Aorist Subjunctive 03- Crush

Minisinoo

Summary: Dolores Umbridge wants to wipe out

Muggle influences at Hogwarts, Alastor Moody
revives the school duelling club, Sirius Black is filing
a petition with the Wizengamot to clear his name,
Cedric suddenly seems to have trouble keeping his
mouth shut, and Harry has a crush on Cho Chang.
Or does he?

c. 63,500 words COMPLETE

Genres: Suspense, coming-of-age, romance

Central Characters: Harry/Cedric, Hermione, Ron,

Sirius/Remus, Moody, Umbridge, the Denmates

Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Return
Chapter 2: Seeking
Chapter 3: Amnesty
Chapter 4: Support
Chapter 5: The Chosen One
Chapter 6: A Lack of Sympathy
Chapter 7: Crush
Chapter 8: Falling Out
Chapter 9: Trial
Chapter 10: A Knife in the Back
Chapter 11: Lives and Lies
Chapter 12: Loves and Truth
Chapter 13: Kiss
Chapter 1: Return

Harry was growing really quite irritated.

But not, for once, on his own behalf. He was

irritated with the way the rest of the school was
treating Cedric. Having been the subject of gossip,
stares and hostility himself, he recognised it even
when not directed at him.

It began on the Hogwarts Express. Cedric had

come with his parents, not with Harry, Hermione and
the Weasleys, and was already on board by the time
Harry and his friends arrived. They found him sitting
alone in a compartment at the rear of the train.
Harry was astonished. Cedric was popular:
handsome, athletic, clever, friendly . . . the Hogwarts
Champion actually selected by the Goblet, not
Confunded into it. If Harry knew Cedric had been in
trouble at the close of last year -- suspected by
Fudge of collusion with Death Eaters, or at least of
negligence -- once those charges had been
dropped, he'd assumed Cedric would return to his
place as a student celebrity.
Apparently not.

With mouth agape, Harry jerked open the door to

Cedric's compartment, but Cedric just smiled and
gestured to the other side. "Want a seat?" he asked,
as if finding Cedric Diggory sitting entirely by himself
was nothing unusual.

Confused, Harry nodded and piled in with Hermione

and Neville. "Where's Ron?" Cedric asked.

"Prefect," Harry said, struggling not to sound bitter.

"He had to go to the front carriage."

"Ah yes, there are introductions and rules to go

over," Cedric said, reminding Harry that Cedric had
been a prefect himself until this year. Frowning,
Cedric glanced now at Hermione. "You're not a
prefect?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

Hermione had taken the seat beside Cedric and now

glanced out the window, cheeks pink. "No." Her lips
pursed. "Lavender Brown was made prefect."

Harry doubted Cedric knew anything about

Lavender's reputation for being a bit cloudy-headed,
but it was clear the older boy found it surprising that
Hermione hadn't been named. Harry also noted
how Neville stared at Cedric with round eyes.
Hermione had noticed too. "Neville," she said,
ignoring his shyness, "this is Cedric Diggory. Cedric,
this is Neville Longbottom."

"Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, yes," Cedric

replied, leaning forward to offer Neville his hand.
"Pleased to meet you." Neville seemed star-struck
but took the offered hand. "My dad knew your dad,
always said he was a brilliant Auror."

That won a shocked glance from Hermione, while

Harry tried to pretend he hadn't already known.
Neville just blushed harder, mumbling, "Thanks."

That was when the cabin door opened again to

admit a very strange-looking blonde girl wearing . . .
radish earrings? And what on earth hung around
her neck? They looked like bottle corks. She'd
apparently spotted Neville through the glass and
now smiled at him. "Hello, Neville. How was your
summer? May I sit here? Nobody else will let me sit
in their compartment -- " She stopped, noticing
Cedric, and Harry thought she might flee right back
out the door the same as Neville had appeared set
to do earlier.
Instead, a big smile lit her face. "Cedric!" she cried
even as he said, "Luna!" and she bent to embrace
him quickly, but with real affection -- all of which
drew the most curious stare from Hermione . . . and
a gape from Neville.

Luna plopped down on Cedric's other side, handing

him her magazine. "The latest issue," she said, as if
he'd know exactly what she was talking about, "if
you haven't seen it." Harry caught him shooting
Hermione a grin, but he accepted the magazine and
obediently glanced through it. "Cedric and I grew up
near each other," Luna explained. "He taught me to
climb trees. We were looking for Blibbering
Humdingers."

"What's a Blibbering Humdinger?" Harry asked,

confused, even as he saw Neville blush and
Hermione roll her eyes.

Cedric just chuckled. "Never caught one."

"Maybe because they don't exist?" Hermione

muttered between clenched teeth. Harry almost
missed it as Luna was speaking again, pointing out
something in the magazine to Cedric, who listened
politely. Harry knew him well enough to know he
was humouring her, but not in a cruel way. The ease
between them spoke of longtime familiarity; he was
humouring her in the same way Harry and Ron
humoured Hermione when she panicked about tests
-- from fondness. It reminded him that he really
didn't know Cedric as well as he sometimes thought
he did.

All in all, it was perhaps the most peculiar trip on the

Hogwarts Express that Harry had ever made. Later,
as they walked amidst the other students up to the
carriages waiting to take them to the castle, Harry
asked Ron, "Who's Luna?"

"She's in Ginny's year," Ron said. "A bit dotty, like

you saw. Her mum died when she was little, and her
dad prints that magazine." There had been a
discussion of The Quibbler earlier in the train
compartment, with poor Cedric stuck, literally,
between Hermione and Luna. "They're both a bit
barmy if you know what I mean." He tapped his
temple.

"Yeah, sort of got that," Harry replied.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Neville asked, coming up behind

them, "How a bloke like Diggory is friendly with
Luna?"
Ron glanced over. "Diggory and Loony? Yeah, it is
a bit odd, but their families don't live far from mine,
so I reckon they knew each other as kids."

Neville frowned. "Don't call her Loony, Ron. It's not

nice." They'd reached the carriage that Hermione
was holding for them even as Harry noticed a ruckus
ten or so carriages further on. A group of Slytherin
boys jeered at someone Harry couldn't see. The
group wasn't led by Draco, but by Adrian Pucey with
other sixth and seventh years. Harry recognized
Pucey's fine, wavy hair from the back. At least one
Ravenclaw was leaning out the window of a nearby
carriage to join in.

"Can't find a carriage? Nobody want to sit with

you?"

"Hey, notice the badge?" Pucey called. "Did you see

my new badge? It reads Head Boy. They chose
me, not you."

At that very moment, the victim of the taunting burst

through the ring of jeering students.

It was Cedric.
Alone again. Where was his ring of admirers from
the year before?

Without thinking twice, Harry raised his hand to

motion for Cedric to join them once more --
assuming he'd want to -- but somebody else must
have called to him first because a carriage door
opened and he climbed in.

"Come on," Hermione was saying, pulling at Harry's

arm to get him to join them in the carriage.

"What was that all about?" Harry demanded once

they were inside.

"Dunno," Ron replied and Neville shrugged, but

Hermione had pursed her lips.

"I expect," she said, "it has to do with Fudge's

attacks on him -- before, you know, Scrimgeour took
over and the charges were dropped. This new
Headmistress -- she's the last appointment Fudge
made before leaving office, and I suppose
Scrimgeour decided to leave her here, at least for
now. But you notice that it's Professor McGonagall
he consults when he has questions, so it's just a
matter of time until she's made Headmistress." She
gave a little nod of her head in approval. "In any
case, being as this Umbridge person is one of
Fudge's lackeys, you didn't really expect she'd have
made Cedric Head Boy?"

"Well, no," Harry replied, "I . . . I suppose not."

Although to be honest, he had assumed Cedric
would be named Head Boy, even if Cedric himself
had said several times over the summer that he
wouldn't. "But," Harry went on, getting to the heart
of it as far as he was concerned, "where are his
friends? Last year, he had a bloody cloud of them
around him all the time, and all wearing those damn
badges even if he didn't."

Ron seemed uncomfortable, Neville still confused,

but Hermione turned to look at Harry with that fond
'How can you be so dense?' expression. "Harry,"
she said patiently, "at the end of last year, Cedric
didn't have any friends. Or didn't you notice?"

For once, Ron appeared up on the social gossip.

"She's right," he said. "I thought he was guilty too,
till you said he wasn't. But most of the school still
blamed him for Dumbledore dying. I'd assumed
that'd be different now too, but . . . yeah, doesn't look
like it is, does it?"

"That's ridiculous!" Harry exploded.

"Yeah, well . . . " Ron shrugged. They talked then of
other things until reaching the castle.

Yet as they took their places for the meal in the

Great Hall, Cedric's unwelcome status became even
more plain. Not only did other houses consider it
open season on the former Hogwarts Champion, his
own house shunned him as well -- and for Hufflepuff,
that was extremely odd. Amongst the few willing to
talk to him was Susan Bones, and Harry pulled her
aside whilst students milled, greeting each other,
and Ron was busy being harassed by his brothers.
"What's going on with Cedric?" he demanded.

Susan blinked at him as if curious as to why he'd

care, and he recalled that his friendship with Cedric
had been built over that summer -- it wasn't common
knowledge at Hogwarts. "Well," she began, "he was
involved in the events that led up to Dumbledore's
murder -- "

"That wasn't his fault!" Harry said, earning notice

from Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott even as
Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Come on, Harry," she said.

"No!" Harry said. "I want this to stop! Cedric wasn't
at fault! I testified he wasn't and Moody testified the
same! And Viktor Krum too!"

"I know," Susan said softly, which earned a sharp

glance from Ernie. "My aunt's in the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement. I know he was cleared of
all charges, but well -- "

"He could have trusted some of us in the house,"

Ernie cut in, frowning, "then things might not have
happened like they happened."

"He was told not to," Harry snapped back -- not

mentioning it had been his older self who'd
apparently done the telling.

"Yeah, well, maybe if he hadn't listened, Professor

Dumbledore would still be alive."

"Ernie -- " Susan and Hannah both said, but Ernie

ignored them to add, "A real Hufflepuff would've
trusted his friends."

And Harry came oh-so-close to replying that if

Cedric had ever had real friends, maybe he'd have
trusted them, but saying as much would be oil on the
fire, leading to uncomfortable questions for Cedric.
"Listen," Harry said instead, pushing past Susan to
get right in Ernie's face, "Cedric and Viktor saved my
life at the risk of their own and Cedric couldn't
exactly see the future, could he? He did the best he
could -- investigation into the matter showed he
wasn't at fault and he doesn't deserve to have his
own house treat him like a leper. It's a sad day
when his competition in the Tournament thinks better
of him than his supposed friends and housemates."

Turning on his heel, Harry stalked away, Hermione

following. Before they reached Ron, who was
saving them places at the table, Hermione said,
"That was a kind thing you did for Cedric."

Harry just glanced at her. "What was I supposed to

do? Let them crucify him for nothing?"

"Of course not; I only said it was kind. The two of

you seem to have become rather . . . close."

Harry paused to look at her. "Yeah, so?"

She glanced down at her feet, seeming a bit

nervous, "Well, Harry, he is . . . you know." She shot
a glance in his direction then back to Harry's face.
"You don't think I -- ?" Harry began, but didn't finish
that thought before she shook her head.

"No, Harry. I meant you might want to be careful so

he doesn't . . . well, it's not that you'd be leading him
on, but he might get his hopes up even if he knows
better."

With absolutely no idea how to reply to that, Harry

resisted gaping. She couldn't be right, could she?
But no, she couldn't be right because if Cedric . . .
fancied him, well, he'd be acting like it, wouldn't he?
And he wasn't. So he didn't. "We're just friends,
Hermione. You don't fancy me just because we're
friends either."

A soft, amused expression took over her face. "Oh,

Harry, you're such a boy." And without bothering to
explain that at all, she went to join their friends at the
table. Harry wanted to call after her that Cedric was
a boy too, but an unexpected voice at his shoulder
speaking in a soft Scottish burr gave him pause.

"Hullo, Harry. I hope you had a good summer."

Turning quickly, heart in throat and hammering hard

there, Harry gave Cho Chang a rather stupid grin.
"Hi, Cho! Er, good summer, yeah, well -- as good as
it could be, I reckon, what with . . . everything, you
know? How was yours?"

"It was all right." Her eyes seemed a bit haunted for
a moment, but it passed and she gave him another
shy smile before heading off to her table and the
three friends who were waiting and giggling
together. She shot him a last glance over her
shoulder and he tried waving at her, hoping he didn't
look like a complete git . . . although he rather feared
that he did given the amused grins on the twins'
faces when he joined his table.

"Young love!" Fred crowed, laughing.

"As long as he doesn't let it affect him on the

Quidditch pitch," George added, leaning over to
stress, "No gentlemanly losses when we play
Ravenclaw."

"I wouldn't do any such thing," Harry said, annoyed

and certain his face was red. Seeking something to
distract him, he glanced over at the Hufflepuff table
in case Ernie or anybody else had taken his
reprimand to heart and sat with Cedric.

To his surprise, Cedric was looking back at him, face

serious and sad. Yet as soon as he caught Harry
looking his way, he dropped his eyes. Susan and
Hannah sat beside him, but otherwise, he clearly still
suffered the cold shoulder treatment. His own
roommates were down the table away from him.
Harry couldn't blame him for being a bit blue.

Conversation in the hall was dying down as

McGonagall entered with the Sorting Hat, first years
trailing in her wake like chicks behind the hen. Harry
studied faces as the hat sang its Sorting song; he
wasn't really paying attention until those around him
began to mutter about warnings. "Warnings?" he
asked. "Warnings about what?"

Hermione frowned. "Weren't you listening?"

"Er, no. Anybody else notice that we've got a

smaller crop of first years this time? I'd say at least
ten less than any year before."

"Well, yeah," Seamus said, "some parents aren't

keen to send their kids now, you know. Don't think
it's safe. Dumbledore's death, attacks on the
Ministry, delays in opening . . . "

"I reckon it isn't safe," Harry agreed, "and even less

so with me here."
"Harry -- " Hermione began, and Ron pursed his lips
whilst Neville and Dean looked embarrassed. But
Seamus was more honest, or less tactful.

"That's part of what they're worried about, yeah," he

replied, receiving a thump on the arm from Ginny.
"What?" he asked. "It's the truth. I didn't say it was
Harry's fault, did I?"

"It is the truth," Harry admitted, even as a short,

squat woman in scary pink robes rose to clap her
hands, expression as saccharine awful as her
clothes.

"Children," she said, "please. A little respect."

"Who's that?" Seamus asked.

"The new Headmistress, apparently," Hermione

replied as the woman sat back down in the golden
throne that had been Dumbledore's. It almost
physically hurt to see her sitting there. "Dolores
Umbridge, former Undersecretary to Minister
Fudge."

"Looks sort of like a pig," Seamus said

philosophically, "in all that pink."
"Toad," Neville offered unexpectedly, then blushed,
but Dean, Seamus and Ron were all nodding.

"Yeah, mate, toad's right," Ron said.

"Boys," Hermione said, "are rude."

"But honest, yeah?" Ron asked. "Don't tell me you

weren't thinking something similar." Given the
expression on Hermione's face, she had been
thinking something similar. Harry might have been
more amused if he hadn't been depressed to be
reminded that Dumbledore was no longer here.

In any case, the sorting passed quickly, ending with

Zeller, Rose, and students joined their tables as the
pink-robed Headmistress approached the podium
again, smiling out at all of them like the cat who'd
caught the canary. Harry hoped she kept it brief so
they could eat; he was starving.

Apparently, that was too much to ask. "Boys and

girls," she began, still beaming, "I can't tell you how
happy I am to be here at Hogwarts again, and to
take up the mantle laid upon me, guiding each of
you through the wonderful adventure of your
unfolding magical education."
Harry glared. He thought it a bit inappropriate for
her to sound so happy to be Headmistress
considering her predecessor hadn't retired but been
murdered.

"I'm well aware," she went on, "that in recent years,

your schooling has been repeatedly . . .
disturbed . . . by events that had nothing to do with
educating you, but in fact, interfered with that goal --"

Harry felt his eyebrows rise and he glanced over at

Ron, mouthing, 'What?'

"Oh, yeah," Ron muttered back, "like anybody

invited giant, deadly snakes to crawl the halls on
purpose."

"Well, Voldemort did," Harry muttered back.

They weren't the only ones muttering and Umbridge

uttered a ridiculous-sounding "hem, hem" before
continuing, "Students, your former Headmaster may
have tolerated you speaking while he addressed
you, but I certainly won't." Harry glowered further at
her oblique critique of Dumbledore's methods.

"Now, as I was saying, your education has been

disturbingly fractured of late, but I do hope we can
overcome that problem this year. We'll have a
clearer code of conduct, proper revision times in the
library or Great Hall, and membership in clubs or
sports groups will require maintenance of certain
marks. There will also be more severe penalties for
repeated tardiness, skipping classes, or being
caught out of common rooms after curfew, among
other things."

Raising her eyes, she looked right at the Gryffindor

table and Harry couldn't help but feel her gaze
searching him out amidst the double row of
students. Her smile remained, but it was hard.

"This new code will be posted in full to each

common room by tomorrow morning. Please be
certain to read it, as ignorance will not constitute an
excuse. But really, I'm quite certain that for the vast
majority of our students, these new rules won't be
anything they haven't already been following." She
beamed out at all of them again.

"Blimey," Ron muttered, "how old does she think we

are? Five?"

"Shhh," Hermione hushed him.

"We'll save the introductions of additional new staff"
-- Umbridge shot a glance at Mad-Eye Moody where
he was seated between McGonagall and Flitwick --
"until after the meal." She waved her wand with a
grand gesture that Harry supposed she thought
looked reminiscent of Dumbledore, conjuring the
meal from the kitchens below, but all Harry could
think was that Dumbledore hadn't needed a wand.

Wand needed or not, the food appeared and Harry

was too hungry to pay attention to any conversations
until he'd finished his first plateful and was loading
up a second. Around him, most discussion centered
on the attacks at the Ministry over the summer, and
speculation as to what Voldemort had wanted.
Harry, who knew, tuned it out, and when anybody
seated nearby asked him questions, he answered
vaguely. Now and then, he looked over at the
Hufflepuff table to see if Cedric was still being
snubbed and at the Ravenclaw table to see what
Cho was up to. Once, he caught her looking back at
him and nearly dropped his fork onto his plate.

Aside from talk of the attacks, there were also

questions about the Ministry exams, and whether
they'd still be having them. "I reckon so," Fred said.
"Too important to cancel if they're not cancelling
school." He shot Ron a grin. "You'd better not make
too many social plans, little brother, as you'll be
spending all your time revising."

"Lovely." Ron snorted. "Wish they'd just cancel the

lot."

"Oh, no!" Hermione said, "Those exams determine

what courses we'll be able to continue with and what
jobs we can pursue after school!"

"We're in a war, Hermione," Ron pointed out. "We'll

be lucky to finish school, never mind get jobs
afterwards."

"Wars aren't interminable, Ron," Hermione replied.

"What are these exams?" Harry asked before they

could fall to bickering. He didn't want to talk about
war. Sirius had mentioned exams, too, but he hadn't
been specific and Harry hadn't thought to ask further
questions.

"OWLs," Hermione said, "which we'll be taking, are

Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Fred and George . . .
and well, Cedric too, they'll have NEWTs . . . "

"Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," George

finished.
"You're kidding," Harry said, but it wasn't a question.
Nobody would actually name exams that.

"Actually, I'm not," George replied.

"At least they're honest," Fred added.

Talk turned then to the eulogy for Dumbledore that

had appeared a month earlier in The Daily Prophet.
Harry had cut it out and Stuck it to the wall of the
room he'd been sharing with Ron. Elphias Doge,
who'd written it, had apparently been a member of
the Order of the Phoenix in the first war.
"Technically he still is one," Sirius had told Harry,
who'd never met Doge, "but he's old now."

"So was Dumbledore," Harry had protested.

"Well yes," Sirius had agreed, "but somehow

Dumbledore never seemed old in the same way" --
which was true enough.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Parvati Patil's

voice on his far left. "Rita Skeeter's working on a
biography of him, did you hear? Apparently she's
found things from his youth that aren't entirely on."
Harry jerked his head around to stare. "You're
joking! Rita Skeeter's writing his biography?"

"Oh, yes," Parvati said, "it was mentioned in The

Prophet last week -- due out in early November."
Parvati didn't look at him as she spoke and Harry
suspected she still held a grudge for the disaster of
the Yule Ball the year before. "She did the
biography of the previous headmaster too, you
know, Armando Dippet -- pointing out exactly how
incompetent he was."

"Yes, I'm sure Rita Skeeter is a terribly reliable

reporter," Hermione snapped. "We all know what a
fair shake she gave Harry last year. And the rubbish
she printed about Hagrid . . . !"

"But Hagrid is a half-giant," Parvati replied. "She

didn't lie about that, it's just an inconvenient truth for
anybody who's his fan."

"Besides," Lavender added, "you're still tetchy over

what she wrote about you."

Hermione glared, but Parvati finished before she

could reply, "I, for one, would like to hear what she's
got to say about Dumbledore."
Harry lost his temper. "Well, I wouldn't!" he spoke in
a loud voice that garnered glances from other
tables. "Rita Skeeter's nothing but an ugly old
gossip looking for a barney and slandering
Dumbledore's memory!" Parvati sniffed, but other
than Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the twins, the rest at
the table looked a bit uncomfortable -- even Neville.

"You know my gran's always been a big supporter of

Dumbledore, Harry," he said, "but she's old enough
to remember Dumbledore from earlier days, and I
think she's a bit worried about this biography."

"There, you see?" Parvati said. "It's not that I don't

respect Dumbledore, but I don't believe he was
perfect either."

"I don't think he was perfect," Harry muttered

defensively, but he knew that more often than not,
he had expected Dumbledore to have all the
answers, ignoring mistakes the Headmaster had
made, including the one that had resulted in his own
death. The meal was tense for a while after that
until pudding arrived. Harry went right for the treacle
tart as usual, and by the time he was halfway
through, Umbridge had risen to approach the
podium yet again.
She rattled off the usual announcements -- the
Forbidden Forest really was forbidden, etcetera --
then issued a reminder about the new rules, and
concluded, "New staff this year, aside from, of
course, myself" -- she gave a little simper -- "include
Mr. Stamford Jorkins, who'll be joining us part time
as a much needed public relations officer and the
school's liaison with the Board of Regents. In
addition, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts
teacher will be Alastor Moody." She coughed, which
sounded as fake as her "hem, hem," adding, "The
real Alastor Moody, as Professor Dumbledore
apparently wasn't able to tell the difference."

That won low murmurs all around the Hall, and Harry
gritted his teeth. This Umbridge person was missing
no chance to highlight anything she considered a
fault of Dumbledore's.

"I do believe that is all our announcements for this

evening. As usual, you'll be receiving your class
timetables at breakfast, so please don't be late.
Prefects, you can -- "

"Excuse me."

All eyes in the hall swivelled from Umbridge to the

man standing up at the staff table behind her,
uncharacteristically interrupting the Welcome Feast
announcements. Mad-Eye Moody. Startled,
Umbridge glanced around. Her mouth was open
slightly, making her look a bit foolish. "Er, yes,
Professor Moody?"

"So sorry to interrupt." Moody didn't, Harry thought,

look at all sorry, and Harry shot Ron a grin as Moody
thumped his ever-present cane on the Hall floor.
"Just have a quick announcement of my own, and
this seemed the time." Not waiting for Umbridge's
permission, he looked out at the tables and his voice
rose, "In light of the return of He Who Must Not Be
Named, and the clear danger that presents, I'll be
reviving the duelling club that I understand has fallen
by the wayside. Professor Flitwick's agreed to help.
Meetings for first and second years'll be on Tuesday
nights, third and fourth years on Wednesdays, and
fifth, sixth and seventh years on Thursdays --
starting this week. That's all, thanks." He sat back
down.

Apparently trying to decide whether to be gracious

or affronted, Umbridge finally settled on the former,
but couldn't resist adding, "Thank you, Professor
Moody, although in the future, if you have an
announcement, I believe it's customary to inform the
Head in advance."
"I'll keep that in mind, Dolores," Moody replied, still
not looking much bothered.

"Yes," she said, "yes, well, students, you're

dismissed. Prefects, please show the first years to
their dormitories. Thank you."

Benches scraped and voices buzzed as students

rose to head out. Ron had to help Lavender with the
first years, so Harry headed for the doors with
Hermione, Neville, Dean and Seamus. There were
several calls of, "Hi, Harry!" as he exited the hall,
and he nodded back, a bit confused by this sudden
popularity.

"Wonder what that was all about with Moody?" he

asked.

"Well, obviously Professor Moody didn't want to tell

Umbridge in advance," Hermione said. "He must
have doubted she'd approve, and it's easier to beg
forgiveness than get permission -- especially if you
announce something to a room full of people."

"Huh," was all Harry replied as they reached the

main entranceway. In the distance, he caught a
glimpse of Cedric's tall figure headed down the stairs
to the Hufflepuff common room. He was still alone,
and Harry wondered how his first night back would
go if his own roommates weren't talking to him.

Harry's own first night back was a combination of

happy reunion and anxious discussion of matters in
the external world, first in the common room, then
later up in his dormitory. Nobody got to sleep until
past midnight, and waking in the morning was
difficult. Harry waited until virtually the last minute
before crawling out of bed for the showers and then
dressing without bothering to comb his hair -- it
never stayed combed anyway. He was still tying his
tie as he descended behind Ron into the common
room, which was eerily subdued. Most of the
students were gathered around the notice board, but
others -- with hard, unhappy expressions -- were
packing book satchels and heading out. Ron and
Harry joined Hermione, who looked distressed.
"This isn't good," she muttered as she turned away,
letting in the two boys to look. "I'll have to search my
trunk . . . "

She didn't elaborate on what she'd be searching her

trunk for, so Harry turned to the official-looking
parchment tacked in the middle of the notice board:

CODES OF CONDUCT
 for Hogwarts Students

1. School robes are to be worn at all times

outside dormitories and common rooms whilst on
Hogwarts grounds; no Muggle-style clothing is
permitted. Uniform shirts are to be tucked in and
ties tied above the first button. Girls electing to
wear skirts must wear tights, and skirts may not
rise more than 1 inch above the knee. Stained or
torn clothing is not allowed and should be left for
the house-elves to see to. In short, neatness of
person is expected.

