Some sections in this chapter are taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Since Valentine's Day was actually on a weekday this year, everyone was pretending it was on the 17th, which was a Saturday and coincided with the Hogsmeade trip. Cedric knew Madam Puddifoot's was going to be crowded. Just seeing the couples wandering around hand-in-hand made him ache for Hermione. He knew he was going to see her after the interview but it wasn't the same. He wanted to walk with her in this light snow and have her hug his arm while she complained about the weather. He wanted to sneak kisses and crack jokes and see her thoughts and eyes light up.
Cedric shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to sigh too heavily as he approached Harry.
"Morning, Harry," he said. "How's life?"
Harry shrugged and his hand twitched like just wearing a mitten hurt, but he didn't want everyone to see the scars on it. Cedric wondered if he should tell Sirius about it. Would the magic keep him from talking about it if it were happening to someone else?
Worth a shot.
"I hear you," said Cedric, nodding and walking into Hogsmeade. "Ready for the interview?"
"I'm never ready for interviews."
"Where's Ron?"
"He's got an emergency practice," said Harry. "Someone mentioned that they wished Viktor were still Keeper and he just fell apart. Started saying that he shouldn't be Keeper at all. I don't know how to help him, I really don't."
"Well, performance issues are not uncommon," said Cedric. "One out of five."
"Huh?"
"Wait for me!" a voice called.
Cedric and Harry turned around, as did two others. Luna pushed past them, forcing them apart with her hoop skirt.
"Not you, I don't even know you," she said.
"Hey, Luna," said Cedric. "Cool skirt."
She had been mixing styles lately. Today was a lime green hoop skirt, a band t-shirt borrowed from him, and a pink bomber jacket that he was pretty sure belonged to Hermione, though he wasn't sure how she got it. Perched on her head were the goggles he gave her for Christmas since she liked his work ones so much. These were iridescent with spikes and were more for fashion and windy days rather than a workshop.
"Thanks," she said cheerfully. "I like your skirt, too. It looks great with your jacket."
Cedric grinned. He'd gone with the black mini and a studded belt. "Thanks, Esperanza made me a few skirts of varying lengths. Does it look good with my Docs?"
"It does!"
"I thought you would have been at the Three Broomsticks already," said Harry, ignoring the fashion talk. His wardrobe was mostly grey shirts.
"I was supposed to be," she agreed and didn't give any further explanation to her tardiness.
The three of them made their way to the Three Broomsticks, which was fairly crowded with couples who couldn't get a table at Madam Puddifoot's. They placed their drink orders with Madam Rosmerta and looked around the pub. In the back corner was Rita Skeeter. Paunchy photographer nowhere to be found. She looked worse for wear, her yellow hair was turning brown at the roots, her clothes looked rumpled, and her cat-eye glasses were missing a few rhinestones. She didn't even have her talons anymore.
Cedric tried not to smirk in satisfaction. Though, really, it was hard.
"Hello, Rita," he said, sitting down to act as a buffer between her and Harry.
Skeeter looked around warily.
"Hermione isn't coming," said Luna, daintily taking her seat on Rita's other side.
The temporarily retired reporter relaxed and pulled her drink closer to herself.
"I would have thought she'd be here to make sure I remain within the guidelines. Though she conveniently neglected to tell me what exactly she wanted." She glanced at Cedric curiously. "Where is the beast anyway?"
"She goes to Castelobruxo now," said Cedric, surprised that she held no fear towards him. He prodded and saw that her lack of fear stemmed from her confidence that her animagus form would protect her from him in the event of an attack. "Her parents determined Hogwarts was too dangerous since she was almost killed, like, six times."
"Seven," said Luna cheerfully.
"Seven times!" Skeeter gasped and dove for her handbag. "And how are you faring without your damsel in shining armor, Mr. Diggory?"
"Just Cedric, please," he said. "Not well, I'm afraid. It's all been rather torturous."
Her eyes flashed and she brought out her quill and notebook.
"But a story on Cedric's love-life is old news," said Luna serenely. "So are Hermione's brushes with death. You don't want to write about things everyone already knows about."
