no waiting."
"How do we know you'll fill your end - "
"It's an Unbreakable Vow!" Cedric snapped.
Dolohov was smiling, although Malfoy looked dubious, as if he suspected Cedric of having some trick up his sleeve. But Cedric didn't. Here, now, he was completely helpless, and he'd do anything at all, cover his good name in complete offal, if it meant Hermione would live.
They were right. He wasn't a Gryffindor. He wasn't brave to the end. And he wasn't a Slytherin, either, or a Ravenclaw, clever enough to find a way out of this. He was a Hufflepuff, and where he loved, he loved completely and forever, for good - and ill. For Hermione, he'd sacrifice himself without a second thought. And in a way, he would be. He'd make their statement, then find enough poison to kill himself quickly. He wouldn't be able to live with the lie. But he also couldn't let her suffer. Honour mattered. But nothing mattered more to him than love.
"Oh, very well," Malfoy said finally, removing his glove to make the vow. "Dolohov, is the Disillusionment charm - "
"It's working fine. Stop doubting me. Let's get on with this so we can go. Being among all these Muggles in these half-Muggle clothes is nauseating."
Hermione began to thrash in the grip of the other two, and even if her lips were sealed, she could still make frightening squeals of protest. Cedric gave her a sad smile and shook his own head. "I love you too much," he said. He felt . . . dirty. He hadn't even made the vow yet, but he already felt the shame of it.
He held out his hand to grasp Malfoy's.