2. Girls with long hair should tie it back with an

Alice band, hair slides, or ribbon. Boys who
adopt wizarding hair fashions must also tie it
back if it reaches more than one inch below their
collar. Boys are expected to be clean-shaven.

"Wish I had some facial hair to shave," Ron

muttered, rubbing his barely stubbly chin.

3. A list of the 437 traditionally banned items is

available on the notice board outside Mr. Filch's
office. It includes Dungbombs, Fanged Frisbees,
Screaming Yo-yos, illegal potions, alcohol, Dark
objects, etc. In addition to this usual contraband,
 Muggle items are no longer permitted. We're
witches and wizards and this is a school of
magic, not of Muggle studies. Periodic, random
inspections of dorms will be conducted to
confiscate any banned items.

4. Excessive displays of physical affection

between couples -- being in poor taste -- will not
be tolerated, and any boy and girl caught alone
together behind closed doors will be punished,
and possibly expelled. Among the acts
considered to be excessive are: full-body
embraces, kisses lasting more than a few
seconds, open mouthed kisses of any length,
and hands placed on body parts that could not
be exposed in public.

Harry resisted giggling, thinking that this was one

time being gay might be an advantage; nobody
would blink at finding two boys together behind
closed doors. Somehow, he doubted Cedric would
see the humour in that.

5. All students are required to invest at least

seven hours a week in revision either in the
library or the Great Hall -- roughly one hour per
day. Sign-in and sign-out sheets will magically
record a student's arrival and departure times.
 Students who fail to invest the required seven
hours will face detentions. Students are
encouraged to use any free periods to earn their
seven hours.

6. Students must maintain mark averages of an

A or better in all classes in order to maintain
membership in clubs or sports teams. Earning a
P average will result in probation, a D will result
in temporary suspension, and a T will result in
that student's immediate removal from all clubs
or teams.

Oh, great, Harry thought, hoping Snape wouldn't use

this new rule as a way to remove Harry from the
Gryffindor Quidditch team. Harry had a hard enough
time maintaining even an A in Snape's class, and he
wasn't much better in Divination or History of Magic,
either.

7. Repeated tardiness, skipping classes without

permission, or breaking curfew will result not only
in detentions, but in suspension of participation in
all clubs or teams. If that does not fix the
problem, guilty students could find themselves
gated, suspended temporarily, or even expelled.
 8. As a result of the current dangerous
environment, Hogsmeade Weekends are under
review for possible cancellation. Whilst the staff
recognises the popularity of these weekends,
student safety is our foremost concern.

9. Any student caught plagiarizing or cheating is

subject to possible expulsion. Cheating is
defined not only as copying answers during an
exam, or the buying and selling of exam answers
in advance, but also students writing essays for
other students, or the buying and selling of
essays. Students are expected to do their own
work.

"Those are harsh," Ron said as he and Harry

reached the end. Ron was unconsciously
straightening his tie. "And does that mean Hermione
can't help us with our homework anymore?"

"Yes, Ron, that means I'm not going to risk getting

expelled for doing your homework," Hermione
replied as she rejoined them to head out of the
portrait hole for breakfast.

"You're not doing it; you're just -- "

"Rewriting it? Sometimes from scratch? Or finishing
it when you can't be bothered? Yes, Ron that is
doing your homework." She sighed then and ran a
hand into her bushy hair. "Still, some of those are
harsh, although you have to admit the cheating rule
is hardly new, if a bit expanded on. Same with the
maintenance of certain marks in order to engage in
extracurricular activities, and the requiring of revision
time, and the dress code. Those were already rules
too. They just haven't been enforced much."

"That revision time is new!"

"No, Ron, actually it's not. It's in the student

handbook you were given when you got your
letter . . . which I doubt you actually read, did you? It
states very clearly that students will be expected to
study at least one hour a day in their common
rooms, with prefects to oversee it. The problem is
that, for years now, prefects haven't been
overseeing it."

Ron was gaping at her. "You can't tell me you agree

with these rules, Hermione! I mean, what's with all
the anti-Muggle stuff? No Muggle clothes, no
Muggle items . . . "
Hermione frowned. "Well, that does bother me, I'll
grant. And if you'll notice, none of the newly
appointed prefects, nor the Head Boy or Head Girl,
are Muggleborns. You and Lavender, Ernie
Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, Anthony Goldstein
and Padma Patil, Draco Malfoy and Pansy
Parkinson -- all of them are at least half-bloods, and
quite a few are purebloods."

Ron blinked, as if just considering that. "Well, I

reckon so, but my whole family's considered to be
Blood Traitors, so I'm not sure why I'd be picked over
Neville. I think it's just coincidence."

"Coincidence that Lavender Brown was chosen over

me?" Hermione sniffed. "I'm not trying to sound
arrogant, but really, Ron."

Harry refrained from pointing out that Hermione was

a bit bossy, and maybe the new Head had decided
that Lavender, cloudy-headed or not, was better-
liked and might get better obedience. Whatever the
reason, after reading the new rules, Harry had a bad
feeling about the new year.

Chapter 2: Seeking
Umbridge's first strike for her new regime came
against Hufflepuff, perhaps because she perceived it
to be the weakest house, or perhaps because it was
Cedric's house and Umbridge still held a grudge for
his role in the sacking of her old boss. She
understood the principle that it was better to attack
one's peers and be certain they knew one was the
cause of their suffering, than to attack one directly. It
played on both guilt and resentment.

Unfortunately, Umbridge failed to account for the

way Hufflepuff House acted and reacted.

Her very first dormitory inspections came on

Thursday morning before breakfast, no doubt
thinking that sleepy, hungry students made easy
targets. To make her point, she began with Cedric's
own room. Yet he and all three of his roommates
had been raised in magical households and didn't
have much reason to be harbouring Muggle items.
Furthermore, as seventh years, they were well used
to the list of forbidden items, and how to stash any in
places not easily found. Umbridge's search came
up with little -- and gave the rest of Hufflepuff a
forewarning while freeing the eldest and most
experienced wizards in the house to disperse to
other rooms to Banish anything illegal. "Send it to
my Captain's office," Cedric hissed to the other three
when Umbridge, Filch and Jorkins had departed.
They simply nodded. This was no time to maintain
divisions, and the beauty of the Hufflepuff tunnels
was that there were two ways in and out of virtually
every room. News spread at badger speed.

Thus, Umbridge's first dormitory check turned up

one pack of Muggle-made chewing gum, a Muggle
magazine, two Fanged Frisbees, and three ball-point
pens. Hufflepuff had decided she couldn't go away
empty-handed or it might look too suspicious. That
she wasn't happy seemed obvious, although she put
a good face on it at breakfast, announcing that she
hoped the other three houses would prove to be as
upright and conscientious as Hufflepuff when their
turns came. All up and down the Hufflepuff table,
there were suppressed smirks.

And for the first time since he'd got back, Cedric did
not sit alone.

The fact that his office down in the Hufflepuff

changing rooms now held a lot of contraband might
have been seen as the reason, but he didn't view it
as holding anything hostage for his reintegration.
There had been no negotiation for acceptance, and
no moment of hesitation. Like a band of siblings
nearly seventy strong, they might snipe amongst
themselves, but when push came to shove,
Hufflepuff was Hufflepuff. They protected their own.

Thus Umbridge's first sally against Cedric resulted in

the opposite of her intention. Rather than isolating
him further, it caused his house to welcome him
back into the fold. Cedric was cynically amused,
even as he was equally glad to be accepted again.

That evening after dinner, Mad-Eye Moody's fifth-

through-seventh-year duelling club met for the first
time. It mostly amounted to Moody taking their
names and giving an impromptu test in spell
casting. As a seventh year, and after his extensive
practise for the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric wasn't
surprised to be amongst the best. Other stand-outs
included one of his roommates, Scott Summers
(who'd attempted to put his name in the Goblet of
Fire, but hadn't been old enough), Angelina
Johnson, Roger Davies, and (of course) Harry
Potter. Fred and George Weasley also showed
some prowess, which annoyed Cedric. Despite the
fact they ought to be allies, the twins now had three
reasons to resent him: he'd beaten Harry to the
Snitch once, he'd been allowed to enter the
Tournament, and he was a full member of the Order
of the Phoenix. At one point during the club trials,
they ganged up, attempting to set his trousers on
fire. He blasted them both across the Great Hall
floor, to mixed whistles and boos.

Harry appeared torn, neither clapping nor hissing,

but he didn't look upset either. Cedric took some
confidence from that; what Harry thought mattered
to him most of all.

Cedric half-expected Moody to punish the twins --

two against one was hardly fair -- but instead he
said, "Duels in the real world are rarely fair. The
idea is to win, not play by the rules." In fact, Cedric
thought Moody secretly glad the twins had tried to
cheat, but even gladder that Cedric had dumped
them on their bottoms -- literally. It had made a good
object lesson.

"This group," Moody told them when he was done

testing and they were all seated in a circle around
him and Flitwick, "will be the actual duelling club.
The younger students are in prep classes. But you
-- I'll be pitting you against each other in real duels.
They won't always be 'fair' pair-ups, either. I'm trying
to teach you to protect yourselves, so you fifth years
may be matched against sixth or seventh years.
And the best of the seventh years may find
themselves matched against Flitwick or myself, or
two other students at once.
"You can learn as much from having your arse
handed to you as you can by winning. When you
lose, I'll expect an evaluation as to why you lost --
and I don't tolerate whinging. If you're going to
whinge because somebody beat you, get out of here
and don't come back. Any questions?"

There was a pause as students looked at each

other. Harry, Ron and several from Gryffindor
appeared eager. Draco Malfoy was there with his
usual myrmidons, sneering in disdain -- perhaps
come to see what the 'opposition' was up to, even if
the battle lines weren't formally recognised. Roger
Davies appeared confident, but then, he had good
reason to be, whilst a number of the Hufflepuffs
looked nervous. Cedric suspected his own
expression was bland. He didn't like to give away
his state of mind.

Ernie Macmillan had tentatively raised his hand;

Moody nodded to him. "You said you'd ask us to
evaluate why we lost, but, er, what if the reason is
just that the other wizard is older and more
experienced?" He gestured towards Cedric. "I
mean, if I was set against Ced, I wouldn't have a
prayer."
Moody eyed Ernie without replying long enough that
the younger boy turned beetroot red. "That's not a
reason, Macmillan. Diggory, get up here." Sighing,
Cedric rose and entered the circle centre where
Moody stood. Why couldn't Ernie have left him out
of this? "Macmillan, you too." Ernie rose as well,
and Cedric feared that he knew what was coming.
"Take your positions and engage."

Ernie's mouth had dropped open. "You can't be

serious! I was just . . . just . . . giving an example!"

"Well, I am serious, and this is an example.

Gentlemen, back to back, pace five and draw
wands. Salute and engage."

Cedric sighed again but did as instructed, following

up his salute with an unvoiced Disarming spell that
sent Ernie's wand across the chamber before Ernie
could so much as think of what to return. Wandless,
Ernie just stood and gaped at him. Cedric lowered
his own wand. "See!" Ernie yelled even as Moody
bellowed at Cedric, "Finish it, boy!"

"I did," Cedric replied. "I disarmed him."

"That's not finishing it. Finish it!"

"What am I supposed to do to him?" Cedric snapped
back, annoyed.

"How about this?" Moody pulled his own wand and

pointed it at Ernie. "Impedimenta!" Ernie instantly
froze for a few moments. "Disarming isn't enough.
He can still get away, you fool." And, wand still out,
he aimed it at Cedric. "Expelliarmus!"

Cedric wasn't certain why he'd been expecting that,

but he had, and he twisted sideways more on
instinct than design. The spell flew past him.
Turning the rest of the way around, he fired off a Trip
Jinx at Moody -- aloud, because being startled made
him unable to do it silently. Moody easily blocked it,
returning an Impedimenta like the one he'd cast on
Ernie . . . and missed again. Cedric followed up with
a Stinging Hex, silently this time but again, Moody
blocked it and followed with Confundo too fast for
Cedric to block.

And that was that. Cedric woke again to sense a

minute later with Hermione, of all people, leading
him to a seat. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just . . . confounded." He snorted.

"Good job, Diggory," Moody said, apparently
breaking off what he'd been saying to offer the
compliment. Cedric wondered if it were genuine or
just lip-service. "In any case, my point is that
Diggory didn't stand there, waiting for me to follow
up. He was on the move. Even if you do lose your
wand, you can still dodge. Got that, Macmillan?"
Ernie had also been helped to a seat by Hannah; he
nodded, but appeared a bit stunned still. "Now
evaluate. Macmillan, what went wrong for you?"

"Cedric's older and more experienced."

"That's not what went wrong. That's a fact you knew

in advance about your opponent. You knuckled
under to it; you didn't use it against him."

"Use it against him?" Ernie looked astonished.

"How could I have possibly used it against him!"

"Potter, what would you have done?"

Harry appeared completely startled by the question.

He'd been slouching back in his chair, arms crossed,
watching quietly. "Huh?"

"What would you have done, facing Diggory?"

"Er . . . dodged?"

"Not a bad idea. Why?"

"He's probably faster. I'd need to get out of the way

in order to be able to cast at all."

"Why is he faster?"

Harry seemed puzzled by that. "Er -- because he

is?"

"Bad answer." Moody turned, then pointed to

Angelina Johnson. "Why was Diggory faster than
Macmillan?"

Angelina also appeared startled, then embarrassed.

"Because he was using wordless spell-casting."

"Partly. Why else?"

"Eh . . . ?" she hesitated.

"This isn't a garden party, girl. I'm not interested in

your manners. Spit it out."

"Cedric's a Seeker -- an athlete. Ernie . . . isn't.

Cedric's got quicker reflexes."
"Very good," Moody said. Ernie was blushing, but
Moody didn't seem to care. "The first rule of duelling
is to know your own weaknesses and the opponent's
probable strengths -- and it has to be honest.
Diggory is two up on Macmillan. He knows
nonverbal spells and he's a faster draw. Diggory is
one up on Potter with the nonverbal spells, but it's
probably a toss-up as to which of them is the faster
draw. There's one other thing nobody's pointed out.
What could Macmillan and Potter use against
Diggory?"

This brought silence. Nobody seemed to have a

clue. After a moment, Moody barked, "Well?"

"Diggory doesn't want to ruin his pretty face?"

That came from the back of the room and caused a

few people to snigger whilst others snorted in shock
or drew indignant breaths. Cedric was fairly sure it
was Montague who'd said it. "Up yours," he called
back, then to Moody, "What they could use is that I
know it's not an even match, which means I might
get lazy."

"Thank you," Moody said. "If Diggory got lazy and

Potter dodged, Potter could probably get off a return
spell before Diggory could recover. Macmillan might
even be able to. It is possible to use your
opponents' strengths against them, not just their
weaknesses. Now get out of here and we'll meet
again next Thursday. Come prepared to be called
up. I won't be warning people in advance. Diggory
-- stay."

Cedric had assumed Moody wanted to talk to him

about what had just happened, but instead, Moody
said, "Got an assignment for you, kid. You've been
here seven years now, and you were a prefect. I
suspect you know more than a few hidey-holes
around the castle. Dumbledore's portrait is missing."

"Missing? You mean somebody stole it out of the

Headmistress's office?"

"No, I mean Dolores Umbridge stashed it away

somewhere."

"Isn't that . . . erm, not done?"

"Not supposed to be, far as I know. But I don't think

she's interested in oughts." He lowered his voice.
"The Order needs to have access to that portrait,
Diggory. We're looking for it too, but while you
students might find it hard to believe, we teachers
have even less free time than you do. And the more
eyes, the better."

"Has anybody just asked her about it?"

"Well of course. Minerva asked her point blank --

didn't get any sort of answer, just a dodge. So you
keep your eyes open, and alert Potter, Granger and
the Weasleys."

Cedric nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I'll see you in class, kid."

Cedric headed out then, pushing the doors open

only to pause on the other side. Harry was standing
against one of the walls, apparently waiting. "How
are you feeling?" he asked. "You were pretty
confused after Moody hit you with that last charm."

"I'm fine now," Cedric replied.

Harry looked down at his feet and kicked at the

stone floor. Cedric wondered what he was doing
there when he asked, "What'd you think?"

"Think about what?"

"Moody's class."

"It is a class, isn't it?" Cedric walked over to stand

near Harry. "He's calling it a duelling club, but it's a
class."

"Yeah -- prepping us for fighting Voldemort and his

followers right under Umbridge's nose. You were
dead impressive back there against Moody."

Blood burning his ears and unreasonably pleased,

Cedric shrugged with one shoulder. "Thanks. I'd not
have expected to get two spells off at him, that's for
sure."

"I didn't expect his first spell; I'm amazed you

dodged that."

Cedric frowned. "I . . . did. Expect it, I mean. I'm

not sure why or how. But yeah, I almost . . . it felt
like the sort of thing he'd do, so I wasn't surprised."

Harry didn't reply for a minute, just looked up at

Cedric. In the shadows of the main hall and behind
the glasses, his eyes looked black rather than
green. "I think you've got good instincts," he said
finally.
"I think I got lucky," Cedric replied, smiling.

"I keep telling people that about the times I've fought
Voldemort. I got lucky."

Cedric nodded. "Moody's going to pit us against

each other, you know -- probably sooner rather than
later."

"Yeah, I sort of gathered that." Harry's eyebrows

went up. "I'll go easy on you."

"And I'll kick your arse."

"You just try."

"No 'try' about it."

Harry snorted but there was a hint of a smile about

his mouth. A competitive edge had existed between
them since that first Quidditch game where they'd
squared off in Cedric's fifth year. Then had come the
Triwizard Tournament, then Cho -- even if Cho had
never meant to Cedric what she'd meant to Harry.
Competition still occasionally coloured their
friendship, adding flavour. Cedric wasn't sure if he
wanted to best Harry in order to impress him, or from
a primitive drive for pack dominance, but the
younger boy drew out of Cedric a desire to prove
himself, and prove himself against Harry in
particular.

Now, though, he remembered what Moody had told

him. "Mad-Eye says Dumbledore's portrait is gone
from the Headmistress's office. He thinks Umbridge
had it removed. He wants us to keep an eye out for
it, see if we can find where she stashed it. The more
looking, the better."

Harry frowned, clearly concerned by that news.

"This Saturday, Ron wants me to practise with him;
he's going to try for Keeper. But maybe we can do
some searching that evening?" Cedric just nodded,
not minding an excuse to spend time with Harry.
"When are you running tryouts? For Quidditch, I
mean?"

"Not for another week at least," Cedric replied.

"What with not playing last year, I've got to replace
about half my team. Assuming I'm still Captain."

Mouth open slightly, Harry asked, "Why wouldn't you

be? Doesn't your Head of House have the final -- ?"

"No. Hufflepuff elects; it's an old tradition. They can

call for a re-election if they don't want me, although
there can't be more than one replacement a year,
barring an emergency. That keeps the house from
being fickle about it."

Harry frowned. "Why would they want to get rid of

you? You made Hufflepuff a team to be reckoned
with two years ago."

Cedric shrugged, not sure how to reply to the

compliment. "Well, I don't really expect them to, but
I'm not exactly the most popular person in the Sett
right now -- although after this morning, maybe that's
over." His smile turned sly. "My denmates and I
helped hide stuff when Umbridge showed up for that
search."

"I heard about that, but they shouldn't have been

treating you so badly in the first place." Harry's face
was earnest and sincere, and Cedric was touched.

"Hufflepuff doesn't take betrayal well, and that's what

they thought I'd done."

"How was anything you did a betrayal?" Harry

sounded more indignant than curious.

"I didn't trust them. To Hufflepuff, that's the worst

betrayal of all. We pride ourselves on our loyalty,
especially to each other. They interpreted what I did
as not, well -- not wanting to be Hufflepuff, not
wanting to be part of them. That wasn't how I meant
it -- "

"Of course it wasn't how you meant it! You were just
doing what, er, the other me told you to do.
Hufflepuff prides itself on being fair, too, and the way
they just assumed things was hardly fair to you."

"Thanks, Harry," Cedric said softly, "but it's past

now. There were some misunderstandings, and
then pride got in the way. The dormitory search this
morning broke through that. It gave me a chance to
sort of . . . redeem myself in their eyes."

"You know, sometimes you sound a lot like

Hermione with how you analyze people." Harry
glanced towards the stairs. "I reckon I should go up;
it's almost curfew. I'll see you tomorrow, or
Saturday."

"Tomorrow or Saturday," Cedric echoed, heading

back to the Sett, feeling warm.

The warm feeling only increased when he entered

the Common Room to mad applause from his
housemates. His face burned. "You embarrassed
the Weasley twins, Ced!" Ernie crowed, apparently
having forgotten his own embarrassment at the end
of Cedric's wand. "Then actually held off Moody."

"Even Professor Moody said you did better than he

expected," Clara Barton, a sixth year, added. She'd
been among those following him about the year
before, hoping for an invitation to the Ball. He
thought her nice enough but avoided her lest he
inadvertently encourage her infatuation, and now he
wasn't certain how to respond. He didn't feel that
he'd done much extraordinary, not like winning a
Quidditch match, so all the attention made him
uncomfortable. Smiling shyly at everyone, he
ducked out of the room down the tunnel to his
dormitory.

Peter and Scott weren't there, but Ed Carpenter

was, sprawled on his bed reading Quidditch
Quarterly. "When are tryouts?" Ed asked without
looking up, unconsciously echoing Harry's question
earlier.

"I was thinking not until next Saturday at the

earliest. I'd like to have two sets: one to eliminate
those wasting our time, then we'll practise with the
remainder for a week and do a final cut the next
Saturday. I'm not sure a single day's evaluation is
the way to choose a team that'll play together the
best."

Ed rested the magazine on his abdomen.

"That's . . . different. But a good idea, I think."

Cedric didn't look at Ed as he said, "I, er, I'll have to

ask everybody to, you know, fly in the trials. Not that
I think you have anything to worry about, mate --
you're our best Chaser, hands down -- but to be fair."

"I understand," Ed replied, and returned to his

magazine. "You'll stay Seeker, I assume?"

"Dunno. I may try for Keeper. I was tall when I got

Seeker and I've grown more since. There may be
somebody better suited out there."

"Doubt it. You beat Potter to the Snitch."

"Two years and three inches ago -- not to mention

there were Dementors involved."

"He's bigger too now."

"But still half a foot shorter and I don't know how

many stone lighter." Cedric dropped back on his
own bed to stare at the black canopy above with its
field of yellow suns and stars. He felt drained but
happy for the first time since he'd returned. He was
back in his house's good graces, Harry had
complimented him, and Ed wanted to talk Quidditch.
It had been a good day. "Anyway, we'll see. If I'm
expecting everybody else to fly trials, I should too."

Ed chuckled. "What will you do if you find somebody

better as Seeker and as Keeper? Play Beater?"

Cedric looked up. "Well, maybe the house should

elect a new Captain, in that case."

"No fucking way, mate." Ed rolled up on his elbow.

He was solid and burly, if not as tall as Cedric.
"Look at me -- I'm Beater build, but I haven't got the
aim with a bat. I can run a Quaffle though. True,
you're tall for a Seeker, but you're nimble with a fast
turn and have the best eyesight on the team. You
know as well as I do that it's not all about build."

"I know. But I also know people may think I'm

privileging myself if I don't at least try other
Seekers."

"So fly in the Seeker trials. I guarantee you there's

nobody in this house who can match you."
As it turned out, Ed was right. Even by the end of
first elimination, it was clear that nobody else in the
house could outfly Cedric when it came to catching
the Snitch. Other positions were less clear-cut. Ed
was back for certain as Chaser and Cedric's
lieutenant, along with Alex Aubry, another seventh
year. Alex had been their only female player two
years before, but this time, there were three other
girls up for possible positions on the team: two of
four for third-position Chaser, and one of two for
Keeper -- Clara Barton, in fact. The Beaters from
two years ago were both back, and male. That
position rarely had a female player due to the power
needed in shoulder muscles. In any case, Cedric
was pleased with his semi-final pull.

He heard from Harry that Ron had made the

Gryffindor team as their replacement for Wood,
although privately he doubted anybody could
replace Wood. Two years ago, Oliver had been the
best Keeper on any team at Hogwarts. But
whatever the quality of their new Keeper, Gryffindor
still had an excellent trio of Chasers, as well as
Harry and the twins. Their old team remained
mostly intact, and Gryffindor was, Cedric knew, 'the
team to beat.' Yet Cedric thought he might have
stronger Chasers with Ed in charge, and if Clara
worked out as Keeper as well as he thought she
might after first trials, Hufflepuff had a chance of
upsetting Gryffindor for the House Cup.

Quidditch and Moody's duelling club aside, however,

the first two weeks of the year proved largely
frustrating. Cedric, Harry, Ron and Hermione had no
luck in their first search for Dumbledore's portrait.
Even when they enlisted Ginny and the twins (who
knew more hiding places than Cedric could credit),
they fared no better. "I wonder," Hermione said, "if
she removed it from the castle altogether?" Cedric
wondered too, but was too stubborn to give up. He'd
turn the castle on its ear before Christmas if
required.

Schoolwork was not only frustrating but merciless.