Skeeter wilted. Had she been able to, she would have written everything she possibly could on the subject when it was still new. Now, she was behind everyone and it infuriated her to no end.
"Very soon this contract will end," she muttered darkly and took a deep, shuddering breath, "One of these days…"
"As long as you leave Esperanza alone," said Luna. "You might not get so lucky next time."
Shame crossed Skeeter's face. Did she actually regret writing that awful piece? Or was she just upset that there were consequences for it? Cedric let it go. That was a fight for another day.
"You can write all the horrible stories you want about me, Harry, and everyone else," he said, waving his hand. "Blah, blah, blah."
"Oh, the Prophet doesn't need my help when it comes to horrible stories about you two," said Skeeter, peering at Harry over her glasses. "How has that made you feel? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"
"Angry," said Harry. "I've told everyone the truth and anyone in a position of authority is too much of an idiot to believe me!"
"Like the Mayor from Jaws," said Luna.
Conversation briefly halted as a barmaid came by with their drinks. She cast Cedric a wary look as she set his drink down and scurried away as quickly as possible without running into patrons.
"So, you're sticking to it that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" said Skeeter, fingers itching to snatch her quill back up. "You stand by every bit of rubbish that Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning? And the two witnesses are a disturbed child and a werewolf in a skirt!"
"I wasn't wearing a skirt at the time," said Cedric while Harry snarled, "There were a dozen-off Death Eaters there as well."
"Want their names?" Cedric added.
"I'd love them," breathed Skeeter, poising her quill and gazing at him as if he were the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: 'Potter Accuses…' A subheading: 'Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory Name Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, I think, a nice big photo of both of you. Yes. 'Disturbed teenage survivors of You-Know-Who's attack Harry Potter, 15, and Cedric Diggory, 18, caused outrage by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters…'"
Her delighted expression died and she glowered at them.
"Of course… Little Miss Perfect didn't call me here for that, did she?"
"Actually, she did," said Luna, stirring her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.
Skeeter's thoughts went blank with shock and her quill went slack in her grip. She looked at all three of their faces as if she were waiting for one of them to yell out, "Gotcha!"
"You… want me to report on what they say about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" she whispered.
"Absotively Posilutely," said Cedric.
"The true story," said Harry. "All the facts, exactly as we report them. We tell you the names of the Death Eaters, what we saw, what was done to us, even how society has treated us. Any embellishment will be meant to paint both of us in a positive light." He added sharply. "I don't need people thinking that I'm crazy or that Cedric is a monster."
"And, if you like," said Cedric, leaning in conspiratorially. "Hermione said she's willing to allow a second article on how the Ministry sent a spy to ensure Hogwarts students are unprepared for the real world even if it results in their deaths, including torturing them. Harry, show the nice lady the ring Hermione gave you."
Skeeter quirked an eyebrow. "What does a ring have to— oh, dear Lord!"
The ring was just to get Harry to show his hand. There, deeply marred into his skin, were the words: I must not tell lies. Cedric had been using the jélvre gel on his own scars to evade his girlfriend's suspicion and so could not casually remove his arm to scratch an itch. Skeeter was practically drooling at the thought of exposing so many authority figures for corruption.
"The Prophet would never print it," she said. "If you let me write the story from the delusional angle…"
"Which defeats the purpose of bringing you here," said Luna, pointing at Rita with her cocktail onion. "You're here to print the truth."
"There's no market for a story like that," Skeeter retorted coldly.
"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Harry irritably.
Skeeter leaned in. "It doesn't matter whether Fudge is leaning on the Prophet or not. He is, but that is beside the point. Nobody will want to read that story. It is against the public mood. The Azkaban breakout certainly has them worried, but regardless they won't want to believe You-Know-Who is back. It's not just telling people what they want to hear, it's about making the paper sell itself."
Cedric tapped his bottom lip with his own cocktail onion. She had a point. They needed a hook.
"Replace 'disturbed' with 'deeply traumatized'," he said. "Bold letters: 'Traumatized Youths Come Forward.' Subheading: 'Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory reveal corruption and conspiracy within the Ministry.' I can't technically use my last name anymore, but as it's the one people know me by, we should use it. I'm not Cher or Selena."