In his NEWT year, Cedric was swamped and would
easily have made his revision-hour quota even if not
required to by the new rules. These rules were
widely unpopular, in fact, and by the end of the third
week, news came that Umbridge planned to institute
teacher reviews too. Certain positions were on the
line, namely Trelawney's and Hagrid's, and possibly
Binns' (if one could sack a ghost). In Cedric's
opinion, Trelawney should have been fired years
ago and Binns should have stopped teaching when
he'd died, and if Cedric bore no ill-will towards
Hagrid as a person, he didn't think him a good
teacher (although he didn't tell Harry that). At least
he was still away on whatever mission he'd been
given by the Order. Professor Grubbly-Plank was
acting as his substitute.

As it turned out, Umbridge didn't target Trelawney or

Binns first, however. She went after Charity
Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor about whom
Cedric had never heard a bad word. Burbage was
cheery, fair and generally regarded as competent.
Yet Umbridge issued her a list of restrictions on what
she was permitted to teach, and according to the
fifth years who'd been in class the day Umbridge
had sat in, Burbage had been rebuked for the
generally positive view she'd been giving of Muggle
technology.

"Professor Umbridge said Professor Burbage made

it sound like the Muggles were our equals even
without magic," Susan Bones told Cedric and
several others in the common room on Friday night.
As Burbage had been in Hufflepuff, the house was
taking her censuring personally even if she wasn't
House Head.

"Umbridge didn't like that opinion, eh?" Scott asked,

plopping his feet on a pouf.
"I think she's a bit of a wizard supremacist," Susan
replied.

"After seeing her new rules, I'm pretty damn certain

she's a wizard supremacist," Justin Finch-Fletchley
said, settling down beside Susan on the bumblebee-
yellow sofa. "She eyes me like I'm a cockroach who
crawled out from under a rock."

"She eyes me about the same," Cedric replied,

opening his Advanced Charms text.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect, mate? You got her

boss sacked."

"Her boss got himself sacked for incompetence --

and I'm crying big crocodile tears about it."

Finch-Fletchley laughed.

The next day, Cedric finalized his Quidditch team --

a task he didn't find pleasant as it meant telling
some promising players that they just hadn't made
the final cut. He approached each privately before
breakfast because public humiliation wasn't his goal,
and when the team assembled on the Pitch at 10:00
that morning for practice, it was himself as Seeker,
Ed, Alex and a sixth year named Zacharias Smith as
Chasers, Clara Barton as Keeper, and his two
former Beaters. Neither Ed nor Alex appeared
pleased to see Smith, but however they felt about
Smith's not-so-charming personality, on the field the
three of them produced a unique alchemy of pass
and reverse-pass and unerring shots through the
hoops. An opposing Keeper would complicate
things, but after their tenth unbroken perfect hoop-
shot, Cedric couldn't resist pumping his fist in the air
in victory. Nobody was going to be making fun of
Hufflepuff on the Pitch this year.

Of course there were still unknown quantities on

other teams, like Ron Weasley of Gryffindor, and
Roger was replacing both his other Chasers and his
Beaters, but Cedric already knew the Ravenclaw
and Slytherin Keepers and they were no match for
his Chasing trio. He also knew all three of his fellow
Seekers and could admit at least to himself that only
one was worth worrying about. Cho wasn't
untalented or she'd never have made the team, but
he was better. Draco he'd never taken seriously.
No, it was Harry whom Cedric would have to outfly,
and the Gryffindor Chasers who his own Keeper
would need to worry about.

He mulled over these things whilst showering in the

Hufflepuff changing rooms and gradually became
aware of eyes on his back. Looking over his
shoulder, he caught Zach Smith glancing hurriedly
away.

Cedric frowned. Smith hadn't . . . Smith hadn't just

checked out his arse, had he? Cedric was almost
afraid to pursue that possibility even in his own head
despite sensing eyes on his backside again just a
few minutes later. Why was Smith looking at him?
Did he . . . was Smith . . . Smith wasn't gay, was
he? And if so, did he somehow know that Cedric
was too? Was Cedric giving off signals without
realising it? Hermione, Viktor and Remus had all
guessed, and while they'd insisted it wasn't obvious,
Cedric worried anyway. In the changing rooms, he'd
always been careful to restrain any curiosity about
his fellows' bodies in deference to their privacy. If it
wasn't gentlemanly to ogle a girl were he straight,
then he shouldn't ogle a boy, either. Cedric had
ethics, or at least liked to think that he did. Having
Smith looking at him felt, well, odd.

But also just a little flattering. And exciting.

And bloody hell, this was not the place to get an

erection thinking about Zach Smith. Cedric didn't
even especially like Smith, although he did like how
he played Quidditch.
"Think of something else," he muttered under his
breath, switching the water from hot to cool in an
effort to wilt things. Combined with a fear of
discovery, it worked, and he turned off the taps,
grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and make
his way out, pretending he wasn't aware of Smith
stealing glances at him.

Questions about why Smith had been eying him in

the shower plagued Cedric for the rest of that
Saturday. Perhaps he'd just been trying to take the
measure of his Captain. But if he had been admiring
Cedric's body, did it matter? After all, Cedric was
hopelessly besotted with Harry . . . who was
hopelessly besotted with Cho Chang, and Cedric
knew it. Yet he also recalled what had happened in
his office last June. Older Harry had admitted to
fancying Cedric, fancying him more even than Cho
in the long run. Older Harry had told Cedric to have
patience, his younger self would need time to reach
the same realisation.

But Older Harry wasn't Younger Harry. Older Harry

had witnessed Cedric's murder and felt guilty.
Perhaps guilt had fuelled his attraction? Younger
Harry considered Cedric only a friend, maybe a big
brother. Was it fair for Cedric to encourage more? It
wasn't that Cedric doubted Harry might be bisexual,
but when homosexuality was so frowned upon in the
Wizarding World, it would be selfish of Cedric to woo
Harry if Harry liked girls as well as boys and could
have a normal life.

These were things Cedric had told himself often

enough, gone round and round with in his own
head. Perhaps he should stop pining after Harry.
Perhaps he should consider somebody else -- like
Smith. Smith was handsome, not three years
younger, and in Cedric's own house.

Seated in the common room attempting to read,

Cedric lifted his head to look over to where Smith
was playing Exploding Snap with some of their
housemates. As if on cue, Smith turned to look at
him too. Smith didn't smile or acknowledge Cedric
at all beyond meeting his gaze and holding it; after a
moment, he turned back to the game. Cedric
returned to his text.

The problem, he reflected, was that Smith just didn't

make his blood race. The other boy embodied
things Cedric neither admired nor liked, whilst Harry
was everything Cedric wanted. Just because
somebody might be gay too didn't mean Cedric
found him attractive. Annoyed, he shut his textbook
and headed back to his dormitory, opening his trunk
to dig through it and take out the small brown leather
diary with the Black family crest embossed on the
top. Settling down at his desk, he pulled out a quill
and ink bottle, then pricked his finger to open the
diary. Picking up his quill, he dipped it and wrote:

Have you ever been checked out by another bloke?

How do you know if that's what he's doing?

It wasn't the first time Cedric had written to Regulus

since arriving at Hogwarts. He took his promises
seriously, so he and Regulus 'talked' several times a
week. Regulus was as real to Cedric as any of the
living people in Cedric's daily orbit, but none of them
was somebody Cedric dared ask such a question of.

The diary was a bit sluggish to respond, as if

Regulus were puzzling over a reply or (more likely)
struggling with amusement. Finally, it responded:

A little more information might be nice. Describe the

situation and perhaps I can tell you.

So Cedric did, explaining what had happened earlier

in the changing room showers and the oddly intense
look just now in the common room.
Sometimes, the diary replied, I'm not sure if your
innocence is more darling or more frustrating. Of
course he was checking out your arse, you idiot. I'd
lay several galleons that he knows you noticed and
has guessed you're thinking about it. He'll make a
more obvious move soon. Either he's very grateful
for making the team or you're a pretty piece. Or
both. What do you look like? You've never told me.
And be honest. None of this false modesty you
Hufflepuffs are so fond of. I bet you're a heart-
breaker.

The question took Cedric by surprise. Why would

Regulus care? My hair is dark brown and I have
grey eyes. I'm 6'2", and weigh about 13 stone. I
reckon you could say I'm attractive. What about
you? Did you look like your brother or very
different?

Same colouring, similar features, the diary replied,

but Sirius was always taller. He wore his hair long,
mine was short. I was slighter, built like a Seeker. I
can't believe you're that tall and play Seeker!
Speaking of which, how did the final cuts go today?

Cedric told him. Regulus had proved to be as

enthusiastic about the sport as Cedric, and the fact
they'd played the same position had resulted in quite
a few technical discussions. They argued strategy a
while, but before Cedric put away the diary, it asked,
So will you boff your admirer?

You're vulgar.

Oh, please. Stop being a prude.

No, Cedric wrote after a moment, I don't think I will --

even assuming he's interested. He's not my type.

He doesn't have to be your type to fuck him.

Yes, he does. For me, at least. I have to feel

something more than lust.

You are such a hopeless romantic. You'll also never

get a leg over at the rate you're going.

It wouldn't work. He's cranky, arrogant, and

argumentative.

Oh, Merlin's beard! You don't have to have a

conversation with him to shag him. Just do it and
get it out of your systems.
I told you, I'm not interested. I was just curious as to
whether I might have been imagining what I thought
I saw.

Given your level of ignorance, I'd say he must have

been as obvious as a wart on a baby's bottom. If
you are pretty, I doubt he's the only bloke checking
you out around school. Most are just more sly.

Cedric rolled his eyes. You're imagining queers

everywhere you look.

And you're not imagining enough. The book

sounded almost smug. Unlike you, I actually paid
attention to who was shagging whom in school. I
doubt you have any idea, you poor naïve boy.

If you're going to be insulting, I'm going to put you

away.

Only trying to open your eyes a bit, Cedric love.

And remember, sex doesn't require a chat. Just let
him suck you off next time you're in the showers
alone together.

The diary was outrageous. Cedric snorted and

closed the cover, slipping it back into his trunk and
undressing for bed. The next day being Sunday, he
had a lie in that morning, sacrificing food for sleep,
and didn't make it up until almost noon. Tired still
but starving, he tottered out to the common room to
see who was about and whether they might want
lunch. Faces were solemn and apprehension tickled
him inside. "What's happened?" he asked.

His roommate, Peter Adamson, handed him a copy

of that morning's The Daily Prophet. The front page
headline read:

Daisy Hookum Dead

My Life as a Muggle Author Murdered

Best-selling author Daisy Hookum, 62, was

found dead on Saturday evening at her home
outside York. Her husband, radio personality
Tilden Toots ('Toots, Roots and Shoots'), was
away recording a show in South America, so
Hookum was alone. Her property wards were
breached, her door forced, and she was beaten
to death with one of her own books. With the
Dark Mark still glowing above her cottage, not to
mention her life-long friendship with and
sympathy for Muggles and Muggleborns, Ministry
Aurors don't believe there's much of a mystery.
"She was obviously another victim of He Who
 Must Not Be Named," said department head
Kingsley Shacklebolt . . .

Chapter 3: Amnesty

"No, please -- mercy! Mercy!"

"Mercy?" A heavy book in the grip of a white, long-

nailed hand came down hard against a face so
bruised and battered it was hard to tell if it were
male or female. But the voice had been a woman's.
A broken nose bled red, both eyes were swollen
shut, and there were multiple cuts and abrasions on
the visible skin. "Mercy is for the weak -- like your
Muggle friends. Weak. Our natural slaves." The
voice was high and shatteringly cold. Harry knew it
well. "Those who beg for mercy are no better, but
we already knew that about you, didn't we?"

The white hands opened the heavy, bloody book to

the title page:

My Life as a Muggle:
 one year in their hearts and homes

Daisy Hookum

"In their hearts and homes . . . how quaint."

"It was to sell books," she said. "It was just a stunt
my publicity agent suggested -- "

The book came down again and there was a

sickening crack. The bruised woman squealed like
a stuck pig; not a flattering sound but heart-tearing
all the same, and the twisted angle of her jaw spoke
of dislocation if not outright breakage. "Shut up," the
high voice said. "You write and promote filth for
debased Wizarding enjoyment? You disgust me."

The woman's eyes were still desperate, but there

was a flicker of hatred in their depths as she looked
up -- mute -- at her torturer. Her broken nose forced
her to breathe through her broken mouth; it was
harsh and gasping. The book came down for a third
time into the side of her temple and she dropped like
a felled cow. "Is she dead?" the high, cold voice
asked, tone curious as one of his masked and robed
entourage bent over the huddled wreck to check.
"I think so, my lord -- not getting any pulse."

"How disappointing," the high voice said. "But proof

that association with Muggles makes one as
pathetic as they are. Even Potter -- a mere child --
showed more fortitude than this." A pause.
"Dispose of it."

"Yes, my lord."

Harry jerked awake, gasping, stomach sick and

hands shaking as he reached for his glasses on the
bedside table, then checked the clock. It was a little
after midnight. Blinking and taking deep breaths, he
tried to slow his heartbeat. He wanted to call his
vision a nightmare, but knew it wasn't, no more than
the dreams last year of the gardener murdered by
Voldemort, or the attack on the Department of
Mysteries that summer.

He should tell somebody. Not Umbridge; he was

fairly certain that wouldn't be a good idea.
McGonagall, perhaps, or . . . Moody. Yes, Moody
seemed more likely to know what to do, so he
slipped out of bed and glanced around at his
roommates, all of whom still slept, Ron and Dean
snoring slightly. Grabbing his cloak, he threw it on
and left the tower, padding down the stairs carefully
and skirting the bad step. How many times now had
he gone roaming in the middle of the night? He
hurried a little, but not too much. Daisy Hookum
was past help, but somebody should still be told.

Reaching the door to Moody's private rooms and

suppressing a shudder over memories of being
trapped in here last year by Crouch, Harry knocked
sharply three times, pulling off the cloak and lighting
his wand. Moody wasn't somebody to sneak up on,
even if that magical eye of his could see through the
cloak. It took a while, but then locks scraped and
the door opened. Moody in striped pyjamas and a
sleeping cap stared out at him. "Potter? What are
you -- ? Never mind." Grabbing Harry by the elbow,
he yanked him inside and closed the door. "What's
happened? Your face is as white as a sheet, boy."

"Daisy Hookum is dead."

"Who?"

"This writer. She's dead. Voldemort killed her. I

saw it -- well, dreamed it."

Moody stared at Harry a moment, then pulled his

wand and conjured a Patronus that passed right
through the door into the hall beyond. "Sit down; let
me make some tea."

"Aren't you going to do something?" Harry asked as

Moody fussed over a kettle and old-fashioned
burner, tapping it with his wand to light it.

"Already did." He didn't elaborate, and Harry waited,

impatient but quiet. Within minutes, a knock came
on the door, making a distinctive pattern like Morse
Code -- but not short or easy to mimic. Moody
crossed to open the door again and Tonks slipped in.

"Where'd you come from?" Harry blurted out,

shocked. "I thought you were staying in
Hogsmeade?"

Her smile was wry but it was Moody who answered.

"You think we're leaving Hogwarts unguarded?
Now, tell us both what you saw in this 'dream.'"

So Harry did. Moody didn't react, but Tonks

appeared horrified. "That poor woman -- "

"Go," Moody said. "Warn Kingsley, and Rufus, if

they haven't seen the Mark already."
Tonks left even as the kettle whistled. Moody made
tea and brought a cup to Harry, but it wasn't a
familiar brown. "Green tea," Moody said, "calms the
nerves."

"You didn't doubt me at all," Harry said, trying the hot

liquid. It tasted weak and he made a face, not much
fancying it.

"Your little visions have proven useful before. I'm

not inclined to waste time while the trail goes cold."

"You think they might still be there? At her . . . at the

house?"

"No," Moody replied. "But if I know Kings, he'll bring

a top-notch Arithmancer and if the signature's recent
enough, they might be able to predict a vector for
the Disapparation. Although if I know You-Know-
Who -- and I dare say I do -- he'll have had them
scatter when they left and not take a direct route
back."

Harry blinked. "I didn't think you could tell where

someone had Apparated to?"

"You can't, normally. But there are a few able to see

the traces left by magic as well as who have the
numerical skills to do the necessary Arithmancy. It's
not all about the mathematics of names, you know.
We call them Hounds. In all of Britain, I think we've
got four now. That sort of magical strength
combined with a gift for numbers doesn't come
about often. Krum's got it. In fact, it'll probably be
Krum who Shacklebolt drags out of bed because
he's handy."

Now, Harry didn't just blink, he gaped. "Viktor?"

"What -- you think his name just popped out of that

Goblet because he can catch a Snitch? Viktor Krum
has a gift for Arithmancy like I've rarely seen --
Agrippan, Chaldean . . . doesn't matter. He plays
games with numbers in his head and can pinpoint
and predict with amazing accuracy." Moody
grinned. "Champions are Champions for a reason,
Potter. Krum, Diggory, even Delacour . . . they ain't
normal -- and I mean that as a compliment."

"What about . . . " Harry licked his lips. "What about

me?"

Moody's magical eye spun and swivelled until it fixed

on him, but he sipped his tea with deceptive
casualness. "What do you think?"
"I, er, I don't know. People act like I'm special, but it
seems . . . so much seems like luck."

Moody was nodding. "Some of it is. But you grab

onto that luck with both hands. Luck is just
opportunity seized, Potter. You don't stop to double-
and triple-think yourself. Leadership's a gift too, and
that you've got."

"But it was an accident -- my name being in the

Goblet."

"It was," Moody agreed. "But the Goblet won't select

a Champion if one isn't worthy." The man's good
eye hooded and he studied Harry. "That damn
Goblet knows things, Potter. Twice in its history, it
refused to choose a Champion from one of the
schools until it got a name it liked. Last year's not
the first time there's been a restriction of one sort or
another put on who could enter. The Tournament
can't go forward without three Champions, but the
Goblet won't give three unless it's satisfied. That it
picked four this time . . . " Moody trailed off and
drained the last of his tea. Harry had since set down
his, ignoring it and hoping Moody didn't notice.
"Well, your name wouldn't have come out of it if the
Goblet didn't think you champion material."
Setting his own cup aside, Moody stood and moved
to the door, artificial leg thumping on the floor. "Time
for bed, Potter."

And indeed, despite having had only a few sips of

the tea, Harry was feeling surprisingly sleepy. He
wondered what Moody had slipped into his cup, but
didn't mind -- he felt too . . . floaty . . . to mind. It
was probably a good thing, as the memory of
Hookum's gruesome murder would otherwise have
kept him awake for hours yet. Nonetheless, he
found himself asking, "Why did you come back to
these rooms? After last year -- I wouldn't think you'd
want to be in them."

"A room's a room, kid. Ever heard that old saying

about what to do when you fall off a broom?"

"Er, not exactly, but I've heard one about falling off a
bicycle."

"What's a bicycle?"

Harry chuckled. "Never mind. I think I get the

general idea."

Moody escorted him up to Gryffindor tower then, and

Harry didn't remember much after that. He must
have got to bed all right because he woke the next
morning with Ron shaking him. "Hey," Ron was
saying. "You slept through your alarm. Better get
dressed or you'll miss lunch too."

Harry yawned, then sat up abruptly, gripping his

friend above the elbow. "I had a dream last night. I
saw a woman murdered by Voldemort."

Ron's eyes grew large. "Murdered?"

"By Voldemort," Harry confirmed, hurrying out of bed

and dressing.

He and Ron collected Hermione in the common

room, and on the way down to the Great Hall, Harry
told them both about the dream. Hermione handed
over her morning copy of The Daily Prophet with the
news in big, bold headlines. "Your scar," she said
carefully, her expression concerned, "must somehow
connect the two of you. You see what he's seeing."

"Too bad it only showed me the end then." Harry's

voice was bitter as they entered the hall and took
seats at the Gryffindor table. "Otherwise, I could've
done something to stop it." Being a Sunday with
lovely autumn weather, the tables were sparsely
occupied, most students eating outside. Harry
rubbed his scar as he reached for bread and cold-
cuts to make a sandwich.

"I think it's dangerous," Hermione said. "I wish there

was a way you could . . . stop these dreams or
visions or whatever they are."

"How's it dangerous if it gives me a warning about

his plans? It's like a . . . bug planted in Voldemort's
own head." Seeing Ron's confusion, he explained,
"A bug's a Muggle listening device like Fred and
George's Extendable Ears. I could know what he's
up to."

"Natty!" Ron said.

But Hermione was shaking her head. "What if this

'bug' goes two ways? What if . . . if Voldemort" --
she forced the name out -- "used it to look into your
mind?"

Momentarily taken aback, Harry's skin crawled. "He

never has."

"Do you know that?" Hermione asked. "Do you think

he knew you were in his head?"
Hermione had a point but Harry didn't want to
consider it. "He gave the scar to me -- 'marked' me,
Dumbledore called it. Maybe it can only go the one
way."

"You can't count on that," Hermione warned. "I think

you need to tell McGonagall."

"I don't want to tell McGonagall. She's got enough

to be going on with."

"Then tell Sirius, at least."

Harry grumbled, but eventually did as Hermione

suggested, sending off Hedwig with a letter that
evening. He supposed Sirius had already heard
about it from Tonks anyway.

The next day at breakfast, an unexpected trio of

regal-looking owls arrived with the morning post,
bearing what looked to be official correspondence.
The letters dropped neatly in front of Harry, Ron and
Hermione -- one each -- as the owls rose and
banked, heading back out. This development
earned curious glances from other Gryffindors, but
Harry ignored them, grabbing his letter to tear it
open:
 Judicial Subpoena

Criminal Procedure Rules r1743

MoM v Sirius Orion Black (Petitioner)

To Harry James Potter of Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry

Upon the application of Remus John Lupin

standing in for Sirius Orion Black, the
Wizengamot has ordered you to attend for an
examination as witness upon the petition for
release of the petitioner In the Matter of Sirius
Orion Black.

You are therefore hereby ordered to attend

before the Wizengamot at 9 o'clock in the
morning on the 6th day of November, 1995, to
give verbal testimony.

Dated the 23rd day of September.

Signed:

Her Honour Judge Amelia S. Bones

Head, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Harry stared at the heavy cream parchment with its
official-looking seal and unreadable signature and
felt his throat go dry as his heart sped up. Just one
glance at the faces of Ron and Hermione told him
they must have matching orders and he didn't know
what to do or how much trouble they were in. "Oh,
God, oh God," Hermione was saying over and over,
looking ready to hyperventilate.

Face concerned, Ron slipped an arm around her.

"It's all right, Hermione. I'll talk to my dad, he'll know
-- "

Ron didn't get a chance to finish because yet

another owl sailed in to settle in front of Harry with a
second letter, holding out a leg for Harry to retrieve
it. Harry tore that one open too.

Dear Harry,

By now you, Ron and Hermione have probably

received subpoenas requiring you to testify at a
hearing for Sirius Black. Whilst this must seem
nerve-racking, please don't be alarmed. During
the recent attack on the Ministry by He Who
 Must Not Be Named, Wizarding surveillance
eyes recorded the unexpected presence of Peter
Pettigrew among the Death Eaters. Needless to
say, this has reopened Mr. Black's case, and at
the request of Remus Lupin, I've called a formal
inquiry into Mr. Black's possible wrongful
conviction. Neither you, Ron, nor Hermione are
in any trouble, but a formal hearing is required
before any decisions can be made regarding a
pardon.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt,

Auror

It was, Harry thought, very cleverly worded.

Anybody reading it who didn't know Shacklebolt's
allegiances would see it as just a reassurance to a
schoolboy from the Auror in charge of Sirius's case.
Harry, of course, recognised it for the good news it
was meant to be. Remus wouldn't have called an
inquiry and Shacklebolt wouldn't have supported it
unless they believed they had enough evidence to
prove Sirius innocent.
"Look at this!" he said, pushing the letter across the
table to Hermione and Ron even as he felt a hand
come down on his shoulder. Momentarily alarmed,
he twisted to look, but it was only Cedric. The older
boy seated himself on the bench beside Harry,
although it drew a few looks from other Gryffindors.

"You all right?" he asked, frowning in concern.

"I'm brilliant," Harry said, unable to suppress his joy.

"Really brilliant." And he handed over the subpoena,
then -- before Cedric could panic -- snatched back
the letter from Hermione and gave Cedric that, too.

Cedric read both quickly but didn't appear as happy

as Harry felt, or Ron and Hermione looked. Instead,
he leaned over the table to speak to all three very
softly. "Get a barrister to represent you. You can
probably go in together and hire just one, but while
this looks innocent enough, it could backfire on you
if your testimony isn't prepared. You've all been
party to concealing the whereabouts of a wanted
criminal."

"But he's innocent!" Harry hissed.

"Shhh. We know that, and if the hearing finds him

innocent, all well and good -- but you still withheld
evidence. It could go badly for you. And we don't
have Dumbledore here to advise us anymore. Get a
barrister."

Now Hermione was looking worried all over again,

and Harry felt his stomach flip. "This Amelia Bones
isn't a friend of Fudge's, looking for -- "

"No." Cedric's reply was fast and sharp. "Amelia

Bones is Susan Bones's aunt. She's as decent as
they come -- she was in Hufflepuff, and a Head Girl."

"Hufflepuff?" Ron said, as if surprised.

The expression Cedric turned on him hovered

between amused and disdainful. "Don't sound so
surprised. My house turns out a fair number of
solicitors and judges, Aurors and wizard police."

Ron had flushed red. "Well, all right then -- no need

to get so tetchy."

Cedric ignored him, turning back to Harry. "Hire a

barrister, or ask, er, Snuffles to hire one for you. I
dare say he can afford it. They want this and think
they can win or they wouldn't have asked for it, but
be certain nobody's going to make hay with you
three, yeah? You've got a few weeks. Use it. I'll
help as much as I can."

Cedric rose again and patted Harry's shoulder

before walking away to join his roommates at his
own table. When he was gone, Harry turned back to
his friends, bending over to whisper, "I don't care
what Cedric says. Even if it's dangerous to testify,
Snuffles deserves to be free."

Ron nodded, albeit cautiously, but Hermione

reached over to grip Harry's wrist. "Cedric's just
looking out for you -- us."

"I know, but I'm going to tell this Amelia Bones the
truth."

"Well of course we will," Hermione replied. "We'll be

under oath. But it won't hurt to be a bit clever about
it, don't you think? Strategize a little. That's all he
was suggesting."

After class and dinner, Hermione hauled both boys

up to the library to find books on Wizarding law.
There were three shelves' worth and Hermione
sifted through them, splitting the most promising
between the three of them. Despite the fact her
stack was almost twice the size of theirs, Ron
appeared horrified whilst Harry just felt resigned. It
was for Sirius, he reminded himself. As they were
leaving, he spotted Cho sitting off at a desk by
herself, books stacked around her. He hesitated.
She looked up. He blushed. Then she blushed.
Turning to follow Hermione, he heard a voice behind
him. "Er, Harry?"

He looked back. Cho gestured to him. "Go on," he

told his friends. "I'll, er, see you later."

"All right," Ron said. "You . . . well, uh -- good luck,

mate." And he headed off with Hermione as Harry
approached Cho's table, face on fire, a completely
inexplicable and embarrassing giggle rising in his
throat.

"Hey," he said, sure he was grinning like an idiot.

"Hey," she replied, eyes lowered.

"Did you, erm, want something?" That had sounded

harsh. "I mean, not that I'd mind or anything, if you
did. But you called me and -- "

"They say you're good at Defence Against the Dark

Arts," Cho interrupted. "I was just . . . Well, we've an
essay due, on the difference between charms and
hexes, and I'm not really sure I've quite got it. I was
wondering if maybe you had a few minutes to, well,
uh, look it over -- the essay, I mean -- and uh, tell me
what you think?"

Her eyes were very black, like the best dark

chocolate or good garden earth -- rich. He could fall
into them, even felt himself lean forward . . . then
caught himself and straightened, shoving his
glasses up his nose. "Er, sure. Certainly. I'd be
happy to. Ah -- " There was no extra chair near the
small desk and he looked about, feeling stranded
and silly.

"Let's find a table," Cho suggested, pointing further

back into the stacks. "I know a little one tucked
away where we could talk quietly and not disturb
anybody."

"All right. That's, er, that's spectacular. Brilliant."

He was grinning again. "Lead on."

She gathered her books and he helped, following

her to a small table for two. There, they spent a
pleasant hour discussing hexes and charms, then
Moody, then Quidditch, her family and his, and even
their mutual dislike of Blast-Ended Skrewts. He was
still giddy in her presence, but less so as time
progressed and she didn't seem in any hurry to
leave. She smiled a lot, and found a few excuses to
touch his arm, wrist, and once, his hand. Her skin
burned his. But all of a sudden, her expression fell,
mouth open as she stared past his shoulder.

He twisted to find Cedric standing in the main aisle,

watching them. Abruptly, Cedric turned to stalk
away, and Harry looked back to Cho, whose eyes
were lowered. "That was awkward," she said,
adding, "We used to sit at this same table when we
were seeing each other." Her smile was wry. "I
reckon he . . . well, I don't know that he'd be hurt.
He broke up with me, after all, but, well -- awkward,
yes."

Yet something in her tone told Harry she thought

Cedric was hurt, or hoped he was . . . and she didn't
entirely mind. Harry had no idea what to say,
knowing what he knew about Cedric -- who was
unlikely to be jealous about Cho. "Well, er, I think he
was just surprised."

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure that's all it was."

They returned to her essay and their previous

discussion, and lost track of time until Madam Pince
prowled through the library, ejecting students for the
evening. They left together and he couldn't resist a
certain puffed-up feeling as he escorted her back to
Ravenclaw Tower. At the door, she turned to him,
smile shy. "Thanks for helping me. It was really nice
to, uh, spend time with you, Harry. Maybe we could
do it again?"

That last had come out in a rush and made him

catch his breath. She was asking to see him again?
He felt as if Christmas had come early. "Yeah --
yeah, I'd like that. Sure. Just, you know, whenever
you'd like. Right. You let me know."

"All right."

"And good luck -- with the essay, I mean."

"Thanks."

They separated, Harry heading back to his own

common room. There, he found Ron and Hermione
waiting for him. "Have a nice time in the library?"
Ron asked, smirking.

"A bit of one, yeah."

"Good to hear. Seeing as how you spent a good two

hours there after we left."
Had it really been two hours? He'd completely lost
track of time. Ron was struggling not to laugh
although Hermione ignored them both, scribbling
away furiously at an essay. "Had an odd moment
with Cedric, however," Harry said after a moment.

Hermione glanced up at that, and Ron's eyebrows

rose. "Odd how?" he asked. "You don't think he
wants her back, do you?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, I doubt that. And I

didn't mean Cedric acted odd. But, well, he spotted
us sitting together and Cho said she hoped he
wasn't jealous but I got the impression she hoped he
was. That's what was odd."

"Maybe Diggory is jealous," Ron said.

Harry shook his head, wishing now that he hadn't

brought it up, even as Hermione remarked, "I think it
perfectly obvious why she might hope he's jealous."

Fortunately, Ron turned to look at Hermione instead

of arguing with Harry. "Yeah? It's as clear as pea
soup to me."
"Yes, well, just because you've got the emotional
range of a teaspoon, Ron, doesn't mean we all
have." Yet if the words sounded sharp, her
expression was fond. Ron blushed, but grinned, and
Harry laughed a little. Tossing her hair and setting
aside her quill, Hermione went on, "Look, it's very
simple. Cedric broke up with Cho, not the reverse; I
heard she cried for two days afterwards, right?" She
was looking straight at Harry now. "I think she really
did fancy him, and being rejected -- that hurt, you
know? Of course she'd like to think he regrets it
now, rather than think he's glad to be rid of her."

"He did feel badly about it," Harry said, needing to

defend his friend. "He told me. He just . . . " He
trailed off at Hermione's hard look and Ron's
confused one. He'd let his tongue run away with
him. "Anyway," he finished, "he wasn't trying to hurt
her."

"I'm sure he wasn't," Hermione agreed. "Cedric's a

gentleman. But that doesn't change how she feels
about it, you see?"

Harry nodded. Oddly, he did see, perhaps because

he'd felt a similar rejection himself last year. But
Ron was still glancing back and forth between them,
frowning. "Since when did Diggory start talking to
you about girls?" he asked Harry.

Harry gave an annoyed grunt. "This summer." Ron

still looked bemused. "We're friends, aren't we?
You and I talk about girls."

"Well, yeah, but that's different."

Hermione was laughing. "I don't see how, Ron."

"Why doesn't Diggory talk to his own mates about

girls!" Ron burst out.

Startled by this unexpected jealousy, Hermione and

Harry shared a glance, but before Harry could say
anything (and perhaps put his foot in his mouth
again), Hermione replied quietly, "Maybe because
his mates weren't talking to him all summer? Or did
you forget how last year ended?"

Ron blushed. "Oh. Yeah. There is that."

Chapter 4: Support
It was not, apparently, enough for Moody to work
with his dueling club in spells. That Thursday
evening saw them all down by the lake stretching
out then endurance running, counting shuttle sprints,
and doing pushups. Cedric -- who wasn't in bad
shape -- was winded. Ernie, Susan, Hannah, as
well as quite a few others (including, amusingly for
Cedric, Draco) were bright red in the face and
panting. "He's trying to kill us!" Draco complained.

It was Head Boy Adrian Pucey who snapped back,

"Don't whine. It makes you sound like a girl."
Interestingly, Draco shut up. Cedric noted the
dynamics, and what insult worked best.

Moody gave them time to walk themselves cool,

then get a drink of water before they were due back
in the Great Hall. On their return to the castle, Harry
caught up with Cedric, leaving behind Hermione and
Ron for a moment. "Look," he began, "about
Monday . . . you weren't . . . upset, were you?"

"Monday?" Cedric asked, honestly confused for a

moment -- then he remembered. "Oh, in the library.
No, of course I wasn't upset. Did you think I would
be?"
"Erm, well -- I think Cho hoped you were. Maybe.
That's what Hermione said. I wasn't sure . . . I
mean, I know that, um, you're not likely to be jealous
about Cho. Considering." Harry had dropped his
voice and glanced around, probably to be certain
nobody was near enough to listen in. "But when you
walked away . . . she said she hoped you weren't
upset."

And Cedric puzzled over how to answer that without

making a dog's dinner of it. "I wasn't upset, just
startled," he lied. "That was the table we used to
share. The two of you looked rather cosy; I didn't
think I'd be welcome."

"I wouldn't have cared!"

Hands on hips, Cedric stopped walking and Harry

stopped too. They'd fallen behind most of the
student pack, but a few other stragglers passed,
looking at them curiously. "You might not have
cared," Cedric said. "But I think Cho would've. At
best, it'd have been awkward. Old boyfriend turns
up to visit at her trysting table when she's wooing
somebody new? Not a good idea."

Harry blinked behind his glasses, then flushed a

deep red. "You think she was . . . I mean, she said
she'd like to do it again -- meet to study -- but . . . I
don't know and . . . " He trailed off, clearly
confused. "I was hoping, but I didn't know."

Cedric dismissed what he was feeling; Harry needed

reassurance. "I'd say she was flirting with you.
Pretty obviously."

"Really?" Harry sounded so hopeful.

"Really."

"How do you tell -- ? Well, I mean, I know you're not

. . . but girls flirt with you all the time. How do you
tell?"

"You just said they flirt with me all the time --

obviously you can tell for yourself."

"It's different when it's somebody else!" Harry said,

then glanced up at the castle. The other students
had all pulled ahead of them now. Off to their left,
the sun was going down behind the Quidditch Pitch,
its light reflecting off the many castle windows,
glaringly bright.

"Yes," Cedric agreed. "It is. And she was flirting

with you. That's why I left. You didn't need me there
complicating things." Cedric started walking again,
ignoring the ache inside.

"You wouldn't have been complicating -- "

"Yes, Harry, I would." Cedric resisted snorting in

amusement. "The last thing you needed on Monday
night was me barging in." He took a deep breath
and made himself say, "She fancies you. Two's
company, three's a crowd, right?"

Harry's expression was a study in excitement,

embarrassment and plain confusion. "So what do I
do next?" he blurted after a moment.

"You're asking the gay fellow what to do next with a

girl?"

That was more an attempt to dodge discussion than

a real attempt at humour but Harry still shoved at
him in good-natured amusement. "Oh, come on!
Gay or not, you were seeing her for six months. And
it's not as if . . . well, you've got a lot more
experience than I do."

Cedric shook his head. "Not really, Harry."

"But of course you do! I've never . . . this is the first
girl I've fancied! I've never been through this
before."

Cedric glanced down at him as they walked, then

paused because they'd gained a bit on the rest and
he didn't want this overheard. "Neither have I,"
Cedric said. "That's just the point. I've never gone
out with anybody I fancied. It makes a difference.
For one thing, you actually care enough to worry
about what to do next. With Cho, 'what to do next'
mostly amounted to figuring out how to hide the
truth."

Harry stared up into Cedric's face as if

understanding something for the first time -- or
considering something for the first time. "Who did
you want to ask to the Yule Ball?"

"I didn't want to have to ask anybody!"

"Oh, come on -- pretend nobody would care. If you

could've asked the person you wanted, who would
it've been?"

But Cedric shook his head, and not because it was

Harry he'd have wanted to ask. It had been at the
Ball that Cedric had noticed Harry cleaned up rather
well, and his feelings had begun to change. "It
doesn't matter," he told Harry now. "I couldn't have
asked who I wanted to, so I don't see the point in
speculating about it." Then he made a face. "Can
you imagine how stupid that would've looked? Two
blokes in dress robes dancing a waltz?"

Harry's face fell. "I don't think it would've looked

stupid," he said, tone serious, and sad. Then he
shrugged and pushed ahead. "It's just . . . you know
who I fancy," he said over his shoulder, "but I haven't
got a clue about you. Friends tell each other things."

That hit home. And wasn't that the problem? Cedric

had learned not to tell anything private; now the not-
telling was a habit. "Oliver," he blurted to Harry's
back. The others were already back in the castle.
They were the last two on the path. "But he'd have
turned me down. He's not bent. And he's not at
Hogwarts anymore anyway."

Eyebrows up, Harry turned back to look at him.

"Wood? Really? You fancied Oliver?"

Embarrassed, Cedric looked down at the toes of his

trainers. "Yeah. I did."
Harry appeared thoughtful as they mounted the
steps back into the castle. "I suppose he's fit. I
never really thought about it."

"Of course you didn't," Cedric replied, amused.

Harry didn't ask if Cedric still fancied Oliver so

Cedric didn't have to lie. They were inside in any
case with other students about so they stopped
discussing it, but just before they entered the Great
Hall, Cedric halted Harry with a hand on his arm.
"Listen, er -- about Cho. A Hogsmeade weekend is
coming up -- well, it's supposed to be coming up, if
Umbridge doesn't cancel it like she threatened. Why
don't you ask Cho if she'd like to hang about with
you? I suspect she'd say 'yes.' Take her to Madam
Puddifoot's tea shop; it's a bit twee, but she likes the
place."

Harry appeared surprised by this advice, then gave

Cedric a brilliant grin. Cedric ignored the tight, cold
little ball in his belly. "You really think she'd go with
me?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Cedric!" And obviously buoyed, Harry

burst through the doors into the Great Hall.
They were the last ones in. "Diggory! Potter!"
Moody called. "Where've you two been? Plotting
world domination?"

Harry was grinning. "Maybe we were," he replied,

cheeky with his good mood as he plopped down
between Hermione and Ron. There was no room
there for Cedric, who drifted over to join his
denmates. He wasn't first in Harry's life.

Later that evening after the meeting broke up,

Cedric saw Harry talking to Cho. He looked
embarrassed but determined. She looked pleased
but shy, and was nodding her head, smiling. Cedric
left the hall feeling ill. Spectacular birthday present.
His ex-girlfriend was going to Hogsmeade with the
boy on whom he entertained an impossible crush.

Chapter 5: The Chosen One

At breakfast the next morning, Harry was greeted by

whispers behind hands -- or sniggers. Bemused, he
seated himself at the Gryffindor table along with Ron
and eyed Hermione, who was already buried behind
her copy of The Daily Prophet. "What's going on?"
he asked. "Why's everybody staring at me?"

Glancing over the edge of the paper, Hermione

turned it so that he could read:

HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?

Rumours continue to fly about the attacks on the

Ministry of Magic last month, during which He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers
breached Ministry defences on two different
occasions.

"We're not allowed to talk about it, so don't ask

me anything," said one agitated Obliviator, who
refused to give his name. Nevertheless, highly
placed sources within the Ministry have
confirmed that the disturbances centred on the
fabled Hall of Prophecy.

Although Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto

refused even to confirm the existence of such a
place, a growing number of the Wizarding
community believe that the Death Eaters who
were broken out of Azkaban recently were
 broken out in order to assist He-Who-Must-Not-
Be-Named in the retrieval of a prophecy. The
nature of that prophecy is unknown, although
speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter,
the only person ever known to have survived the
Killing Curse. Some are going so far as to call
Potter "the Chosen One," believing that the
prophecy names him as the only one who will be
able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-
Named . . .

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his attention from

the paper to his pumpkin juice. "Great," he
muttered. "That's all I need. Like this year isn't
turning out to be crappy enough."

"Well, if it isn't 'the Chosen One' himself." Harry's

whole body stiffened at the familiar sneering voice.
"Chosen for what, I'd like to know?" Malfoy went on.

"Chosen to kick you in the backside, if you don't shut

your trap," Ron returned quickly.

Turning, Harry saw Malfoy put a hand to his ear.

"What's that I hear? The senseless barking of
lapdogs?" Then he reached over to rip the
newspaper right out of Hermione's hands before she
could stop him. He shook it under Harry's nose.
"Don't let this 'Chosen One' business go to your
head, Potty. You wouldn't last two minutes against
the Dark Lord."

"I lasted longer than that last June," Harry replied.

"And it sounds like you hope he'd win. Careful or
you'll show your true colours."

"I'm just stating the obvious. You can't actually fight.

It's all tricks with you. I'll enjoy handing you your
arse in the duelling club."

Harry rose until he was nose to nose with Malfoy.

"We'll see which of us gets handed his arse, won't
we?"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

Harry spun and Malfoy looked up. Cedric stood

there, towering over them both, but glaring at Malfoy,
not Harry. "Hey, Ced," Harry greeted. "And there's
no problem. Malfoy here can't seem to find his own
table without a map and a Lumos spell."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Malfoy snapped, then to Cedric

added, "We were just discussing Potty's new title."
Rearing back, Malfoy let out a hearty and very fake
laugh. "'Chosen One.' What a joke."
Cedric didn't bristle. He merely stared at Malfoy as if
considering some new insect -- almost curious.
Apparently confused by that, Malfoy's fake laugh
trailed off. "I think your table's over there," Cedric
said as if trying to be helpful. He even pointed. "Oh,
and I believe that paper's Hermione's?" He took it
out of Malfoy's grip. There was no bravado in his
words, no insult -- no emotional response of any
kind, in fact. After another bemused blink, Malfoy
walked away.

Harry gaped a little as Cedric handed back the

newspaper to Hermione. "How'd you get him to just
leave like that?"

"I didn't give him what he wanted," Cedric replied,

sitting down on the bench to look up at Harry. "If you
respond to his insults, he just keeps insulting."

"Well, we can't just let him say that stuff!" Ron

protested.

"Certainly you can," Cedric replied.

Hermione was nodding. "Cedric's right."

"Yeah, like you never snap back," Ron told her.
"Who slapped him year before last?"

Lips pursed, she folded the paper and laid it down

on the table beside her. "Well, of course it's easier
said than done, but that doesn't mean Cedric's not
right."

"If you reply in kind," Cedric said, taking a piece of

toast, "it simply escalates. Nobody wins."

"The one with the best insult wins!" Ron replied.

"Who decides whose insult was best?" Cedric

asked, voice curious. "It's not as if either of you
would likely concede to the other, yeah? Sort of
pointless then. Just don't participate. That way, you
avoid looking like an idiot."

"And let him get away with saying whatever he

wants? Then you do look like an idiot!"

"Not really," Cedric said, biting into the toast.

And however much Harry would have liked to agree

with Ron, Draco had been the one to walk away. Of
course, the fact he was a good half a foot shorter
than Cedric had probably figured into that. Cedric's
interaction with Adrian Pucey wasn't nearly so
uneven. "You're too big for him to bully," Harry
pointed out.

"There is that," Cedric conceded.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Harry added, and

Cedric jerked his head around, eyes wide as if he
hadn't expected Harry to remember, despite the fact
Cedric had gone out of his way to visit Harry on his
birthday that summer. Harry didn't forget a kindness
like that.

"Thank you," Cedric replied softly, even as Hermione

asked, "Today's your birthday? Another autumn
baby then. Happy birthday."

"Hermione's birthday was last week," Harry

explained.

"Oh, really? Belated good wishes to you too,"

Cedric replied, smiling, and he rose from the bench.
"I've got double Charms; I'd best be going."

Before he could leave, Harry asked, "Meet me

later? I have something for you. A present."
"Really?" Cedric looked bashful but pleased. "You
didn't have to."

"Don't be silly," Harry said now. "I'll talk to you

before dinner."

"Okay." Cedric's smile was brilliant as he strode

away, and his step seemed to have extra spring.

When Harry turned back to his breakfast, he noticed

Hermione staring at him intently and he asked,
"What?" But she only shook her head.

Harry had two presents for Cedric, in fact, one from

Sirius and Remus, the other from himself -- a broom
servicing kit like the one Hermione had given him
last year. Yet Cedric had seemed so pleased to be
remembered at all that Harry was left wondering if
his other friends just forgot him? During break
between first and second periods, he slipped down
to the kitchens, looking for Dobby. "Harry Potter!"
Dobby exclaimed upon spotting him, and before
Harry could say a word, he was surrounded by
house-elves all looking up at him from wide,
lambent, hopeful eyes. "Harry Potter, the Chosen
One!" they murmured, awed.
Harry turned bright red. Clearly the news had made
it down to the kitchens, too. "Er, Dobby, I don't have
long, could I have a word in private?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Harry Potter sir. Dobby would

be honoured." Then to the others, "Go, go."

When the rest were gone, Harry licked his lips and
looked around, then said softly, "Listen, today's the
birthday of a friend of mine."

"Is it Harry Potter's Weezey?"

"Ron? No, no, not Ron. Another friend, and I

wanted to do something special for him, so I was
wondering if, well, if you'd mind making some
biscuits for him for me?"

Dobby was nodding enthusiastically. "Oh, yes,

Dobby would be very happy to make biscuits for
Harry Potter's friend. What sort does he like?"

"Er . . . " Harry realised he had no idea whatsoever.

Pausing, he thought back on the times he'd shared a
meal with Cedric that summer. "Blackberry-apple-
almond crumble. He always ordered it at the coffee
shop. It's not biscuits, but could you make him a
little one? For a single person?"
Dobby nodded again. "Dobby will make him a
perfect, wonderful crumble with custard."

"Just the crumble," Harry said. "He never ordered it

with custard."

"Just the crumble then," Dobby said.

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Dobby. I owe you one,"

and he ducked out of the kitchen, heading off to
class, quite pleased with himself, although he still
wasn't certain where he should try to meet Cedric.
The note that Sirius had sent to him along with the
package had specified giving it to Cedric in private.
As it was flat, Harry suspected it held a book of
some sort, and given the caution, probably the book
concerned homosexuality. Harry was still
processing the fact his godfather was gay too.
Sirius had told Harry not long before Harry had
returned to school, and in retrospect, Harry realized
he'd already known from the way Sirius and Remus
interacted.

In the end, Harry asked Hermione's advice on a

meeting place and she suggested Cedric's Captain's
office, which embarrassed Harry for not thinking of
the obvious. Perhaps he and Cedric could share
some flying too, so before supper, he caught Cedric
to say, "Meet me on the Pitch for some flying
practice later?"

"All right," Cedric replied. "See you in an hour or

so," and he went on with his friends to the Hufflepuff
table.

After supper, Harry told Ron and Hermione he'd see

them later, then hurried up to his dormitory to fetch
the presents and his broom, dashing back down to
the kitchen to pick up the crumble, still oven warm
and charmed by Dobby to stay so. Finally he made
his way out to the Pitch.

Fortunately, it was a lovely evening, the sky a clear

shade of robin's-egg blue without a cloud to mar it.
The lowering sun made the leaves of maples and
rowan and old sessile oaks burn in rich late-summer
green. A few of the birch had already turned gold so
that their pendulous branches looked like bright
gilding atop the old, tarnished silver of their grey
trunks.

Cedric was already there, sitting in the stands

awaiting him, alone. He had his broom as well, and
smiled up as Harry approached. "What smells so
good?"
Harry held out the little plate with the fruit crumble
and watched as Cedric uncovered it. The other
boy's mouth opened slightly in surprise. "It's
blackberry-apple-almond," Harry said.

"My favourite! Thank you!"

Harry found himself blushing. "Is it? I mean, I'm

glad it is. I know you ordered it a lot."

Cedric grinned; he had dimples. "Food is always a

good present."

"Oh, it's not just food," Harry said, sitting down

beside his friend and pulling the two packages out of
his rucksack. "That's from me"-- he set down the
rather badly wrapped broomstick servicing kit -- "and
this is from Sirius and Remus." He laid a much
better wrapped flat package beside his own.

"They sent me something too?" Cedric seemed

surprised, although he was also eyeing his little
crumble pie as if he really wanted to eat it, but was
too polite to do so in front of Harry. Abruptly an idea
seemed to come to him and he held up the plate.
"Want half?"
"No," Harry said. "I had the house-elves make it for
you." But he suspected he was eyeing it a bit
longingly. It did look delicious.

Cedric must have noticed. "A few bites then at

least?"

"All right," Harry agreed, not needing his arm twisted

much, "a few bites."

They ate the crumble, and Harry made himself take

only two small bites, leaving most for Cedric, who
was clearly in gourmand heaven. Harry was glad
he'd thought to talk to Dobby; he'd find the elf a fine
pair of socks in thanks for making his friend so
happy. Harry liked being able to do things for
people. "Here," he said, handing Cedric his
present. "Open this one first."

Cedric took the poorly-wrapped box Harry handed

over and opened it carefully, although Harry wished
he'd just rip it. "It's not a work of art," he said. "You
can tear the paper."

"I like to savour the anticipation," Cedric said and

Harry snorted, but it was Cedric's birthday. When
Cedric had it open finally, he grinned. "Wow. Thank
you. I've never had one of these."
"Hermione gave me one last year. I thought it
brilliant, so I got one for you. Seekers, y'know -- we
need to keep our brooms in tip-top shape."

Cedric peered over at him. "My broom's not exactly

high quality."

It was true, and Harry was suddenly embarrassed.

"I wasn't suggesting anything," he said.

"I didn't think you were." Now Cedric was blushing.

"I just . . . well, it'll help."

"I wasn't suggesting you needed help, either."

"I know, I just -- " Cedric cut off and Harry looked
over at him. "Thanks."

For a moment, Harry wrestled with what to say.

They both seemed to be putting their feet in it. "I
really wasn't implying anything. I just . . . I liked
having one. I wanted . . . I wanted to share."

Cedric gave him a smile -- a real one. "I know," he

said again. "I really didn't think you were implying
anything, Harry. I just wish I had a better broom to
use it on."
"Sometimes it's the flyer and not the broom," Harry
said.