"Or Bono," Luna agreed.
"The whole world is against us," said Harry, nodding. "Sirius is doing his best, yet there's still the fear that he will be wrongfully imprisoned again simply for standing up for me, his godson. Cedric's been disowned and my parents are dead." He sniffled and dabbed his eyes with his scarf. "The ghosts of my past are filling my eyes now."
"The public would love that angle," Skeeter whispered and blinked. "But that still brings us to our main problem! Who will print such a story?"
"My dad will," said Luna, gazing at Skeeter unblinkingly in order to disarm and discomfort her. "He's deeply invested in publishing important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. Money is the least of his worries."
Skeeter gave her a disparaging look.
"Oh? And I suppose your father runs some stupid little village newspaper?" she said.
"No," said Luna. "He's the editor of The Quibbler."
Skeeter choked on her drink. Cedric slid over a napkin. Harry opened his mouth to defend the magazine despite his own thoughts on it, but closed it when Cedric nudged him.
"The Quibbler!" she cackled. "You think people will take you seriously if you're published in The Quibbler."
"They already don't take us seriously," said Cedric. "However, the stories being printed in reputable magazines and papers are filled with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. People will look for more information anywhere whether it's in the Prophet, the Oracle, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, or on the back of a Drooble's wrapper. They'll read it."
He was right and she knew it.
"All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it," she said abruptly. "What kind of fee am I going to get?"
"A solid high-five," said Cedric.
"No, seriously."
"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna dreamily. "They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print."
Skeeter's face fell and she rounded on Cedric. "I'm supposed to do this for free?"
"Well, let's see," Cedric fished the contract out of his backpack, "You agreed to write two stories of the contract-holder's choosing. It says nothing about paying you and, really, after what you've written about dear, sweet Esperanza, who is now living with Viktor Krum and rumor has it they're engaged to be engaged, you can't honestly expect us to take pity on your situation." He clicked his tongue. "No, I'm sorry, you'll just have to raid family picnics for your next meal for a while longer."
"Seems I have no choice," she grumbled.
"Daddy will be so pleased," said Luna. "We'll be sure to print it as soon as possible. However, depending on the quality of your story, we may be printing a long, lovely article on Crumple-Horned Snorkack sightings before your story, Skeeter."
Skeeter's cheeks flushed bright red. "My story is much more important than some silly article on a made-up creature!"
And the beetle has been trapped in bullshit. Skeeter flipped her notebook to a clean page and dapped the tip of her quill against her tongue. She got both Cedric and Harry's stories about the Third Task, as well as the information uncovered but unreported about Bagman and Crouch, including the fact both had tried to kill Hermione for knowing too much.
Skeeter took so many notes, Luna had to give her her own reporter's notebook. Cedric checked over the notes to make sure everything was accurate. The embellishments that were there only served to make himself and Harry look more favorable to a judgmental public. He would allow it.
"I think I've got enough here for a small book," said Skeeter. "We gotta make this into a special! Something eye grabbing. Nobody will be able to put it down!"
The jukebox immediately switched from "We Didn't Start the Fire" to "What's New Pussycat" and Cedric froze.
"She's here," he said.
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Umbridge. I rigged the jukebox to play 'What's New Pussycat' on loop every time she enters the pub."
"Why?"
"Thought it'd be funny."
Umbridge made a big show of looking around and ordering her drink.
"She knows something is up," said Cedric. "I bet she has a rat going to her every time one of us does something suspicious."
"If she knows what we're up to we're doomed," said Harry.
"Move, silly girl," said Skeeter, nudging Luna out of the booth.
Damn.
"Excuse me," said Skeeter, blocking Umbridge from going anywhere near their table. "Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, I was wondering if I might trouble you for an interview?"
"Whatever for?"
"Well, one hears things," said Skeeter with a sugary smile. "Word on the street is you are making some pretty big educational reforms for Hogwarts!"
Umbridge preened despite the fact that Skeeter did not specify whether those reforms were good or bad.
"I want you to tell me everything about what you've been doing," said Skeeter. "The real scoop! Perhaps we can persuade people to see your way in a new light."