Cedric grinned wider and, reaching over, gently

punched Harry's arm. "We'll find out in a couple of
weeks now, won't we?"

"I reckon we will." Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff was

the first scheduled match of the season. He handed
Cedric the other package. "And this . . . well, it's
why I thought we should do this away from anybody
else."

Frowning faintly, Cedric took the package and -- this

time -- tore it open even though it was wrapped
more neatly. Then he blinked down at what he held,
mouth slightly open, cheeks pink. Inside the
wrapping paper lay several copies each of Attitude,
Gay Times, and The Pink Paper, along with a letter.
Cedric let Harry read it over his shoulder:

Dear Cedric,

I trust that Harry will deliver these to you, and

they should have arrived safe and sound. I'm
good with an Obscurification Spell or three. Do
hide them carefully, however. We wouldn't want
 Madam Umbridge to stumble across them; they
might warp her tiny little mind. In any case,
consider these an attempt to further your
education. They are, alas, all Muggle. I'm afraid
there just aren't enough of us to warrant an
entire publication of our own. Enjoy the pretty
boys on the covers and in the ads, but more to
the point, read the articles. Some of these things
are purely Muggle and don't apply to us, but not
everything. And perhaps you'll feel a bit less
isolated and peculiar.

Have a happy birthday.

Sincerely,

Sirius

(and Remus too)

The second signature was in a different hand, but

Cedric's whole face was flaming as he shoved the
letter into his pocket and glanced through the
magazine covers, almost too fast for Harry to
register the titles of articles. Cedric was clearly
embarrassed, although Harry wasn't sure why. It
wasn't as if Harry didn't know his preferences
already.
One cover arrested Cedric in mid-shuffle, however.
Two handsome men lay in a field of wild poppies.
The head of one lay on the chest of the other, eyes
closed, contented, but the one on the bottom looked
up at the camera with a steady expression as if
daring the viewer to object. They looked . . . well . . .
sweet, really. Harry had never seen two men
snuggle like that but it was no different than what
any heterosexual couple might do. "That's
charming," he said.

Cedric immediately put the issue on the bottom and

slammed the whole pile down on the bench away
from Harry. "They look like a pair of models paid to
pose."

He sounded so bitter; Harry blinked at him. "Well, I

reckon they are rather prettier than real people, but
don't you think two, er, normal men might lie like that
in the grass?"

Cedric turned to stare at Harry. "Normal?"

"I meant normal-looking. Like, well, us -- normal-

looking like we're normal-looking." Cedric was still
staring at him, and Harry swallowed. "Um, er, not
that you're . . . well, you're as pretty as any model,
but I mean like me. Or Ron. Or most blokes."
Harry pushed up his glasses and felt himself
blushing. "That sounded stupid, didn't it?" He
dropped his eyes, no longer able to meet Cedric's.
"I just meant that they looked . . . nice. Nothing
more, all right? Like they might really be in love, not
just models on a cover."

Cedric reached over to pull that particular issue from

the bottom and look at it again. "I suppose they
might." He glanced at Harry. "You don't think it
looks . . . odd?"

"No, why would I?"

Cedric glanced down again and ran the fingertips of

his right hand over the cover. "I look at this and . . . I
can't explain it well, Harry. It amazes me -- to see
this. To think anybody -- any two men -- could be
that . . . easy together. They are beautiful, and I
don't mean just physically."

"It's sweet," Harry said.

"You really don't find it repulsive?"

"No," Harry said -- and realised it was true. He

didn't. "Not at all."
Turning to look at him again, Cedric smiled, and he
was as beautiful as either of the young men in the
cover picture. "Thanks. I feel . . . almost normal
with you."

"You are normal, Cedric. Normal for you, anyway.

Stop apologising, all right?" Abruptly Harry stood.
"Want to go flying?"

Cedric stood too, bending to collect his broom

servicing kit and the magazines. "I should probably
put these in my office -- hide them."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

Once that was taken care of, they flew laps around
the Pitch in the evening's dying light. Despite his
size, and despite the poor quality of his broom,
Cedric had talent. They were, Harry reflected, fairly
evenly matched for skill, and Harry enjoyed the
flying immensely. Ron loved Quidditch, to be sure,
but he didn't love to fly as purely as Harry did. That,
Cedric shared, and they raced all over -- high, low,
weaving in and out of stand pillars and goal hoops.
This was freedom.
The darkening sky put an end to their games and
they set down to head back up to the castle. "This
was the best birthday I've had in ages," Cedric said
as they hiked back up the path.

"I'm glad," Harry returned, grinning up at Cedric.

Chapter 6: A Lack of Sympathy

Moody continued with the physical training of his

students. For a second week, he had them out
cross country running and doing pushups. When
some fell behind or complained, he was right there
to bellow in their faces. They muttered darkly on the
trek back up to the castle, but Cedric kept his own
counsel.

They found Umbridge and her clipboard waiting in

the Great Hall when they returned. She smiled
sweetly at Moody, who barked back, "What are you
doing here? This isn't a class. You already
observed me teaching."

"Clubs are still under my authority as Headmistress,

Professor Moody. And I've received some reports of
rather . . . unorthodox methods."
"Oh really?" Moody replied, magical eye spinning
whilst his good one paused on Malfoy, Pucey and
that lot. "Would those be 'reports' or complaints?
Any student who doesn't like the way I run the club
doesn't have to be here. It's entirely voluntary."

The other students watched Umbridge with

expressions ranging from distrust to open dislike.
They might moan about Moody among themselves,
but choosing between him and Umbridge wasn't
much of a contest.

"I'm still not certain duelling is a suitable extra-

curricular activity for schoolchildren, Professor
Moody. After all, it's the duty of -- "

"Schoolchildren?" Moody interrupted.

"Schoolchildren?" He turned back to the students
who were gathered behind him. "If you're seventeen
or older, go and sit down."

Students hesitated, uncertain where this was

headed, but trusting Moody, Cedric walked over to
find a seat on one of the benches pushed off to the
side. The rest of his year followed, plus two sixth
years who'd already had birthdays. "Now," Moody
barked, "everybody who'll be seventeen by the end
of December, go and sit down." Ten more students
came to join those sitting. "Everybody who'll be
seventeen by the end of March, join them." That
added an additional six.

The group still standing was less than half.

"Schoolchildren, Dolores?" Moody asked her,
pointing to the sitting group. "Those are legal adults,
or they will be inside six months. I'm not running a
daycare here."

Her lips pursed. "I was told that two weeks ago, you
pitted a seventh year against a fifth year in front of
the entire classroom, then you yourself attacked the
seventh year. Hardly fair--"

"But real," Moody interrupted. "Death Eaters won't

conduct an age check before throwing hexes at
them."

"No child has been attacked -- "

"What about me?" That wasn't Moody, but a furious-

looking Harry. Cedric bit his tongue, wishing his
friend had stayed out of it and let Moody handle
Umbridge. "Last summer, Voldemort attacked me.
Or don't I count?"
Nearly everybody in the room winced at the brazen
use of Voldemort's name, including Umbridge.
"Well, of course you count, Mr. Potter, but -- "

"But what?" Behind Harry, Hermione was tugging on

his arm and Ron looked nervous. Moody just stood
with arms crossed, watching.

"Well, you are a . . . special case. I'm quite certain

that the rest of the students won't have to worry
about such things." Although, in fact, the 'rest of the
students' were looking around at each other with
incredulity as if they couldn't believe what they were
hearing from her. "I'm afraid I just don't find this club
necessary, or a good idea for underage witches and
wizards. I am forced, therefore, to disband it."

She looked down at her clipboard and made a note

with her quill. Silence reigned for a moment, then
muttering began all around. Seated on his right,
Cedric's denmate Scott Summers stood up.
"Professor Umbridge, with all due respect, those of
us not underage might elect to continue. And as we
are legal adults, that's our right."

"You're students -- "

"We're still legal adults, professor."

A little behind Scott, Roger Davies rose too. "I agree
with Summers, professor. I'd like to continue, too."

Recognising the moment had come and he'd better

seize it, Cedric stood as well, which prompted every
seventeen-year-old except the Slytherins to rise to
his feet. Umbridge stared at them, then at Moody,
who'd merely raised an eyebrow. Umbridge's lips
were pursed. "Very well," she said finally. "I shan't
oppose those who are seventeen, but the rest of you
-- "

Harry stepped forward. "Professor, as you just

pointed out, I'm an exception. I'd like to stay too."

"And me!" Ron added, looking for a moment as if

he'd startled himself. "I'm Harry's friend. I'm an
exception too." Hermione was nodding, moving to
join them on Harry's other side.

Umbridge's lips thinned further. "Mr. Potter, I'll

allow. Everybody else under the age of seventeen,
go back to your dormitories." There was general
hesitation. "That wasn't a request!" With much
grumbling and shuffling, they obeyed as Umbridge
turned on Moody. "For this evening, you may
continue with the older students, but I'll see about
this."

"So will I," Moody muttered as she marched off.

Cedric wondered which of them had won the
encounter. Both, and neither, he thought.

In any case, and with just the eldest students,

Moody didn't spare anybody, and Harry was treated
no differently -- and held his own. He might not
know as many spells, but he was quick on his feet.
It didn't matter how many spells one knew if one got
them off late, and Harry effectively spanked more
than a few seventh years, including Roger Davies,
by a fast Expelliarmus. Moody shouted at Roger,
"No Death Eater's going to wait politely while you
pull your wand and bat your eyelashes, nancy boy!
They'll blast you off your damn feet!"

Roger appeared shell-shocked. Hogwarts

professors might be strict, but Snape aside, they
rarely insulted their students point-blank. Yet when
Moody told Harry and Roger to go at it again, it was
Harry thrown backwards by a powerful Impediment
Jinx from a determined Roger. Even if Cedric wasn't
keen on Moody's choice of insult, he gave some
consideration to the man's methodology and
whether it could be applicable in other venues.
Hufflepuff's Quidditch practice the previous Tuesday
had bordered on disastrous. Cedric had come
bearing the year's match schedule, and when he'd
announced their first game would be against
Gryffindor, the team had turned nervous and
skittish. Alex's frustrated, "Why do we have to play
them first?" had seemed to echo the rest, who'd felt
certain they'd lose against the remnants of Wood's
team. Two hours of bad passes, botched blocks and
three semi-serious encounters with a Bludger later,
Cedric was in despair. He'd tried encouragement,
chiding, exhortation . . . none of it had made much
impact.

At their next practice, he was going to try something

else.

When his team assembled on the Pitch the following

Tuesday evening, he put them on notice that
sympathy was off the table -- starting with Zacharias
Smith who arrived five minutes late. "Three laps
around the Pitch, Smith," he said by way of greeting,
"on your feet, not the broom."

Zach just gaped. "What?"

"You heard me. Practise is at 6:30 sharp, not
whenever you feel like showing up."

"That's not -- "

"Four laps!" Cedric cut him off.

"Cedric!"

"Five! And I can count higher if I need to."

Mouth open, Zach took off. But he wasn't the only

one staring at Cedric as if he'd never seen him
before. Cedric ran the rest of the practice in a
similar vein, driving his players past anything he'd
ever asked of them before. At one point, a tired and
frustrated Alex Aubry landed her broom next to him
and said, "What firecrab crawled up your arse today,
Diggory? Give over already!"

Smith had landed behind her, and Ed as well,

although Ed's expression was more interested than
upset. "Do you want to win?" Cedric asked her.

"Well, of course, but-- " Alex replied.

"Then stop whinging, get back in the air and get your
head in the game! I picked you three because you
flew like you could read each other's bloody minds,
but for the past two practices, you've been utterly
shambolic!"

Aubry and Smith eyed him resentfully, but returned

to the air. Expressionless, Ed watched him a
moment longer, then joined them.

Things improved. A little. Cedric continued to

harangue them. At one point, he made his Keeper,
Clara Barton, cry. Alex zipped over on her broom to
confront him near the goal posts, yelling, "Stop being
such a right royal bastard!"

"Then stop acting gutted because we're up against

Gryffindor!" he bellowed back. The rest of the team
had joined the three by the hoops. "What is wrong
with you lot tonight? So what that we're facing
Gryffindor first? I didn't pick a team of duffers,
dammit! We can beat them! I have the three best
Chasers on any team -- yes even better than theirs
-- and they've got who for a Keeper? Ron
Weasley? I've been hearing things about Weasley
and they're not flattering. The three of you come at
him like I know you can and he'll choke." He spun
on his own Keeper. "And as for you, Barton, you
can't let anything get to you -- understand? Not
anything. Even me."
"What about Harry Potter?" Smith asked. "They've
got Harry Potter on a Firebolt."

"And you've got me," Cedric returned.

Eyes slid sideways, but Ed coughed and reminded

them, "Who's the only Seeker in the school to have
beat Potter to the Snitch?"

Alex, Clara and his Beaters were nodding, but Zach

said, "Potter fell off his broom. We all know that, and
Diggory offered to replay the match."

"And Wood refused," Ed replied, "because Diggory

caught the Snitch fair and square, and we all know
how much Wood wanted to win." Ed nodded at
Cedric. "I agree with our Captain. We can do this,
mates. Hufflepuff can take the House Cup. We're
Badgers; we hang on."

Cedric angled his broom and thrust his right arm out
into the centre of their little circle. The rest of the
team followed suit, more or less readily. When all
hands were stacked, Cedric called, "One -- two --
three -- BADGERS!"

"BADGERS!" the rest of them echoed.

Things went much better after that, and Cedric left
practice smiling, although the rest were a bit miffed
to find he'd scheduled three more practices before
the match. "We have less than two weeks left,"
Cedric reminded them. "We're going to make use of
them."

Even if practices improved, the following Saturday

didn't dawn with Cedric smiling. Umbridge had
allowed the first Hogsmeade weekend to go forward
despite threats to revoke the privilege, and for days
beforehand, Harry had alternated between giddy
gushing or anxiety as his date with Cho
approached. "What should I talk to her about? Are
you sure this Madam Puddifoot's is where we should
go? What sorts of sweets does she like? Does she
like the joke shop?" Cedric did his best to keep a stiff
upper lip and reassure Harry like a friend should, but
considered staying at the castle on Saturday with
the excuse of working on Quidditch drills. There was
only so much a fellow could take, after all. Ignorant
of his emotional distress, his denmates wouldn't
hear of it, insisting he go into town with them.

"For all we know," Peter said, "this could be the last

time The Toad'll let us out of the castle this year.
We're all of age now; we're going to the Hog's
Head." Visiting the Hog's Head was a rite of
passage for seventh years, or at least for the boys.
They had to see how much they could drink without
making themselves sick. Even Scott forewent the
possibility of wooing (another) pretty girl in favour of
drinking with his mates.

It wasn't just the four of them, but Roger Davies from

Ravenclaw, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan from
Gryffindor, as well as Angelina Johnson. Seeing
Angelina headed for the pub, Alex Aubry, Cedric's
other senior Chaser hurried over to join them. "We
girls have to stick together," she said, linking her arm
through Angelina's. Apparently, here, gender
trumped house alliances.

"All we need is Montague and we'd have all four

Quidditch Captains," Lee Jordan noted as they
pushed through the door. "I could do commentator
interviews."

"And I could do without Montague, thanks," Roger

said. "But if you want an interview -- Ravenclaw has
the Cup in the bag!" He pumped his fist in the air.
Predictably, this brought good-natured derision from
his drinking mates, but he didn't back down, despite
being the only Ravenclaw present. "You haven't
seen my set pieces."
"You haven't seen mine," Cedric returned without
missing a beat.

The barman raised an eyebrow as the ten of them

crowded into the shabby pub, then shook his head
and went back to stacking glasses. "I'm not cleaning
up any spew," he warned them without looking up,
"so make sure at least one of you stays sober
enough to perform a Vanishing spell."

They ordered crisps and chips and beer that wasn't

butterscotch. Talk inevitably circled around from
Quidditch to Umbridge and Moody's duelling club,
which all ten of them were in. "Do you think she'll
shut it down?" Angelina asked. "I mean, it's our
choice, isn't it? At least the seventh years?"

That past Thursday had, again, seen only those over

seventeen -- and Harry Potter -- permitted to
practise actual spells against one another. The fifth
and sixth years had been relegated to a prep class
similar to the third and fourth years. "For now,"
Moody had said with a wink.

"Moody may be a nutter, but he's got something up

his sleeve, I bet," Lee Jordan said.
"Umbridge worries me," Roger cautioned. "We can't
underestimate her."

"I heard she's serious about those grade

requirements too," Alex added. "She's already
issued warnings to some students because Snape
reported to her that they were doing badly in
Potions. If they don't improve their marks, she's
threatened to put them on probation." She sent Ed a
furtive glance. Everybody knew he was the one
most in danger of failing, although the twins weren't
much better -- but their problems stemmed more
from a lack of effort than a lack of ability.

"Well," said one of them -- Fred, Cedric thought, "if

she does try to stop our meetings altogether, maybe
we can get Moody to tutor us privately somehow?"

The company and the beer (and the whisky)

managed to keep Cedric's mind off of Harry's date in
a way that staying at the castle wouldn't have, and
they spent all afternoon in the pub. Despite periodic
orders of food, all of them were weaving on their feet
by the time they left at dusk. "Get back to the castle,
the lot of you," the barman warned as he ejected
them, "or Filch will lock you out for the night, and I
don't want you sleeping here." He slammed the
pub's wooden door behind him, the boar's head sign
swinging on its pole above: squeak, squeak.

The walk back was chilly as the sun had set, and
they were the last to return. Students not of age
were required to check in with Filch before dinner,
but seventh years had more freedom. Nonetheless,
Headmistress Umbridge herself was waiting for them
in the main entrance hall, chin raised. Seeing her,
they paused, but when she didn't immediately start
scolding, they shrugged and began to go their
separate ways. However displeased she might be,
technically they'd broken no rules.

One of her "hem, hem"s stopped them and she went

round to each, sniffing. "You've been drinking!" she
said when finished. "Shame on you! And some of
you former prefects!" -- she glared at Cedric and
Roger. "Turn out your pockets!"

"We left the beer at the pub," George said. "It would
leak out of pockets, you know."

"I didn't ask for lip from you, Mr. Weasley! I said turn
out your pockets!"

With a sigh, all ten of them did as ordered, and

Umbridge had Filch help her search them for
contraband, forcing them to remove their robes
altogether so they were down to just trousers and
shirts. She found nothing; even the Weasleys had
no jokes this time from Zonko's. This failure to turn
up anything illegal seemed to frustrate her,
especially as she couldn't punish them for drinking
off school property, nor for arriving after dinner, both
being within their rights now.

"If this is the behaviour of seventh years when let out

of the castle for a day, perhaps cancelling these
weekends isn't a bad idea," Umbridge warned.

"But professor," Roger said, attempting dignity but

looking a bit foolish as he stood there blinking and
struggling not to appear as pissed as he was, "we're
not drunk and disorderly."

"-- just drunk," Scott whispered behind Cedric, which

elicited a spurt of giggles from several of them and
made Umbridge spin.

"You think this is a joke?" she asked, high voice

rising. "I'll show you otherwise. Detention, the lot of
you, for the rest of the week!"

Cedric's jaw fell. So did Angelina's. "Detention!"

Angelina squeaked. "You can't give us detention!
We have practices for a Quidditch match on
Saturday!"

"You should have thought about that before today's

little adventure. And be glad I don't suspend all
three of your teams from playing this year due to the
misbehaviour of their Captains!"

"Professor," Roger tried again, Ed standing behind to

offer moral support, "we haven't broken any rules --
new or old. In fact, we were careful not to in order to
set a good example."

"You're drunk!" Umbridge practically shrieked. "All

ten of you! What sort of example is that?" Behind
her, Filch nodded, narrow-eyed.

"One that their Heads of House will see to," said a

squeaky little voice off to the side. All of them turned
to find Flitwick flanked by McGonagall and Sprout.
The cavalry had arrived. "Mr. Davies is quite
correct. Poor choices or not, they haven't broken
any school rules. We know you're a busy woman,
Dolores, with better things to do than waste your
evenings policing students who've been feeling their
oats a bit too much."
Umbridge seemed torn between his smooth flattery
and her previous indignation. "But they should be
punished!"

"And they will be, I assure you." He sketched a little

bow to her.

With three other professors there, and given the fact

none of them had broken rules, Umbridge backed
down -- or rather stepped sideways. "Very well. I
trust that the extent of their 'poor choices', as you put
it, will be impressed upon them. And next time
there's a Hogsmeade weekend, these ten won't be
attending -- past the age of majority or not."
Whirling, she departed, Filch trailing in her wake.

Lee Jordan sighed audibly, only to have McGonagall

advance and grip him by the ear. "If you think you're
out of the woods gentlemen, and ladies, you're sadly
mistaken. This way." Still gripping Lee's ear, she
marched them down the hall to Flitwick's classroom,
Sprout and Flitwick bringing up the rear to be certain
none of them slunk away.

Moody was there waiting, arms crossed. "Our

prodigals have returned?" he asked, looking
amused, but also slightly annoyed. "Don't any of
you lot have the sense you were born with, or did
you piss it away with the beer?"

"We didn't break any rules," George said.

"For once," Fred finished. "Bloody hell -- we actually

follow the rules and this happens?"

Moody thumped forward to glare up at Fred. "I don't

give a rat's arse if you followed the rules. I only care
that you did something phenomenally stupid. First,
you gave Umbridge reason to attack you. Second --
and more to the point -- I see ten kids drunker than
lords on a day that You-Know-Who and his followers
knew students would be loose in Hogsmeade -- and
all of you stayed out just as late as the letter of the
law permitted."

"I think somebody needs to have a word with

Aberforth," McGonagall said. "He should have been
keeping a better eye on them."

Cedric wondered who Aberforth was -- somebody in

the Order? -- even as Sprout said, "We're very
disappointed," her usually cheerful face stern. "Of
all the seventh years, we'd have expected this lot to
be more careful, and sensible. We were worried
about you."
Cedric wasn't the only one hanging his head.
Professor Sprout's visible disappointment was far,
far worse than Umbridge's ire, or even McGonagall
or Moody's irritation.

"We know it's a bit of a tradition," Flitwick told them,

"but this wasn't the year for it, lads and lasses. A
goodly part of maturity is knowing where to draw
lines. Now, all of you, go back to your dormitories,
take a shower and brush your teeth. You smell like
you spent the day in a pub."

There was shuffling of feet and hesitation, then Peter

Adamson asked, "What's our punishment?"

The four professors looked at each other, as if

considering. "They do seem genuinely contrite,"
Sprout said.

"A lesson wouldn't hurt them," Moody replied as

McGonagall added, "And we don't want to give
Dolores a reason to punish them herself."

"Well, I have some dragon dung that needs mixing

into peat and bagging for winter potting soil," Sprout
offered. "A couple piles of it." Her expression was
just a little wicked. Lee, Scott and Roger all
groaned.

"I think that's an excellent suggestion, Pomona,"

McGonagall replied, then turned to eye all of them
and drew herself up to her full height. They were
now facing the real Headmistress of Hogwarts.
"Tomorrow after lunch, you ten will report to the
greenhouses and remain there until Professor
Spout's potting soil is prepared to her satisfaction."

Cedric resisted saying that he'd scheduled the Pitch

for a late afternoon practice -- they might be done by
then -- but Angelina slapped one long hand over her
eyes. "Gryffindor's got Quidditch practice at two,
professor!"

"Then you'll have to reschedule it for later that

afternoon, Miss Johnson."

"I can't!" She pointed at Cedric. "He has the Pitch

at four, and he" -- she pointed to Roger -- "has it at
six!"

"Ah" -- Roger scratched the back of his head -- "I'll

let you take the six o'clock slot, Angelina. You have
a game coming up sooner, and I owe you for
switching with me in the first place." Although
customarily all four teams played one match in the
autumn term, Roger's elder sister was getting
married the very weekend Ravenclaw had been
scheduled to play, so Hooch had allowed him to
reschedule, flipping with Angelina.

"You will?" Angelina's eyes lit up and she grabbed

Roger by the shoulders, kissing him drunkenly on
the mouth -- to his surprise, and Fred's apparent
annoyance. Cedric dimly recalled that Fred had
escorted Angelina to the Ball the previous year.

McGonagall's eyebrow rose. "Well, that's settled

then. Now go and clean up."

Subdued (and still tipsy), they filed out of the

classroom, receiving odd looks from other students
passing in the hallway, who whispered behind their
hands. "I don't suppose it's everyday they get to see
three Quidditch Captains, two former prefects, and
the Triwizard Champ called on the carpet by four
teachers," Scott muttered as he, Cedric, Ed, Peter
and Alex all headed for the Hufflepuff common room.

Peter shot him a frown. "Er, you do realise four of us

don't wear any of those titles and one of us wears all
three?"
"Well, yeah," Scott said, "but me being in trouble
isn't exactly new, is it? This lad, however . . . " He
shoved good-naturedly at Cedric, who almost
tripped over his own feet.

Before they could tromp down the stairs to the

basement, a polite cough off to the side stopped
them. All five turned to see Hermione Granger
standing there. "Cedric, could I have a word?"

He glanced at his mates and Alex. "Go on. I'll be

down shortly."

"Don't stay long," Peter warned. "Sprout might

actually come to check on us."

"I won't." And he crossed to join Hermione. "What is

it?"

She wrinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of

her face. "God, you stink! I didn't believe it when
they said you were drunk, but it's true!"

"They who?"

"Well, more or less half the school, I'm afraid. News

travels quickly."
"Apparently." He wasn't entirely pleased by that and
folded his arms, wondering if she planned to lecture
him. "And I'm not drunk, just a little . . . happy. What
did you want?"

One raised eyebrow expressed her doubt better

than words. "Actually, I came to talk to you about
Harry."