"What, has she suddenly got a change of heart?" Harry muttered.
"She forgot the thrill of investigative journalism," said Cedric, tipping his head to the side. "It would be interesting to see what she does. I'll let Hermione know what she's up to when I see her."
"You should get going if you want to make your date," said Luna.
Cedric checked his watch. "You're absolutely right. See you around Luna, Harry."
He stopped by the jukebox and removed the spell on it. He wouldn't want anyone to think his products were defective. He scratched out the runes with his metal thumb and closed it. Something hit his butt and he turned around to see the smug look on Atwood's face melt away into horror. His friends stepped back, growing nervous from the look on Cedric's face.
"Atwood," he said coldly. "A month's detention for sexual harassment. I'll be sure to tell Professor Flitwick."
Atwood recoiled in disgust. "I'm not some fag."
"Thirty points from Ravenclaw for derogatory language. I'll be sure to tell Professor Flitwick."
His nemesis' face turned bright red.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't dress like a girl if you didn't want to be treated like one!"
Several girls within earshot looked murderous at the comment.
"You disgust me," Cedric spat.
"What are you gonna do about it?" Atwood sneered. "You hit me, I tell Professor Umbridge and she'll call the Werewolf Capture Unit. Maybe I should make a scene anyway. Granger's gotten way too hot to be dating some wolf in drag."
Before Cedric could make a decision, Cho of all people stepped forward.
"Go back to the castle, Cedric," she said, fixing Atwood with a cold glare. "I'll take care of this one. Marietta's already gone to tell Flitwick."
"Thanks Cho," he said gratefully and she nodded at him.
Hm, her feelings were really mixed up, even he couldn't make sense of them. Maybe he judged her too harshly last year. Still, he couldn't dwell on this event if he wanted to put on a brave face for Hermione.
He left the pub and made his way back to the castle. He actually felt pretty good about the interview and knew Skeeter would keep to her word. Yes, it was mostly out of self-preservation, but still.
The February day was chilly and foggy and he was glad for the skirt because if he had worn trousers then the hems would be all soggy. By the time he made it to the castle, it had begun to sleet. He went to the kitchens to find the elves chattering amongst themselves. When they noticed him, they all jumped up from their seats and pretended to be busy working.
Strange.
"Good afternoon," said Meenie, stashing something away into her tunic. "How can we be helping you?"
"I was just hoping for a picnic for one," he said. "I'm having a date of sorts with Hermione."
"Ah, yes," said Meenie. "We will send something to the Come-and-Go Room! You do not want to be late to meet Miss Hermione. Go on, go, go!"
She snapped her fingers and Cedric found himself in the Great Hall. How very strange, indeed. He'd never seen them act like that before. Something was up with the house-elves. Perhaps they weren't expecting a visitor at this odd hour or perhaps he just caught them in the middle of a meeting. Either way, their business was their business and he wasn't about to pry into it.
So, he went up to the Room of Things and paced around, requesting a good place to have a date. He entered and found a room that looked similar to the Great Hall during the Yule Ball just on a smaller scale. It was classy. One wall was entirely mirror so Hermione would have a place to go to when she cast her spell.
Cedric opened his backpack and laid out a blanket. As he did, a tea tray and a tower with sandwiches and sweets appeared.
She's not going to show, said the cruel voice in his head. She's forgotten all about you. She has no need for you. She has better things to do. What would she want with you?
He turned to look at himself in the mirror and jumped to find Hermione standing there in a sundress, her beautiful twists held back by a bandana. She pounded her fist against the glass, though she could make no sound. She pointed to the compact and he got the gist. Snatching it up, he opened it and she sighed with relief.
"Thank you. You looked a million miles away," she said. "You alright? How was the interview?"
"About as well as it could go with Skeeter," he said. "She's actually full of surprises. I'm not saying I could ever like her, but she gets a thrill from exposing cover-ups. After she interviewed us, Umbridge showed up, so Skeeter interviewed her to throw her off our trail."
"Huh… if she wants to print it, then she'd have to run it by me," said Hermione. "One thing I can trust about Skeeter is that she doesn't like anybody. Maybe she could take Umbridge down."
"Yeah, maybe." He leaned against the mirror. "Either way, I think she'll plant the seed of doubt in the public mind about the current state of things. Honestly, it's more important that they trust Harry over me. I'm moving away in June anyway."
"Yeah, but people still need to stop seeing werewolves as monsters," she said. "I mean, seriously. They're so quick to judge! Fenrir Greyback is a werewolf so all werewolves are bad! Voldemort is a Slytherin so all Slytherins are bad! Voldemort is a parselmouth so all parselmouths are bad! Like, just say you're prejudiced and will look for any excuse to villainize a whole group and scrutinize them so if a single person makes even a little mistake you can say, 'see? I was right!'"
"Hermione, this is sort of stressing me out," said Cedric.
"Sorry," she said and took a deep breath. "It's a date, we should be focusing on each other and flirting. I don't get this cute for just anybody."
"Oh, yeah? Who do you get cute for?" he asked. This would be so much easier if he could sense her emotions.
"Crookshanks," she said and burst out laughing. "Your face! I'm teasing, obviously I want to look cute for you. And I see Esperanza sent in your new wardrobe."
"Oh, yeah." He spun around for her. Part of him was terrified that she would react negatively and accuse him of using her as a beard like the rumor mill was churning out this very minute. "What do you think?"
"Guau!" she said and mimed her heart beating out of her chest. "Hubba hubba!"
He laughed, mostly out of relief, and sat down so he could be close to her. He removed his boots so he could be more comfortable and leaned against the mirror.
"That picnic looks so nice."
"Only the best for you," he teased.
She picked up the reflected tart and studied it before taking a bite.
"Can you actually eat in there?"
Hermione swallowed and worked her jaw as she tried to find words to describe what she was feeling.
"I mean… it's sort of like when you imagine what eating feels like," she said. "If you concentrate really hard you can imagine the texture and the taste, but it's not the same as actually eating." She set the tart back and it returned to looking whole like the one in real life. "Like la croix."
"Well, I hope you don't mind if I eat," he said.
"By all means," she said.
"Talk to me, tell me anything and everything that comes to mind," he said.
She did. She was never at a loss for words and he could appreciate that. After he had eaten, Cedric played her a song he wrote for her. It wasn't fancy and didn't have words, but it was a tune on his guitar that sounded like her. They danced the best they could, moving along the mirror to the mixtape she made him. The longer they were there, the more the mirror and distance seemed to disappear.
Without thinking, Cedric leaned in to kiss her, getting a nasty shock when he collided with the glass.
"Ow," he said, rubbing his nose.
Hermione didn't tease him for the mistake. Instead, her eyes grew wistful and she pressed a hand and her forehead against her side. He mirrored her and closed his eyes. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and bury his face into her hair and pretend that nothing terrible was happening.
"I have to go," she said. "I have a driving lesson."
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Absolutely. I love you."
"I love you, too."
When he opened his eyes, his reflection was staring back at him. He heaved a sigh and cleaned up after himself, then headed down to the Great Hall for dinner.
"Mr. Diggory," said Professor McGonagall, waving him down. "May I ask you something?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, long giving up on correcting the teachers to the fact that he had no last name.
"Why are you wearing a skirt?" she asked.
Cedric looked down at his attire, then back at her. "Because it's cute."
"You do realize Professor Umbridge might use this to give you more detention?"
She didn't like the fact he was wearing a skirt. How dare she use Umbridge against him like this? He just stared at her for a moment, knowing that if he spoke his voice would be cold and he really couldn't afford to burn a bridge. He took a deep breath.
"According to the handbook there's no rules about boys wearing skirts," he said frankly. "And yes this one is a little short but the ones I plan to wear to class will follow the guidelines. They'll be knee-length or below and a solid color. Honestly, Professor, how is a skirt or a dress different from wizard robes aside from length? Or a kilt for that matter?"
She couldn't respond to that.
"Just be cautious," she said.
"I know. Any excuse to torture me," he said. "Girls can wear slacks but a man puts on a frock and suddenly he's disgusting."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." He adjusted his grip on his backpack and sighed softly before entering the Great Hall.