Both his own eyebrows rose now. "Harry? Did

something happen?" None of the professors had
said anything earlier, and Cedric had been trying
very hard not to think about Harry today.

"Not precisely," Hermione said. "Not like you mean.

But, er, things didn't go terribly well with Cho."

"They didn't?" And if he hadn't been as drunk as he

claimed he wasn't, his words wouldn't have come
out quite so cheerful. "Er, I mean, I'm sorry to hear
that."

Her scepticism showed itself on her whole face.

"You're an awful liar, you know."

He frowned. "I'm serious. I didn't want him to get

hurt."
Sighing, she patted his arm. "I'm sure you didn't.
And I don't want you to get hurt, either." She eyed
him in a way that was probably intended to be
'meaningful.'

"What're you implying?"

"Oh, come, you know exactly what. Harry . . . well,

he's had a crush on Cho for a year now." She
glanced around, to be certain nobody was anywhere
near. "You shouldn't get your hopes up too much,
although he does care about you a great deal."

His momentary elation sank again. "There's not

much danger of me getting my hopes up." Even if
he and Hermione had never bluntly discussed his
orientation, he was well aware that she knew.
"Harry isn't interested in me," he added, "or blokes.
You don't need to remind me of it."

She didn't answer immediately, then shook her

head. "That wasn't why I wanted to talk to you. I
just . . . I wanted to let you know what had
happened. I think Harry might need a friend."

"What about Ron? Or you?"

"Ron . . . isn't the most sensitive fellow ever, you
know? And I'm a girl."

Cedric grinned. "I had noticed that last bit. Doesn't

mean he couldn't talk to you."

She shrugged. "I'm not sure he thinks so. He was

trying to talk to Ron about it earlier, but Ron wasn't
very sympathetic and when I walked over there, he
shut up altogether."

"Pride," Cedric said.

"I'm sure, nonetheless he seems to trust you. And

you're not likely to be as, well, crass as Ron. He's
loyal to Harry -- I'm not saying he's not -- "

"But like you said, not the most sensitive fellow

ever."

"Exactly."

"I'll see if he wants to talk to me, but I've, er, sort of

got detention with Sprout after lunch tomorrow" -- he
was blushing -- "then Quidditch practice."

"Detention?" Her expression was amused. "I'm

sorry."
"No, you're not."

She actually laughed. "Well, all right -- I'm not.

Exactly. You lot should have known better than to
come back to the castle in that state. You're not the
clueless sort, Cedric."

"So we were told."

Still smiling, she rose up on her toes abruptly and

kissed his cheek. "If it makes you feel better, most
of the castle is just glad that Umbridge got put in her
place."

"That's good to hear."

She turned to leave, then glanced back. "You know,

if you ever need to talk about . . . things, and don't
mind that I'm a girl, I'm a pretty good listener."

Smiling back, he nodded. "Thanks, Hermione."

Chapter 7: Crush

Harry chose to sleep in on Sunday rather than go

down to breakfast and possibly run into Cho, but
deciding what to do about lunch was more difficult.
"You have to eat sometime," Ron pointed out before
leaving for the Great Hall himself. Harry opted to
arrive late as Sunday lunch usually amounted to
sandwiches one could assemble from an array of
cold meats and cheese, and soup when it was chilly,
as that day had turned out to be. Harry didn't see
Cho, so either she'd been and gone already as he'd
hoped, or she hadn't come down at all -- perhaps as
eager to avoid him as he was to avoid her.

A body settled on the bench beside him where he

sat alone at the long Gryffindor table, and he looked
over to find Cedric. "I can't stay long," Cedric said.
"I, er, have somewhere I have to be."

Harry resisted smirking. "Hermione told me you

have detention."

Cedric's cheeks turned bright red, but he changed

the subject. "How did yesterday go?"

Now it was Harry's turn to blush. "Pretty much a

disaster," Harry admitted. "Why didn't you warn me
that tea shop was so . . . frilly?"

Cedric's eyebrows went up. "I think I did, last week.

Didn't you listen?"
"We walked in and I said that -- it was frilly -- and
Cho thought I was criticizing her taste."

"Well, you were, weren't you?" Cedric seemed

amused.

"I didn't want her to know that! Anyway, we ordered

tea and tried to talk, but she left her hand lying on
the tabletop like, urm, she wanted me to, ah -- "

"Hold it?"

"Yeah. And there were other couples in there, and

some of them were kissing in public! And I didn't
know what to say to her, and . . . "

Harry trailed off, realising that Cedric seemed to be

struggling not to laugh. "You think this is funny.
God, you're as bad as Ron!"

Cedric mastered his expression. "I don't think it's

funny -- not in the way you mean. Your reaction
sounds pretty much the same as mine the first time I
saw the place." He elbowed Harry, but gently. "I'm
probably better at hiding it, though." He leaned over
a little so he could see Harry's face. "Why did you
have trouble talking to her? You told me that in the
library, it was easy to talk to her."

"It was -- then," Harry admitted. "But yesterday, it

felt like we ran out of things to say, or maybe I just
felt pressured with all the kissing. But we don't
share any of the same classes . . . "

"What about Quidditch?"

"She's been following Quidditch all her life, so she

knows the team histories and players and I felt like
an idiot."

"I doubt Cho thinks you're an idiot, Harry, just that

you weren't raised a wizard."

"I know. She even said that -- sort of. I still felt that
way."

"You don't feel that way with me or Ron. Well, I don't

think you do."

"You're different; you're mates. I can ask you

things. She's -- "

"You want to impress her."

"Yeah. But I'm not a good student like she is, and I
don't know Quidditch as well as she does. I don't
know anything really."

"Bollocks!" Cedric appeared surprisingly annoyed.

"Harry, for two weeks now I've watched you hold
your own in duelling club, beating students two
years older than you. And you're a fantastic Seeker.
So what if you don't know all the team histories?
You've an instinct for flying and that's not something
one can memorize from a book." Leaning in close,
Cedric added softly, "You and I both know you're at
least twice the flyer Cho is." He leaned back. "So
don't try to hand me rubbish about not knowing
anything. You know quite a lot of things worth
knowing."

Looking up, Harry met Cedric's eyes, and the other

boy's sincerity was all right there, naked and raw.
Harry felt buoyed, heart swelling. "Thanks," he
said. "Just . . . thanks, Ced." Even if he knew his
friend was trying to make him feel better, he'd
needed the reassurance.

After a suspended moment, Cedric looked away,

checking his watch. "I've got to go soon, but is that
all that happened? You didn't hold her hand in the
tea shop when she wanted you to?"
Harry sighed out and rubbed at his scar. "I wish
that's all it was. I could tell she was peeved at me
by the time we left, so I told her we could visit any
store she wanted. She went to the quill shop, then
Dervish & Banges, then the wizardwear store for
robes, then another store for clothes. I was so
bored, and I'm sure she could tell. Then she just
wanted to walk up and down the street or sit on a
bench, like we were . . . on parade. I wasn't sure
what I was supposed to do -- whether I should hold
her hand or just talk to her, or . . . what."

"She was showing you off."

Baffled, Harry just blinked. "Why?"

"Well, it's sort of a compliment, Harry. She wanted

to be seen with you."

Harry frowned, feeling both foolish and resentful at

once. "She wanted to be seen with the Chosen
One, is that it? I don't like being stared at."

Cedric had folded his hands on the table and now

bent over them almost as if praying, brows drawn
and clearly puzzling something through. Finally he
said, "I don't think it's that, not like you mean." He
turned his head to study Harry. "Haven't you ever
liked somebody enough that you just wanted to be
seen with them? Wanted everybody to know you
were with them?"

Put that way, it did strike Harry differently. "Er,

yeah. But I don't like being stared at. It . . . makes
me nervous."

Cedric smiled. "I know," he said. "I don't particularly

like it either, I reckon I'm just used to it."

"She did it with you, too?"

"She did, but I meant in general. I get stared at a

lot." Harry supposed Cedric probably did; certainly
some of the Gryffindor girls liked to stare at him.
Turning to look at Harry again, Cedric's smile turned
lopsided. "I don't think she means it in a status
climbing way, if that's what worries you. She doesn't
really need that, you know." Which was true; Cho
was far more popular than Harry. "She's proud to be
seen with you; that's not something to knock, yeah?"

Harry nodded, a bit uncertainly, then more firmly. "I

reckon it's not." Cedric rose as Harry blurted out,
"So things might not have gone as badly as I
thought? At the tea shop?"
Looking down, Cedric said, "Well, if she was walking
up and down the High Street with you after the tea
shop, then I'd say she was probably still happy to be
with you. But it's not just whether she was happy,
Harry. Dates are a two-way street, you know. Did
you have a good time?"

And that brought Harry up short. He'd been thinking

so much about how to please Cho and whether he'd
failed, he hadn't thought much about whether he'd
liked it. He'd just assumed the chance to spend time
with Cho would make him happy, like it had in the
library that evening. But he wasn't sure he could say
it had. As he'd told Cedric, he'd been bored -- or
intimidated -- by most of what she'd seemed to
enjoy, and by the end of the day, the dizzying effect
of just being in her company had worn away.

He wasn't certain he was quite ready to admit that

yet, however, so he said, "I suppose I did."

"All right then," Cedric replied. "Sometimes you

have to work things out, find your feet. Not every
friendship -- or whatever -- just . . . happens without
effort."
"Ours did. Mine with Ron did, and Hermione . . . "
He trailed off, thinking. Certainly he and Ron hadn't
started out as friends with Hermione. "All right, I'll
grant sometimes you do have to get to know the real
person."

"Exactly. And truth is, Harry -- yours and my

friendship didn't just happen, either. When your
name first came out of the Goblet, I really did think
you'd put it in, you know. I didn't know you then. I
had to get to know you to realise you wouldn't do
that. And you told me this summer that last year,
you thought I was just a useless pretty boy without
enough brains to fill an eggcup."

Harry turned scarlet. "Well, er -- I was jealous, that's

all. You beat me to asking Cho to the Ball and I
didn't know then . . . " He trailed off, unwilling to
mention Cedric's preferences even in the nearly
empty Great Hall. "You're not, you know -- either
useless or stupid."

Head tilted, Cedric just smiled. "Sometimes

unexpected people turn out to be good friends, and
people we thought we'd like . . . they aren't so
interesting once we find out more. Give Cho a
chance, yeah?" He turned for the hall doors. "I
have to run or I'll be late."
And he jogged away. Harry glanced down at his
watch; it was five past one. Cedric wasn't just going
to be late, he already was late, and Harry pondered
what Cedric had said whilst finishing his sandwich,
then went looking for Ron, found him nervously
working on his broom up in their dormitory. Harry
started to say something encouraging about the
coming game on Saturday, but bit his tongue. Ron
was anxious enough. "Do you think maybe it's just
harder to be friends with girls than boys?"

Ron stopped polishing and looked at Harry. "What

are you talking about?"

"Well, with Hermione, remember? We didn't like her

at first. Now she's . . . Hermione. So maybe it takes
more time with girls?"

Ron continued to stare. "I'm still not following you,

mate."

"Cho."

"What about Cho?"

Harry wanted to ask if Ron had heard anything Harry

had said the day before when they'd come back
from Hogsmeade. "We didn't have a lot to talk
about!"

"So you said -- and I told you, it's not all about talk.
You just . . . go out."

"And do what?"

"I don't know. You hold hands, maybe snog some."

"And then what?"

"Well, Harry, if you don't know that . . . " Ron trailed

off, laughing in embarrassment.

"That's not what I meant!" Harry said, feeling foolish

because, in fact, he really wasn't sure about the rest
of it.

The Dursleys hadn't cared if he knew the facts of

life, and the whole threat of Voldemort had occupied
most of his attention otherwise. Harry was well
aware he didn't know what to do with a girl in
general, never mind anything intimate. There had
been one rather awkward conversation with Mr.
Weasley the summer before last. 'I know your
father's not around to have this talk, Harry,' the older
man had said, 'but I've had it now with six sons, and
I don't mind having it with an adopted seventh.' He'd
smiled kindly, and been bluntly informative, but Harry
had been so embarrassed that he didn't have a
father to tell him those things that he hadn't made
much of the opportunity. So Harry knew the
mechanics of sex, but how to get from here to there
with a girl completely eluded him. Perhaps he
should ask Sirius. Or for that matter Cedric probably
knew more about the process of seduction than
Harry did, which made Harry wonder exactly how far
Cedric had gone with Cho, and how pathetic Harry
looked by contrast.

"What I meant," Harry said now, "is that there's got

to be more to it than snogging. I mean, aren't you
supposed to have fun together?"

"I expect the snogging part is pretty fun," Ron

pointed out.

"Besides that, you cheeky git."

"Well, yeah, but it . . . just happens, doesn't it?

Maybe sometimes you have to get to know
somebody, like, er, like with Hermione. But then it
happens. The friendship part. You look over at the
person one day and realise you like them, like
hanging out with them, they're easy to be with."
"What if they're not easy to be with?" Harry asked.
"What if it feels like work all the time?"

Ron shrugged. "Then I don't reckon it's somebody

you really want to spend time with, yeah?"

Ron, Harry thought, had a talent for stating the oft-

overlooked obvious -- and not in a dim way, but in a
getting down to brass tacks way. "Yeah," Harry said
now. "Maybe not."

That same Sunday afternoon -- literally between one

step and the next -- Harry looked over, as Ron had
said, and realised it wasn't Cho he wanted to spend
time with. It was Cedric.

He was crossing the Pitch behind Angelina with the

rest of Gryffindor's team even as Hufflepuff ended
their practise, all straggling out behind their Captain.
Cedric was grinning in that way he had, all white
teeth and joy, and nature conspired with
circumstance to send a ray of sunlight between the
clouds right onto him. It caught in his eyes, turning
them from steel to quicksilver.

After all their time together, Harry thought he should

have been more prepared, but his step hitched and
he let out a choked sound, finally seeing what he'd
known intellectually for ages. Cedric Diggory was
striking.

Not handsome, not fit, not rather attractive.

Striking. Art carved in flesh and bone. Exertion and
chill air had pinked his cheeks, and sweat made his
dark hair darker. He had height and breadth, a
straight jaw, prominent chin, and deep-set eyes that
glinted with intelligence. If the brows above were a
bit heavy and his nose canted left (he'd told Harry
he'd broken it as a boy) . . . well, those things made
him interesting, not merely insipid.

Of course he picked that moment to turn his head

and catch Harry staring, but instead of being
embarrassed, he just grinned as they passed each
other, stepping sideways to elbow Harry playfully.
"Work hard, Potter. You're going to have to outfly
me on Saturday."

The good-natured jibe drew cat-calls from the rest of

Harry's team. "Keep dreaming, Diggory!" and,
"There won't be any Dementors this time to help you
out!" and, "Harry could get to the Snitch before you
with his eyes closed!"
Harry just blushed, too confused by the new feelings
to have wit to reply.

Did this familiar flailing vertigo, this staccato tap-tap

of his heart against his ribcage, did it mean he had a
. . . a crush on Cedric? It certainly felt the same as
what he'd suffered for Cho, but Cedric was a boy.
And if Cedric fancied boys, well, Harry didn't. Or at
least, Harry hadn't. Harry couldn't, therefore, fancy
Cedric.

Could he?

For the next few days, whenever he saw Cedric, he

had to struggle not to stare. It must have been
obvious, because after supper on Wednesday,
Cedric actually pulled him aside to ask, "Have I done
something to upset you? You know I was kidding on
the Pitch on Sunday, right?"

"Oh, uh . . . yeah. I mean, yeah, I know you were

kidding, not yeah, you did something to upset me,
because, er, you didn't. Do anything, I mean. I'm
just . . . a little nervous. About the game." Not about
the fact Cedric was standing rather close, bending
over slightly to look him in the eye. That couldn't be
the reason for his sweaty palms and fast breathing,
or the flush that he knew must be staining his neck
and ears.

Cedric stared at him for a moment more, which only

raised Harry's blood pressure further, then he said,
"Okay," and went on his way. Harry breathed out in
relief, even as he felt like a complete moron. He and
Cedric had been friends -- good friends -- for
months. How had this happened all of a sudden?
Moreover, why had it happened? If one of them was
going to get a bad crush on the other, shouldn't it be
Cedric on him?

And that made him wonder. Had Cedric ever

suffered a crush on him? Hermione had implied it,
but Harry had no experience in these things and
Cedric had always acted like a friend and only a
friend. Any extra concern he displayed could easily
be explained by the fact Harry was probably the first
real friend Cedric had ever had, one who knew all
his secrets. Besides, Cedric had said he fancied
Oliver Wood.

That next Saturday, however, he didn't let Cedric

catch the Snitch out of friendship. Cedric was agile,
and wicked fast at hairpin turns, to be sure -- but he
was also too big to be a Seeker and Harry's Firebolt
could fly rings around his old Cleansweep Five. Yet
for the second time in a competition with Gryffindor,
Cedric Diggory caught the Snitch right under Harry
Potter's nose.

Because Harry had been watching him, not the little

golden ball.

The entire Gryffindor team waffled between angry,

baffled and disappointed. How could they have lost
to Hufflepuff again? It hadn't even been bad
weather, and they'd been racking up goals against
the Hufflepuff Keeper. Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff
Chasers had been doing the same with an anxious
Ron, so it had turned into a high scoring game on
both sides. Gryffindor had needed Harry to catch
the Snitch and end it.

And Harry had failed them. He didn't even have an

excuse, he'd just failed -- because he'd been unable
to stop watching Cedric long enough to locate the
Snitch.

Fortunately, nobody on the team seemed to realise

where the problem lay. "It's okay, mate," Ron said,
although his face was crestfallen, and Angelina
patted his shoulder, hiding disappointment to remind
him, "Everybody has an off day." She also pointed
out that Hufflepuff had improved loads since Diggory
had taken over as Captain.

"Diggory, Diggory," George snapped. "What's so

ruddy special about Diggory? He's just a poncy,
pretty-faced swot. You wait and see, even Slytherin
could take down his team."

"Oh, just brill, George!" Angelina snapped back.

"That makes me feel ever so much better! Even
Slytherin could beat them, but not us!"

"He didn't mean it like that!" Fred tried to intervene

for his brother. "He just meant -- "

"Diggory and his team got lucky today. That's all,"

George finished. "He doesn't have any real talent."

"Stop it!" Harry heard himself shouting. "Just stop

it! All of you! Do you think Cedric is over in the
Hufflepuff changing room, making fun of us because
they beat us today? He's not like that! He flew
better than me -- it's that simple. Stop trying to
make excuses for the plain truth."

And picking up his broom and Quidditch robes, he

stalked out, heading back to the castle to shower
instead of doing so in the changing rooms. He was
angry at himself, not at Cedric. Cedric had played
hard, but fair, and after he'd caught the Snitch, the
look he'd shot Harry had been almost apologetic.
"Good game, Harry," he'd said afterwards.

But Harry hadn't played a good game. He'd been

distracted, and it annoyed him. He'd wanted to
show Cedric what he could do, wanted to impress
him. But he hadn't. He'd acted like a . . . a silly
schoolgirl.

Unable to face anybody in the castle the same as

he'd been unable to stay with his team, he headed
down to the lakeshore where he sat, broom beside
him, head in hands. It was here that Hermione
found him. She was carrying three Cornish pasties
and a bottle of Butterbeer. "Eat," she told him
matter-of-factly, sitting down next to him.

Grateful because he was really hungry, he devoured

all three pasties in quick succession; Hermione
didn't speak again until he was finished. Banishing
his empty Butterbeer bottle, she said, "Are you going
to sit out here all night, or come in and take off those
sweaty clothes?"

"Are they laughing at me up at the castle?"

"No, not especially. Hufflepuff is very happy, of
course. Cedric was looking for you earlier. He
asked me and Ron where you went. Ron was rather
rude, the berk, but Cedric said he just wanted to
congratulate you again on a game well-flown."

"No, he didn't. He knows I played badly. He knows

better than anybody -- or should."

Hermione eyed him sidewise. "Well, perhaps he

does, but I think he's feeling a bit guilty for catching it
right under your nose like that. He is your friend. In
fact, maybe he's even wondering if you let him win?"

Harry sighed. "I didn't. I just . . . wasn't looking at

the Snitch."

"Harry, it was right in front of you."

"I know."

"So what were you looking at? Cho Chang in the

Ravenclaw stands?"

"No," Harry admitted. He wished it had been Cho.

Life would be less complicated. "I wasn't looking at
Cho. I reckon I was just . . . out of it today -- thinking
about Sirius's trial." And while he did sometimes
worry about the trial, that hadn't been his problem
today.

"Well, that's understandable," Hermione said.

"You're sure you weren't distracted by Cho?"

His laugh was bitter. "No. No -- of that, at least, I'm

sure."

Chapter 8: Falling Out

Cedric was the hero of Hufflepuff.

The last of his once-liminal status had been forgiven

and forgotten. After all, he'd led their team to victory
over Gryffindor. It had been close -- very close --
and the house was ecstatic with their victory after
the long anxiety of the match itself.

"We knew you could do it, Ced!"

"You're the best Captain we've had in ages!"

"Harry who? We have the best Seeker at

Hogwarts!"
These and variations were shouted at him over and
over whilst his team- and housemates slapped his
back and fed him Butterbeer and biscuits and cake
filched from the kitchens next door. The impromptu
party in the common room was, if possible, even
wilder than the one they'd thrown when the Goblet of
Fire had spat out his name the previous autumn, or
when he'd wound up tied with Harry Potter after the
Second Task. In a fit of complete silliness, Alex
Aubry flung her bra at him, bringing cat-calls. It
landed on his head and Ed made him wear it like a
crown, which was a bit humiliating, really.
Immediately after, Zach Smith flung his underpants,
shouting, "Wear those too?" The underpants just
got "Ewws!" and Cedric made a face before throwing
them back, privately wondering what the hell Smith
was implying.

Cedric found the whole thing ironic, as he hadn't

really won. Harry had lost. That was different, and
Cedric wasn't at all sure why Harry had lost, but the
more he thought about it, played the final minutes of
the match over and over in his head, the less he
could escape the obvious.

Harry had let him catch the Snitch.

It made no sense. Cedric hadn't thought Harry the
sort to . . . to patronize him. Yet he couldn't come up
with a better explanation than that Harry felt sorry for
him for some reason, and he didn't appreciate it. So
he went looking for Harry to get a straight answer.

Unfortunately, Harry was nowhere to be found that

Saturday evening so Cedric had to return to the
common room with his questions still festering. And
they festered for two days more because Harry
seemed to be going out of his way to evade Cedric
-- which only cemented Cedric's paranoid suspicions
in his own head.

You're making a mountain out of a mole hill, Regulus

in the diary told him.

Well, what would you think? He's a better Seeker

than I am.

I'd think that, better Seeker or not, we all have off

days. I can recall several games where I performed
less well than I could have. I had other things on my
mind, and once, I was simply ill. I should have let
my reserve take my place, but I didn't. We lost.

He wasn't ill. And now he won't even talk to me.

Erm -- did you consider embarrassment as a
reason? Learn to tell a real conspiracy from a false
one, Cedric.

Annoyed, Cedric put the diary away.

He'd planned to use the duelling club as a chance to

confront Harry, but wound up with a surprise. All the
younger students were back, along with a furious
Umbridge -- but Moody just waved a stack of
parchment at her. "Parental waivers," he said,
stumping past where she stood in the Great Hall
doorway. "You can go and argue with their parents,
Dolores."

Joining Scott, Roger, Angelina, Lee and the twins,

he caught Lee saying, "I told you Moody had
something up his sleeve."

Some students were notably absent, however -- the

Slytherins, but they arrived shortly. Cedric shared a
knowing look with Scott and Roger. Umbridge had
surely sent them 'to keep an eye on things', but
Moody turned them back. "I'll need parental
waivers, kids. Headmistress banned all underage
wizards, so I'm afraid you'll have to have a parental
waiver to participate."
Draco appeared furious, and behind Cedric, Roger
whispered, "Hoisted on her own petard!"

Montague, however, pushed past Draco. "We're of

age. The seventh years." Head Boy Pucey was
behind him.

"You're also behind since you haven't bothered

coming for the last, oh, month."

"So?" Montague shrugged, trying to appear

unconcerned.

Moody's eyebrow went up. "Very well." He gestured

towards Roger, Cedric and Angelina. "Go and join
your fellow captains." And that was most definitely a
smirk on Moody's face.

"Brilliant," Angelina muttered, cracking her knuckles.

"Opportunity for revenge for every time Slytherin's
cheated on the Pitch."

"That's not fair," Cedric told her but she just gaped at
him.

"Who cares if it's fair?" Roger agreed with her. "Fair

isn't in Montague's vocabulary."
The three of them made Montague's evening at
practice interesting, and the Slytherin Captain left
with bruises on his hip and backside from being
blasted across the room more than once.
Unfortunately, Cedric was so busy, Harry slunk out
before Cedric could catch him.

Late returning to the dormitory, Cedric found Scott

already seated at his desk, scribbling away on a
parchment -- which was odd, as Scott notoriously
avoided homework until the last possible moment
(and still pulled high marks). To see him working so
industriously struck Cedric as out of character and
he bent to read over Scott's shoulder. "History of
Magic? I thought you were planning to do
Grindelwald, not goblin rebellions?"

Scott appeared to be trying to cover up the essay. "I

am. I just . . . the rebellions tie into his views, you
know."

Cedric frowned. "Well, tangentially." He leaned over

to look at the essay more closely, which Scott was
even more obviously trying to cover up. "That's not
yours," Cedric said, realisation dawning. "What are
you doing, Scott? Who's this for? You know -- "
"It's mine," Ed said, from the other side of the room.
"I, erm, sort of needed some help. Scott's helping."

"Scott's writing your damn essay for you! That's not

'helping'! It's cheating!" Cedric said.

"Shhh!" Ed walked over to close the door.

"I'm keeping him from failing," Scott replied. "Do you

want him on your team or not?"

"I want him on my team honestly!" Cedric practically

roared.

"We knew you'd react like that," Scott said, rolling his
eyes. "And I did tutor him, you know."

"You could both be expelled if you're caught!"

"It's Binns, Cedric. He's not likely to notice. We're

taking a little more care with Flitwick and Burbage."

"You idiots!" Cedric couldn't decide if he were more

angry or more scared or more disappointed.
Rounding on Ed, he asked, "Aren't you the least bit
ashamed?"
Ed blushed, but his lips were tight. "Not really. Ced,
Quidditch is what I do. It's the only real skill I've
got." Ed looked almost desperate for Cedric to
understand. "You -- you're clever. Everybody knows
that when you get out of school, you'll be able to get
whatever job you want. But me . . . Quidditch is it,
mate. I've got to get scouted in order to get an offer,
and I can't if I'm not playing. That means I've got to
pass my classes."

Hands on hips, Cedric sighed. "It'll be even harder

for you to get scouted if you're expelled."

"I'm putting in plenty of spelling and grammar

errors," Scott said, "so it sounds like him."

Cedric snorted; trust Scott to think of that. "What if

Binns actually asks him about the goblin
rebellions?" Scott only shrugged and Cedric turned
to Ed. "Tell me what you know about it."

"Er, they were these rebellions. Involving goblins. It

was a long time ago. The goblins run Gringotts
now."

Almost, Cedric burst out laughing. "Yeah, Ed -- the

name sort of gives that away. Can you explain how
running Gringotts was a result of the rebellions?" Ed
just shook his head, and Cedric glanced over at
Scott. "I thought you said you tutored him."

"I did. And, ah, that's why I'm writing his essay."'

Cedric turned back to Ed, who appeared half

embarrassed, half confused. "Look," Cedric began,
"the Goblin Rebellions had to do with objections the
Goblins had to restrictions put on them by the
wizarding community . . . " For the next half-hour,
Cedric tried to pound information about goblins into
Ed's head, but by the end, he understood why Scott
had given up and was just writing his essay. But
hopefully, if Binns asked questions, Ed wouldn't
sound utterly clueless. "Should Binns ask why you
knew something in the homework that you can't
remember if he quizzes you, say it's because you
looked it up in your books to get the details correct,
right?"

"Right," Ed agreed.

Cedric wasn't the least happy about the whole

situation. Part of him believed there were things any
moderately educated person ought to know, and one
shouldn't get acceptable marks in school if one didn't
earn it. Yet nothing was ever that simple. Ed was --
if Cedric were truly honest -- slow. He had common
sense, and diligence, but he was below average
intellectually. By contrast, he was an exceptional
athlete, and a good person. He wasn't failing
because he didn't try. Should his one chance for a
real career that could pay his bills as an adult be
jeopardized because he did poorly academically?
Yet, was it fair for him to receive passing marks
because Scott wrote his essays? If Dumbledore
were still Headmaster, Ed wouldn't be in danger of
getting kicked off the Hufflepuff team; Dumbledore
had understood that sometimes being fair meant
weighing cases individually. But Dumbledore was
dead.

That, in turn, reminded Cedric they hadn't done

much lately in their search for Dumbledore's portrait,
so the following evening after dinner, he went off on
his own, trying random cupboards and storage
rooms in the basement and dungeon, even if he
were fairly certain they'd been previously searched.
Lit wand in hand, he was coming up the stairs near
the kitchens when he found Harry exiting the main
kitchen door, face stiff and hard. And if Cedric had
been looking for a chance to talk to him, he didn't
think this the best time to quiz him about Saturday's
game. "Harry? You all right?"

Spinning, Harry burst out, "Umbridge fired Dobby!"

Baffled, Cedric tilted his head. "Who's Dobby?"

"A house-elf. He's helped me loads of times. He's

the one who made your birthday crumble too. And
she fired him! For no reason! Well, her reason is
that house-elves shouldn't get paid. It's unnatural.
They might get uppity. Hermione's S.P.E.W. is
starting to make more sense."

Cedric was now thoroughly confused. "Dobby was

getting paid? Why was Dobby getting paid?"

"Well, he's free. He's got to earn a living somehow.

Dumbledore hired him here at Hogwarts."

Both Cedric's eyebrows went up. "A free house-elf,

and getting paid? That is a bit . . . unusual." He
decided not to ask about this 'S.P.E.W.'

"There's a bit of a story behind it," Harry said, then

launched into an explanation -- somewhat
convoluted, but Cedric got the gist of it. Defending a
mistreated elf sounded like the sort of thing Harry
would do.
"You've a bit of a soft spot for hard-luck cases, don't
you?" Cedric asked. "Is that why you let me catch
the Snitch last Saturday?"

Harry went suddenly white, and looked everywhere

but at Cedric. "I didn't let you. You beat me to it, fair
and square."

"Harry, we were both right on top of it. How could

you not catch it, unless you did it on purpose?
What, did your glasses fog up?"

Harry was blushing. Even in the dim corridor

torchlight, Cedric could tell. "Actually, uh, my
glasses were the problem. Not fogging, but they, er,
slipped."

Astonished by that reply, Cedric just blinked for a

moment, then felt his lips thin. "That was a joke,
Harry." Cedric took two steps backward. "You won't
even give me an honest answer. Do you think I'm
stupid? You were wearing an elastic band to secure
them; I did notice." His voice was rising. "I didn't
need to win from . . . from pity, you know."

"Pity?" Harry asked, looking less embarrassed and

more annoyed. "What makes you think it was pity?"
"Because nothing else makes sense! You've got a
professional quality broom while my model's
practically archaic. We can't afford better. Or
maybe it's because you think I needed to win to feel
like a proper man."

Harry's mouth was open, his expression

dumbfounded. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, I did. And you're bloody mental." Chin lifting

stubbornly, Harry went on, "I did not 'let' you win --
and certainly not from some pity I don't even feel.
You're the 'popular' one around here, not me, and
you're back on top now. Why would I pity you?
Everybody wants to be your friend. You don't need
me or my pity."

And Cedric really resented Harry bringing up his

social status. "I thought you were the one real friend
I had." He was so angry he was shaking. "As for
my 'popularity', you know how little that means. I
trusted you to like me."

And spinning on his heel, he stalked past the kitchen

down the corridor to the door to the Hufflepuff
common room.
He was miserable that whole weekend and the week
to follow, yet he hid it well, having long practise in
concealing personal grief and sorrow. A
consummate actor. Even his denmates noticed
nothing amiss. Scott, Peter and Ed had regarded
his friendship with Harry Potter as a temporary by-
product of the Tournament anyway, so when he
stopped talking to Harry, they didn't register it as
significant. Life went on, and he told himself it was
easier if he kept a bit apart -- refrained from
investing emotionally. Mates and acquaintances
were enough; he hardly lacked for people to talk to.
As Harry had so helpfully pointed out, he was
popular.

The one person disinclined to let him revert to bad-

old habits was Hermione. She reminded him that
he'd promised to help research for the trial, and he
was loathe to go back on a promise. "As long as
Harry's not there," he qualified.

She rolled her eyes. "Boys. You're flouncing, the

both of you. It's sort of pathetic, you know."

"It's sort of none of your business."

She dropped it, but stubbornly continued to talk to
him as if he were a real person, not an idol,
Quidditch hero, or the popular boy. He was secretly
relieved, and sought out her company sometimes.
On the Saturday afternoon before Sirius's Monday
appeal, they took a break from combing the library to
walk down to the greenhouses. "So what is it like to
be gay?" she asked, rather out of the blue.

Cedric blinked twice and glanced over at her. "What

sort of question is that?"

She looked up the path instead of at him. "Just . . .

you know . . . curious. It's my great fault, I fear --
being curious."

"Or virtue," he replied. "What's it like to be straight?"

She considered for a moment, then shrugged.

"Perceived as normal -- so I never think about it."

He smiled faintly, unsurprised she'd recognise that.

"And I can't seem to avoid thinking about it even if I'd
like to."

"How terribly frustrating."

"Quite."
She snaked her arm through his companionably, her
face turned up to the aquamarine autumn sky
above. "Shall we compare notes?"

"Compare notes?"

"On boys."

He laughed. "I don't know; should we?" Talking to

her about being gay was different than talking to
Viktor -- or Harry. No undercurrents. Perhaps that's
why he found that girls made good friends: Luna,
once Cho, now Hermione. With Cho, things had
turned complicated, which was largely his fault,
although her attraction might always have been
there and he'd just been too blind to see. But with
Hermione, he didn't worry; she had Viktor. It could
be friendship and only that.

"What do you find attractive in a boy? Or man, I

suppose?" she asked.

"Do you mean in personality, or . . . looks?"

"Both. But let's start with looks. What makes you

look twice?"
"Nice eyes," Cedric said without much hesitation.
"Kind eyes, not just, you know, pretty. Long hands; I
notice hands. Er -- nice skin? No spots. That
makes me sound shallow, doesn't it? Yes, I fear it
does. Most people our age have a few spots. I
shouldn't be so picky."

She was laughing. "I expect there's something we're

all picky about, and you have very nice skin yourself,
so it's not as if you're being hypocritical. But that
was all very proper and polite, Cedric. What else do
you look at?"

"Are you asking me to be vulgar, Miss Granger?"

He raised both eyebrows.

"Maybe a bit. I admit I like a fellow with, er, a nice

chest. All . . . muscley."

Throwing back his head, he laughed aloud. This

was definitely not any sort of conversation he'd ever
had before. "The back," he replied. "I won't
complain if a bloke's got a fit chest, but the back is
what I notice."

"Not backside? No derriere?" she asked, reaching

over with her free hand to poke him in the tummy.
He flinched. "No. And mind your manners, missy.
I'll have you know I meant exactly what I said: the
back. As in the torso between the shoulders and
derriere." Not that he'd never looked at a boy's arse
before, but he wasn't about to admit as much right
now. And it really was the whole package for him --
how the arch of shoulder blades curved into the
spine, then flared out into a round bottom. There
was a lovely poetry in a man seen from behind.
"What else do you look at? It's still your turn."

"Eyes -- like you. Intelligent eyes. A nice chest --

dark hair and fair skin. I've always been fond of the
contrast. And -- don't laugh -- I sort of . . .
admire . . . big noses."

Despite her admonition, he burst out laughing and

couldn't resist asking, "Like Professor Snape?"

Her mouth dropped open and she whacked him in

the chest. Hard. "Are you mad? Professor Snape
is, is . . . he's a teacher!"

"Ah, denial! A sure sign it's true."

"Cedric! He's a teacher! And you know I fancy

Viktor!" She seemed torn between indignation,
amusement, and furious abnegation. He couldn't
quite wipe the smirk off his face. "Professor Snape
is . . . well, er, a bit . . . greasy," she went on.
"Brilliant of course, but not exactly fair to Harry, or to
Gryffindor. Or, um, to me. And I prefer somebody
with a better sense of hygiene. I suppose it's like
your dislike of spots."

He shook his head. "It's all right. I was just taking

the mickey out of you. Of course I know how you
feel about Viktor. And now that we've been suitably
shallow, what else do you notice that's not skin
deep?"

"Intelligence," she said instantly, as instantly as he'd

said 'kind eyes' earlier. "Not just rattling off things
like I do" -- her cheeks were pink again but she
seemed to be resisting the urge to blush -- "not book
tricks and cleverness, but real intelligence.
Wisdom. Compassion. Perhaps a certain . . .
independence -- not caring what people think of
you."

Cedric suppressed his grin. With her flushed skin

and wild hair and doe-dark eyes, he could see why
Viktor might fancy her. Certainly she was quite
besotted with Viktor. It was sweet, really. "Don't
undersell yourself, Hermione," he told her. "You're
more than just clever. You know how to apply it --
that's important." He patted the back of her hand
where it rested still on his arm and decided to risk a
compliment. "Viktor's fortunate to have you -- and
he knows it, I think."

She crossed her eyes and pursed her lips. "You're

silly. And a flatterer."

"Not at all. Entirely truthful."

"What about you?" she asked, trying to regain

control of the conversation. "What non-physical
traits attract you?"

"Self-confidence, I think." He paused, considering.

"Maybe because I've never had a lot of it myself.
Loyalty. Kindness. Concern about the welfare of
others. Somebody who'll do the right thing
regardless of what it costs him."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look sly. "Are you

describing what attracts you? Or describing Harry?"

Cedric's own blush was instantaneous and as hot as

fire. "Harry's not exactly on my list of favourite
people at the moment, so I don't think I'd be
describing him."
She stopped dead to study him, wiping hair out of
her face blown there by the wind. "I don't suppose
it's occurred to you to ask why he couldn't catch a
Snitch that flew right under his nose?"

"He did it on purpose, of course."

"Why would he do that?"

"Pity."

"Oh, Cedric -- please. Pity for what?"

He frowned and ground his teeth. "What do you

think?"

"I'm asking you. Personally, I can't even guess."

His frown hardened. "Because I'm gay. Or because

I have a bad broom that can't even compete with
his."

Hermione let out a sound of frustrated disgust.

"That is -- pardon me -- the stupidest thing I've ever
heard. And I know you're not an idiot, Cedric
Diggory. Think, would you? Harry may have money
in the wizarding world, but growing up, everything he
had was a hand-me-down from that disgusting
cousin of his. He thinks the Burrow is just about the
best place on earth, and if he doesn't pity Ron, why
on earth would he pity you? Furthermore" -- she
poked his chest with her forefinger -- "as I recall, it
was Harry telling you not to be ashamed for being
gay. Why would he feel sorry for you about it? I
know Harry -- have known him five years now -- and
if he does you a kindness, he does it upfront, not
concealed. Harry's very 'what you see is what you
get', for good or ill. He'd never deliberately lose just
to make you feel better."

"What other reason would he have for losing then?"

Cedric asked. "And that's what happened,
Hermione. I didn't win. He lost."

"Maybe he was looking at something besides the

Snitch -- somebody besides the Snitch?"

He stared down at her, suddenly unable to get

enough breath. Something fluttered under his rib-
cage like petals unfurling. He didn't want to believe
her, couldn't believe her. "Oh, well done! Tease me
about it, why don't you?"

"No, Cedric." Her face was solemn and she slipped

her arm out of his. "I wouldn't tease about this.
Harry didn't let you catch that Snitch. He missed it
because he was looking elsewhere. He told me that
himself right after the match; he felt really quite
ridiculous, you know -- utterly humiliated. He just
didn't tell me what he was looking at -- that took me
a while to figure out." She tilted her head. "Don't let
it take you that long, right?"

Giving him a last, tenuous smile, she patted his arm,

turned and headed back across the castle lawn.

Chapter 9: Trial

"So it was Dumbledore who instructed you to

conceal the fact that Peter Pettigrew was still alive?"

"Yes. He said that -- "

"Please simply answer the question you're asked,

Mr. Potter. Don't elaborate."

"But it's important -- "

"Please answer the question you're asked," warned

the interrogator, a tall, frizzy-haired witch by the
name of Jezibel Harper. "Now, it was this same
Peter Pettigrew who, one year later, was present at
-- in fact critical in -- the resurrection of He Who Must
Not Be Named?"

"Er, well, yes, but Barty Crouch, Junior -- "

"Answer the question, Mr. Potter! Was he or was he

not present at and critical to the resurrection of He
Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Yes."

Harry quietly seethed and shot a glance at Tiberius

Ogden, the elderly wizard and senior member of the
Wizengamot whom Sirius had hired to represent his
case. Ogden sat in a portable seat beside the
wood-and-iron chair in the dim courtroom's centre, a
chair Harry currently occupied. A chair with chains.
At least the chains were quiescent. In Dumbledore's
memories, Harry had seen a chair just like this one
binding Igor Karkaroff in a courtroom, and however
irritated Harry might currently be at Cedric, he was
extremely grateful for the warning that they get a
barrister. He couldn't imagine occupying this chair
right now if there were nobody beside him.

The idea of a barrister had been actively supported

by Remus, although Sirius had initially deemed it
unnecessary. He thought the Ministry knew itself in
the wrong and wouldn't put up a fight. It was,
Remus had confided to Harry, the attitude of one
born to privilege, although really, one would think
he'd know better. Yet despite his previous conviction
without a trial, Sirius had been raised a Black and
still expected the world to treat him fairly -- more
than fairly perhaps. He might question a particular
politician, but not the fundamental system. His
saving grace lay in the fact he assumed fairness for
others, and waxed righteously indignant over the
prejudice Remus had suffered as a werewolf.

"He sounds like Hermione," Harry had said

thoughtfully, "with her house-elves."

"Perhaps a bit. He also sounds like you."

Harry had shaken his head. "I don't expect the world
to be fair."

"No, but you'd like it to be, and do your best to make

it so. Without people like you and Sirius, and James
and Lily, people like me -- and Cedric -- wouldn't
have advocates."

Frowning, Harry had said, "Speaking of Cedric, can I

talk to you about him later?"
"Certainly."

So Sirius had hired Tiberius Ogden, "the best

barrister this side of the English Channel." If he
were to have representation, he'd have top notch.
After reviewing the case, Ogden had immediately
sought a grant of immunity from Amelia Bones's
office for the trio to testify, and another pair for
Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. Madam Bones
had been willing to grant them. Although Sirius's
imprisonment without a trial had not occurred on her
watch, she could see to it that justice did.

Yesterday evening before the trial, Ogden had met

Harry, Ron and Hermione at his office to prep them,
advising them specifically to say Albus Dumbledore
had told them not to reveal anything about Sirius.
"While you're still responsible for your actions,"
Ogden had said, "Wizarding Law recognises the
authority and influence that guardians have over
minors. If a guardian advises a minor to commit a
crime, the guardian bears the brunt of responsibility."

Harry had said, "We don't want to tarnish

Dumbledore's memory."

Ogden had leaned over his desk. "Now you listen to

me, young man. Albus Dumbledore was my friend
for sixty years, and he absolutely would agree with
me on this. He can't be harmed by this petition --
but you might be. You three lay the responsibility on
him, and you let me worry about any 'tarnish' on his
memory. I dare say whatever you claim in
Courtroom Ten will look minor after That Woman's
biography comes out."

"Skeeter's?" Harry had asked, but Ogden had

refused to say any more about it.

And it did seem as if a subsection of the

Wizengamot was more than happy to rip pieces from
Dumbledore's good name at the slightest
opportunity. Jezebel Harper stood before her seat,
chin up, arms crossed. "So, Mr. Potter, your
testimony is that Dumbledore allowed a criminal to
walk free, a criminal who then assisted in the
resurrection of He Who Must Not Be Named? The
Wizengamot may wonder why he did that?"

"Objection!" Ogden said, rising from his seat. "Albus

Dumbledore is not on trial here."

"Make a point relevant to the case or sit down,

Madam Harper," Madam Bones said from her place
as Chief Witch at the centre front. She sounded
tired.
"Madam Bones, it's my right to interrogate
witnesses," Harper replied.

"It's your right to interrogate witnesses on pertinent

points, not the price of rice in China."

Harry resisted snorting in laughter. It wouldn't be

appropriate. In truth, he found this court quite
confusing. It seemed as if anybody who sat on the
Wizengamot could ask questions, and all fifty or so
of them would vote on the verdict too. He wasn't
sure about sentencing. In addition, trials were open
to the public, and this one -- well publicized in
advance -- was attended by various Ministry officials
as well as reporters. Harry had spotted Rita Skeeter
with her acid-green quill and peroxide blonde hair
perched amid the rest.

Now, Harper pursed her lips and continued, "My

pertinent point is simply that we should ask
ourselves if Dumbledore might not have been in
cahoots with Mr. Pettigrew, allowing him to remain
free like that -- "

"Objection!" Ogden said again.

"May I remind you, Madam Harper, this court is
convened to consider the matter of Sirius Black.
Unless you have something to say about Mr. Black
or the survival of Peter Pettigrew -- not his alliances
-- please sit down."

Harper huffed . . . but sat. Bones leaned forward in

her seat and adjusted the monocle covering one eye
as she glanced down at some papers on the bench
in front of her. "Mr. Potter, would you please tell the
court how you can be certain the person you claim
was Peter Pettigrew was Peter Pettigrew?"

For a moment, it seemed a ridiculous question, then

Harry remembered the Wizarding world had such
things as Polyjuice. He'd been told to expect this
query. "Well," he began, fiddling with his fingers in
his lap, "both Sirius and Remus recognised him, and
he didn't deny it himself." Harry didn't mention the
Marauder's Map. "And later, in the . . . in the
graveyard . . . Voldemort" -- hisses came from the
Wizengamot, but Ogden had assured Harry that he
could call Voldemort by name if he wanted to --
"Voldemort called him 'Wormtail,' which was
Pettigrew's nickname."

"Were you in the presence of Pettigrew for more

than an hour on either occasion?"
"Er, no, ma'am." Harry understood where she was
going with that, but had an answer ready. "I did
watch him transform, however, from a rat to a
human -- and back -- and my understanding is that
Polyjuice won't work on an animal, nor an Animagus
in animal form. And somebody using Polyjuice can't
automatically perform the Animagus Transformation
of the person he's copying. Plus, don't the Laws of
Transfiguration state that Transfiguration cancels out
potion-induced transformations?"

Looking a bit impressed, Bones nodded. "Quite

right, Mr. Potter. I'm certain Minerva would be
pleased to know her students do pay attention to her
now and then."

That garnered a few laughs from the judges behind

her. Harry blushed. Hermione paid attention to
Professor McGonagall, or maybe that had been
Cedric. In any case, Harry had just parroted what
Hermione had told him to.

"Madam Bones, another reason I believe this was

Peter Pettigrew -- he didn't want to reveal himself
until a spell forced it. He tried to stay in rat form,
and then he never denied his identity, just pleaded
with me for mercy. Unlike the false Moody, he never
claimed to be Pettigrew until he had no choice." And
this was the argument Ogden had helped him
prepare -- motive, or lack of one. "Voldemort
wouldn't allow anything that helped Sirius, and
wouldn't Pettigrew revealing himself help Sirius?"

"Unless it helped him more!" Harper interjected.

Madam Bones actually sighed. "Jezebel, please --

can you explain how it would benefit him more?"

The other witch had gone red-faced. "Well, we don't

necessarily know that yet, do we? But that doesn't
mean he doesn't have a plan -- especially if
Pettigrew and Black were both in cahoots with him."

At least some others were looking interested, but

Bones just shook her head. "Across decades? I
think not. They could hardly have anticipated this
situation fourteen years ago"

"They wouldn't have had to! They planned the

murder and Pettigrew's disappearance, then Black
went to Azkaban, and when he escaped, he found
Pettigrew again and they began to plot how to bring
back He Who Must Not Be Named . . . along with
help from Albus Dumbledore!"
Whatever sympathy her initial questions might have
garnered her, the muttering had ceased and people
now stared, including Bones, who looked as if she
might like to ask if Harper were off her rocker.
Instead, she said, "First, all of that still assumes
Pettigrew is alive -- which is the only relevant
question under this petition. Second, there's
reasonable doubt of innocence, and then there's
unreasonable. I think that qualifies as the latter."

Presumption of guilt. That was yet another

difference in Wizarding Law, Harry had learned.
Sometimes the burden of proof lay with the defence,
not the prosecution. "It's medieval!" Hermione had
fussed to Ogden.

"Well, yes," he'd replied, "it's standard inquisitorial

practise. In times of peace, however, it's not de jure,
and coming from an Anglo-Saxon tradition, we do
theoretically believe the accused to be innocent until
declared guilty by a court. But I'm afraid that in
general practise, the Wizengamot has a great deal
of authoritative power, and can declare guilt even in
the absence of a trial when the situation is deemed
dire enough -- as it was during the last war.
Therefore, in the eyes of the law, Sirius has been
declared guilty and the burden of proof lies with the
defence. Hence our petition. Our job is to show that
the principle murder victim is not, in fact, dead, and
the man previously believed to be the victim may, in
fact, be the murderer."

"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said now, bringing Harry

back to the present, "since Madam Harper seems
determined to make this court address the motives
of Albus Dumbledore for asking your silence, would
you please state what they were, so far as you
know?"

"We were underage. And, er, Professor Lupin was

the only adult there who saw Pettigrew, and he, well,
he's a werewolf. Even if Professor Dumbledore
believed us, and it all made sense, he knew -- or
rather he believed -- that our testimony wouldn't be
enough to clear Sirius until there was additional
concrete evidence, like there is now."

"Are you suggesting this court would dismiss an

eyewitness testimony out of hand?" asked another
member of the Wizengamot, a middle-aged
gentleman who wore his plum robes and hat with
great dignity.

Ogden rose and cleared his throat. "May I reply to

that?"
"You may," Madam Bones said.

"As Mr. Gerrard no doubt knows, the court will

recognise the testimony of minors and those
determined to be mentally unstable only as
corroboration."

"Wouldn't they have corroborated each other?"

Gerrard asked. "Not to mention that Lupin fellow
supposedly saw it too, and he's an adult. I don't like
the implication this court is prejudiced -- "

"Albus Dumbledore knew the law, Mr. Gerrard,"

Ogden went on. "The night in question was a night
of the full moon, and even though Mr. Lupin saw the
events under discussion before his unfortunate
transformation, it could still be argued that a full
moon placed his mental stability at doubt. Whilst all
these witnesses might, indeed, have corroborated
each other, it wasn't a strong case and any self-
respecting barrister would have advised against
attempting it unless absolutely necessary. It seems
to me that Professor Dumbledore believed new --
and better -- evidence would present itself
eventually. And it has. Does the court have further
questions for Mr. Potter that are pertinent to the
case? If not, the defence asks that he be released
and calls Miss Hermione Granger to the witness
chair."

A moment of silence reigned as Madam Bones

glanced around, then she nodded her head at
Harry. "You may step down, Mr. Potter."

Rising, Harry exited the big, cold stone room as

quickly as he could without appearing to run, and
without looking up at the crowd assembled to
watch. The flash of Wizarding photography went off
in a blinding magnesium glare so that his sight was
full of white spots and he nearly missed Hermione
coming in. He hoped she'd have an easier time of it,
not being first.

In the dank stone corridor outside, Ron and Remus

leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, whilst
Snape stood as far away from them as he could
manage and still hear himself summoned. Back at
headquarters, he'd agreed to tell the truth as he saw
it, but, "I'm not on your side, Black, nor will it help my
case with the Dark Lord if I appear too eager to
assist in your bid for freedom. I will tell the truth --
nothing more, nothing less."

It was probably the best they could hope for,

although Harry still didn't understand why Snape had
to be here since he hadn't seen Pettigrew, but
Ogden had explained that the court would expect to
hear from everyone present at the Shrieking Shack,
even if not a direct eye-witness to Pettigrew's
existence. Snape had seen events before and
after. "And he can't say that Pettigrew wasn't there
because he knows he was," Hermione had said just
that morning.

Both Ron and Harry had stared at her. "What makes

you think that makes a difference?"

"Because he said he'd tell the truth -- so while he

can't confirm Pettigrew is alive, and wouldn't willingly
anyway, he also can't lie and say he knows for sure
he isn't, because he knows he is."

Harry had resisted rolling his eyes, and now,

crossed the corridor to join Ron and Remus against
the wall. "Well?" Ron asked. He was almost white
with nerves.

"Some of them in there are out for blood -- but not

ours," Harry said. "There's this one witch who keeps
trying to make the case all about Dumbledore."

"Jezebel Harper, yes," Remus said. "She's an old

opponent of Dumbledore's, and while it's doubtful
she's a friend of You-Know-Who, she was fairly high
in Fudge's administration. Be glad Umbridge stayed
at Hogwarts. Those two sometimes work in
tandem. Fortunately for us, Harper doesn't know the
law very well."

"I don't think Madam Bones likes her much," Harry

added.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Amelia lacks patience for

nonsense." Remus straightened his cravat -- a
nervous gesture. "I just hope the eyewitness
interrogations go swiftly. Our opponents will try to
trip us up, but the real evidence comes from those
Ministry Eyes." He glanced down the corridor
towards the turn hiding the stairs. "Kingsley hasn't
arrived yet. I hope there aren't problems."

Harry exchanged a look with Ron. "So do I."

Hermione was in the chamber another ten minutes

before the bailiff waved Ron over, and Hermione
emerged, expression confident, which relieved
Harry. "Did some witch named Harper go after you
too?" he asked.

"She tried, but really, her arguments are absurd -- "

"Don't dismiss her too readily," Lupin warned. "She
has power."

"But all we have to do is show that Pettigrew is still

alive in order to prove the Decree on False Deaths,
and we'll have done that -- shown he's been seen on
more than one occasion, and in situations where he
couldn't have been Polyjuiced -- for which you really
ought to thank Cedric, Harry. That was mostly his
work on the limits of Transfigurations."

Harry blushed at the mention of Cedric, and Remus

noticed. "You mentioned something last night about
wanting to talk to me about Cedric?"

"Oh, er" -- Harry turned redder with Hermione there

-- "yes, but it can wait."

"He probably wants to talk about the fact he and

Cedric are having a silly quarrel," Hermione said.
"They won't talk to each other, like Harry and Ron
last year."

"A quarrel?" Remus' eyebrows went up and he

latched onto that, perhaps looking for distraction.
Harry wished he'd chosen something else. "What
are you quarrelling about?"
"A Quidditch match," Hermione said when Harry
hesitated. "Cedric thinks Harry let him catch the
Snitch, although Harry says he didn't."

"I didn't!"

Hermione gestured with her hand as if to say, 'See?'

"Cedric is hardly unreasonable, Harry. Why does he

think you let him catch the Snitch if you didn't?"

"Because I should have caught it," Harry mumbled.

"It was sort of right there in front of me."

"He said he wasn't looking at it," Hermione supplied.

"I see," Remus replied, and might have asked more,

but the sound of several approaching feet down the
corridor interrupted. They all looked around.
Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived along with several
additional Aurors, all in formal red robes, and three
wizards from the Maintenance department carrying a
projector and screen.

"Remus," Shacklebolt said, nodding cautiously.

Here in public, he couldn't appear too friendly but he
did come over to speak with them. "It took a bit to
get all the wards undone. The evidence had to be
carefully protected. It's been at Gringotts since I
realised what we had."

"It hasn't been tampered with?" Remus asked.

"Trust me, I checked. That's why we were running

late. I could just imagine getting up in front of the
Wizengamot with empty slides."

The bailiff had reappeared to call for Snape and let

Ron exit. Ron didn't look half as cheery as
Hermione had. "That Harper woman is a harpy," he
said, "kept going off about why I never knew my rat
wasn't a rat. Bloody hell! Like everybody assumes
their pet's an Animagus in hiding?"

Despite himself, Harry grinned. Ron's pragmatic

side had probably been his best defence.

The trial wore on. After the last of the eyewitness

accounts, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Remus
crowded into the courtroom to hear Shacklebolt's
presentation, although Snape had left as soon as his
own testimony was complete. "Having done what is
required, I see no further reason to waste my time
here," he'd said, stalking off.
Shacklebolt's testimony went off without a hitch. The
slides were untouched, and if several were blurry,
two or three showed Peter Pettigrew quite clearly. In
one, Shacklebolt pointed out his silver right hand --
"as described by Harry Potter following the rebirth of
He Who Must Not Be Named."

"That boy could have made it up!" Harper

interrupted.

"Before the fact? Potter described him last June."

"He didn't name him then as Pettigrew!"

"He called him Wormtail, the same as You-Know-

Who had. It's known to be Pettigrew's nickname."

"This 'Wormtail' could be anybody! I'm not

convinced Peter Pettigrew is alive."

Turning in her seat, Madam Bones removed her

monocle. "I thought earlier you were convinced that
Pettigrew and Dumbledore were in cahoots? Then
you said Pettigrew, Dumbledore and Black were.
Now you claim to doubt this is Pettigrew at all?
Please make up your mind, Madam Harper."
"I believe," Harper said, "that Albus Dumbledore has
been on the side of You-Know-Who all along, that he
and You-Know-Who plotted this entire thing, and that
Black and whomever this imposter is are in on the
plot. They all worked together to get Cornelius
Fudge out of office so that You-Know-Who could
take over more easily!"

Once again a sort of astonished silence reigned.

"Why are we discussing theories before the closing
arguments?" Bones asked, sounding tired once
again. "In any case, the improbability of that theory
barely needs to be outlined. We all know how long
Albus Dumbledore has been an enemy of He Who
Must Not Be Named."

"We've also all been told Dumbledore was an enemy

of Gellert Grindelwald, but just wait till this new
biography comes out! I understand there's some
shocking evidence in there to make us re-evaluate
just how lily-white Albus Dumbledore was!"

Concerned and curious, Harry glanced at Remus,

but Madam Bones was speaking again. "Madam
Harper, hearsay about the contents of a book not yet
released is gossip, not evidence -- nor is it the point
of this trial, which concerns Sirius Black, not Albus
Dumbledore. Mr. Shacklebolt, if you would please
approach the bench and surrender the slides in
question for magical evaluation?"

Shacklebolt did so as Harper, breathing heavily, sat

down. Bones muttered a few spells and tapped the
slides with her wand; they glowed first a pale blue
then a bright gold. Apparently satisfied, she
nodded. "I find these to be free of any magical
residue from possible tampering beyond the original
development process, and the wards set on them for
protection. I therefore accept them as evidence. Mr.
Shacklebolt, we'll hear your Aurors' testimony now."

Each of the three Aurors with Shacklebolt took the

witness chair in turn; all of them had been present
during the Ministry battle and could confirm that the
figure identified as Peter Pettigrew had, indeed,
fought on the side of He Who Must Not be Named,
and had cast or attempted to cast Unforgivable
Curses. "We have," Ogden said when their
interrogation was finished, "one final piece of
evidence to present to the court. Mr. Shacklebolt?"

Shacklebolt opened his briefcase and pulled out a

small wooden box, which he brought to the bench
and handed to Madam Bones. "Submitted as
Exhibit B," Ogden said, "the remains of Peter
Pettigrew's severed finger."
Bones, who had been in the process of opening the
box, hastily shut it again, expression mildly
disgusted. "Really, Mr. Ogden! What is the point of
bringing his finger bone into court?"

"Upon examination of the old records, we were able

to determine that out of compassion for her loss, the
remains of Pettigrew were returned to his mother
without examination by an Auror. Unfortunately, that
'compassion' sent an innocent man to prison, as
even a cursory examination by an expert would have
revealed that the severed finger had not been lost
due to a massive, dismembering explosion. Mr.
Shacklebolt?"

Shacklebolt nodded and took up the explanation,

"Pursuant to the court's order, Aurors exhumed
Pettigrew's grave and submitted the bone to a close
evaluation. Even fourteen years later, it was clear to
our examiners that it was severed by means of a
sharp object -- such as a large knife. That bone was
cut, not blasted."

And beside Harry, Hermione clasped her hands

together and muttered, "Oh, well done. That's the
nail in the coffin of Sirius' guilt -- no pun intended."
Indeed, the courtroom was suddenly full of muttering
as people absorbed the implications.

"Madam Bones," Ogden said, "that concludes our

evidence for the survival of Peter Mark Pettigrew.
We are prepared now to submit our final
arguments."

Still eying the box with the finger bone, Madam

Bones nodded once. "The floor is yours. Continue."

"Thank you." Ogden began pacing. "Madam Bones

and members of this esteemed court, after the
evidence presented here today, any further comment
from me seems almost superfluous."

"That won't stop him from making one," Ron

muttered.

Harry elbowed him and Hermione hissed, "That's his

job, Ronald."

"I was just saying -- "

"Shh," Harry warned.

" . . . most specifically the visual evidence submitted

by Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt's department,
confirming the presence of a Death Eater matching
the description of Peter Pettigrew fighting on the
side of He Who Must Not Be Named at the Ministry
on 13th August of this year. We can now reconstruct
what happened on the night of 1st November, 1981
when Sirius Black caught up with Peter Pettigrew.
Only Black -- and Pettigrew -- knew that James and
Lily Potter had changed the identity of their Secret
Keeper in an attempt to fool anyone who might
capture Black and try to force the secret from him --
"

" -- or maybe the Potters knew better than to trust

him in the first place."

"Silence!" Madam Bones roared, twisting to glare at

-- predictably -- Jezebel Harper. "These are closing
arguments. You will not interrupt again or you will be
expelled from this courtroom!"

Ogden continued without missing a beat. "Black

suggested that he himself take the dangerous role of
bait, but a Secret Keeper had to be found. Peter
Pettigrew was suggested. Unfortunately, he had
already been subverted to the side of He Who Must
Not Be Named. Not suspecting he was a spy, and
trusting his long friendship, the Potters agreed.
"We all know the next part of the story. He Who
Must Not Be Named attacked the Potters on 31st
October, killing both James and Lily, then dying
himself when the Killing Curse rebounded on him.
What we didn't know is that as the rest of the world
rejoiced, Sirius Black embarked on a quest for
vengeance against the man who had betrayed their
friends. Suspecting that Black would pursue him,
and being a poor duellist himself, Pettigrew prepared
a trap.

"When Black caught up to Pettigrew on a street in

Godric's Hollow not far from the ruins of the Potter
house, Pettigrew had twelve Muggles held hostage
by means of an Imperius Curse. Black attempted to
capture Pettigrew, but Pettigrew shouted out that
Black had betrayed the Potters, then blew up the
Muggles, killing them instantly. Black was merely
blown backwards whilst Pettigrew protected himself
by means of a Shield Charm, then Stunned Black
before he could recover. Cutting off his own
forefinger to leave at the scene of the crime,
Pettigrew Transformed into a rat and escaped. Both
he and You-Know-Who had every reason to want
him to remain hidden. As long as he did, Sirius
would remain in Azkaban, and as a Black who'd
taken the other side in the first war, He Who Must
Not Be Named held Sirius in especial contempt.
"For twelve years, Pettigrew remained hidden, living
in the care of the Weasley family as a pet until
forced back into human form briefly on the night of
23rd June, 1994, in Hogsmeade. Exposed at last
and not daring to remain in England, he fled in
search of He Who Must Not Be Named, reuniting
with him in Albania. He then became part of the plot
to lure Harry Potter to the Little Hagleton graveyard
last June, where he assisted in You-Know-Who's
resurrection, and -- as we've seen via Ministry Eyes
-- he was present at this last devastating attack on
the Ministry, where he clearly fought as a Death
Eater.

"We therefore petition the court, in accordance with

the Decree on False Deaths of 1743, to grant the
release of Sirius Orion Black on the following
grounds:

"... any Wizard convicted of Murder may, at Any

Time, through a Competent Agent, present
Creditable Evidence to the Wizengamot that his
Victim is not Dead. If it appears that the Victim is
not Dead, the Wizengamot shall issue a Writ of
Release, and the Prisoner shall go Free."
Ogden bowed his head briefly to the assembled
Wizengamot. "We thank the court for your kind
attention." And he returned to his seat beside the
now-empty witness chair.

Rising, Madam Bones turned to face those

assembled. "What say this court? Shall we cast our
votes?"

"I demand a recess!"

It was, predictably, Harper.

"On what grounds?" Bones asked, curious.

"I need time to consider."

Bones's sigh was audible. "Is there a second to this

request?"

"I second it," said a slouching, dumpy man with a

moustache whom Harry had scarcely noticed until
now.

"Very well, there's been a second. We shall recess

for ten minutes. Members of the Wizengamot will
not speak to any of the witnesses, and will remain in
chambers during that time."
The plum-robed wizards and witches filed out
silently through the rear doors by which they'd
entered, and Ogden rose from his barrister's seat,
trailing Shacklebolt who'd crossed to join the four of
them watching at the rear. Other conversation had
broken out in a low hum from the gallery above
them. Harry glanced up once, but spotted Skeeter
watching him with a predatory smile and quickly
looked away, back to Remus. "Now what?"

"Now Harper will go back there and try to sway

enough to her side to block the petition."

"How many does she need?"

"One third."

That worried Harry. He'd thought it was a simple

case of majority. "Will she get it?"

"I don't know," Remus replied, face concerned.

"She won't get it," Shacklebolt said. "She'll be lucky

if she gets a quarter, and that only because they're
enemies of Dumbledore. She sounded absolutely
batty there at the end."
"More likely increasingly desperate," Ogden
corrected.

The sound of the main court doors opening stopped

their conversation. To Harry's shock, Sirius himself
strode across the floor, trailed by a rather desperate-
looking Tonks and another Auror whom Harry didn't
know, both wearing the same red robes as
Shacklebolt. The Aurors looked harassed; Sirius
looked magnificent in deep blue velvet and a
waistcoat of maroon with gold stitching that
concealed his thinness. The assembled watchers
and media let out a gasp and more flashbulbs went
off. A few of the bolder called out to Sirius for a
statement, but he waved them silent.

Harry was struck by both fear and admiration.

Hurrying over, he joined his godfather by the witness
seat. Remus followed, along with Ron and
Hermione. "What are you doing here?" Remus
blurted before even Harry could react. "I thought
you'd agreed -- "

" -- to stay away? And miss hearing them admit they

made a mistake?"

"Sirius, if things don't go well . . . "

Sirius just glanced all around, eyes running over the
assembled watchers. "I'm tired of running. There's
finally evidence that I'm innocent -- incontrovertible
evidence -- and if the court can't, or won't recognise
that, then, well, I'd rather die in Azkaban than
continue to live under a corrupt government."

"Very noble," Remus muttered. "Also very stupid."

He pointed to Harry. "Would you consider for once
who else is depending on you now? It's not only
about you anymore." Remus sounded angry. Not
just worried and upset, but outright angry. "The
night Lily and James died, you went after Peter
instead of after Harry because of your damn pride.
Now you're standing in this courtroom instead of
staying at home because of that same pride!"

He wasn't speaking loudly enough for more than

those right around to hear, yet Sirius looked as
stunned as if Remus had shouted at him. "It's not
just pride. It wasn't just pride that night, either. Is
that what you really think?" He sounded . . . hurt,
and Harry wondered why they'd never discussed this
before. Surely they'd discussed this before? But
perhaps it had been too tender. It was harder to
broach things when what the other person thought
truly mattered. "I had to find Peter," Sirius was
saying. "I had to show he had the Mark. Everyone
thought I'd been Secret Keeper; they'd have thought
I betrayed Lily and James."

"Maybe the four of you should have trusted me too,

instead of doubting me," Remus snapped.

Sirius went very quiet, Ron looked gobsmacked,

Hermione had her hands over her mouth as if to
stop a whimper, and Harry just wanted to sink into
the floor. Didn't they care that they were in public?
It was Sirius who said, "We'll finish this later. I've a
good reason for being here besides pride."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" It was Ogden's voice,

not Remus's. He'd joined them. He didn't look
pleased.

"A guilty man hides, an innocent one doesn't." Sirius

cocked his head. "You said that yourself."

"I said that you appearing here was one option, not
that it was necessarily a good idea."

Sirius just shrugged and, with a wary glance at

Remus, who still looked fit to be tied, seated himself
in the central chair. He arranged his robes as if he
occupied a throne, not the seat of the accused.
Harry watched the big clock on the wall. Any minute
now. His hand tightened on Sirius's shoulder and
Sirius reached over to pat it. "Go back to the
courtroom rear, Harry. Whatever happens next, stay
by Remus. Remus, Hermione, Ron -- watch over
Harry."

The doors to chambers opened and the court began

to shuffle back in. All around them clothing rustled
as people stood, and a rush of whispering indicated
the Wizengamot had spotted who was waiting for
them on the floor. But they took their seats in an
orderly fashion and the rest of those viewing sat
down too. Harry let Remus lead him to the
courtroom rear. "Bloody cheeky move," Shacklebolt
whispered when they joined him, "but brave."
Remus didn't reply.

Madam Bones had remained standing and now

addressed Sirius as if he'd been there all along: "Will
the petitioner please rise."

Sirius and Ogden both stood. Harry felt Hermione

grip his hand on one side and Ron held his elbow on
the other. Madam Bones turned then to the court.
"In the Matter of Sirius Black and his Petition for
Release pursuant to the Decree on False Deaths of
1743, I now call the vote. Madam Marchbanks,
would you please count and record? All those in
favour of the petition, signify by raising your hand."

Harry watched the hands go up, Bones's among

them. That was more than half -- easily more than
half. But was it the two thirds necessary? He
couldn't be certain. His heart beat hard and he kept
swallowing.

"All those opposed?"

Hands rose again -- not nearly so many. Harper's

was, predictably, among them. They were counted
too and duly recorded.

"Any members who choose to abstain?"

Two hands rose, one of them Ogden's, who was

required to vote so as Sirius' advocate. Madam
Bones turned to Madam Marchbanks -- a tiny little
woman who looked as if a strong wind could have
blown her over. Yet her age-raspy voice was sharp
as she said, "Thirty-six for, twelve against, two
abstaining."

Thirty six . . . thirty six . . . that was enough! Beside

him, Hermione was squealing and hugging his neck
even as Ron was slapping his back. Remus
shouted in exultation, but still standing in the
courtroom centre, Sirius made no overt gesture of
victory.

Madam Bones picked up her gavel and struck it on

the bench. "Order!" When things quieted down, she
went on, "The petition for a Writ of Release is hereby
granted to Sirius Orion Black, this day 6th November,
1995."

The gavel came down.

Only then did Sirius let out a genuine whoop of joy

before being mobbed by friends and media. Remus
was the first to reach him after Ogden shook his
hand. They embraced and kissed each other on the
cheek, any friction between them buried by the pure
elation of victory.

"Now what, Mr. Black?" someone shouted from the

crowd around them.

Sirius let Remus go, but left an arm around his

shoulder. "Now we buy new curtains. Some without
doxies, I'm thinking."

Those listening appeared only confused by that, but

Harry, Ron and Hermione broke up laughing.
No curtains were bought that evening, however.
Instead dinner was had at an expensive restaurant
in Diagon Alley where Sirius insisted they go after
leaving the Ministry. He strolled down the middle of
the street in full view, albeit flanked by Tonks and
Shacklebolt in formal red to be certain no wand-
happy wizard attempted to do him harm before news
of his release spread fully. If years in Azkaban had
left him thin and worn, genuine freedom had put
colour in his cheeks for the moment. Or perhaps it
was the unusually damp chill of the November
evening. In any case, he simply enjoyed walking
around for a while, then he and Remus took Harry,
Ron, Hermione, and Viktor Krum -- who'd met them
there -- to dinner. They invited Shacklebolt and
Tonks as well, but Tonks begged off. "I'd better get
back to Hogwarts or Mad-Eye will have my badge.
He only let me go for the day." Shacklebolt excused
himself as well; word had spread fast enough that
Sirius should be safe.

That left just their small group, yet Harry couldn't

remember a better dinner ever, even Christmas with
the Weasleys or the autumn Welcome Feast at
Hogwarts. He had his two best friends and his
godfather, plus Remus and Krum, and all in public
like a real family. No more need to hide. People
kept stopping by their table to offer congratulations;
some Sirius seemed glad to see, others not so
much, but he was truly the man of the hour, and the
recipient of many a toast. He insisted that Harry,
Ron and Hermione have some wine, as well. Under
the circumstances nobody seemed to care, and
Hermione was 16 anyway. But in the cheer and
chatter of the evening, Harry had more than he
should have. It wasn't deliberate; he'd never been
curious about alcohol like some of his age-mates.
After fighting Voldemort, slipping out to get pissed
didn't seem all that dangerous or exciting. Tonight,
he just hadn't been paying attention, and by the time
they left after eight, he tripped on the step down
from the restaurant into the street.

Remus caught him. "Oh, dear," he said, laughing.

"Sirius, I don't think we can send them back to
Minerva in this state. She'd box our ears, and theirs
too."

Sirius came over to look into Harry's face, then

Ron's and Hermione's. "I'm sober," Hermione said,
which Viktor confirmed with a nod. "But, er, I'd like
to stay -- if they are." She shot Viktor a glance and
he smiled faintly, his arm around her shoulders.
Harry was feeling rather warm, despite the weather,
and dizzy, and the idea of Flooing back to Hogwarts
-- all that spinning -- definitely didn't appeal. For that
matter, he wasn't sure he could Floo back to
Grimmauld Place without losing all his lovely dinner.
He doubted the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding
would taste as good coming up as it had going
down. "Could we, uh, walk? Back home, I mean?
Instead of Floo?"

"Walk?" Sirius appeared stunned, but amused.

"Harry, lad, come here. Wizards don't walk, not
when we can Apparate. Remus, if you'll take Ron,
I'll take Harry, and Viktor can take Hermione."

Back home, a message was duly sent to Professor

McGonagall, although nobody mentioned the real
reason they were staying. McGonagall agreed as
long as they were back at the castle by their first
class. While Sirius fetched fresh sheets and
grumbled about Kreacher, Hermione and Viktor
slipped off to be alone together for a bit and Ron lay
flat on his back in the drawing room, "to watch the
ceiling spin," he said. Remus took the opportunity to
pull Harry aside into an unused bedroom. "So
what's going on with Cedric?" he asked.
The question took Harry by surprise although it
shouldn't have. After the conversation with
Hermione and Remus in the Ministry corridor earlier,
he wasn't sure he wanted to discuss it with Remus
after all, even whilst he did. He desperately did. He
just wasn't certain where to begin. Fortunately his
wine-soaked tongue didn't wait for him to figure it
out. "Was Sirius the first boy you ever fancied?
When Sirius and I talked, he said he's gay, like
Cedric, but you're not. How did you know you were
bisexual? Did you fancy girls and then wake up one
day and fancy Sirius? Or did you always fancy boys
and girls both?" The questions nearly tripped over
each other, tumbling out.

Remus was smiling. "I had a suspicion this might be

something along those lines. You fancy Cedric?"

"I . . . don't know." Harry could feel himself blushing

terribly. "I think maybe I do, but I'm not certain. I've
never fancied a boy before."

Remus just nodded. "It can be very confusing,

especially when you're friends with the person first.
Furthermore, it's one thing to support a gay friend,
quite another to decide you might swing both ways
yourself."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding and relieved at being
able finally to admit that was part of it. "I've been
telling myself it shouldn't matter, I don't care that
Cedric fancies blokes but -- "

" -- but it's different when it's you."

"Precisely. I feel like a hypocrite."

"These things come in stages, Harry. Let me ask

you this -- what if Cedric were a girl?"

"Huh?"

"Do you wish Cedric was a girl?"

Confused, Harry rubbed his scar. "Er, no? I'm not

sure he'd be the same person, if he was a girl. It's
Cedric I like. Fancy. Maybe."

"Ah!" Remus slapped Harry on the arm. "I think you

just answered your own question. It's about the
person, not his -- or her -- gender. It's a particular
person. That's something Sirius never entirely
understood -- nor James, really. They tried, but for
them, there was one gender who simply didn't
attract them that way. They could love a friend of
that gender, but not fancy him -- or her. Sirius loved
Lily, but never felt attraction for her, and James loved
Sirius, but never felt attraction. So as much as they
tried, I don't think they ever quite understood how I
could fancy both, although attraction isn't like a
Muggle light switch. You don't just flip it on or off at
your convenience. So you might find yourself
fancying Cedric, but never Ron or Hermione, even
while all three are your friends. It's a funny thing."

Remus stopped then and waited whilst Harry

pondered that in his alcohol-fogged brain, although
the wine-buzz was fading, leaving him mostly
sleepy. "So I could fancy Cho and Cedric both -- not
at the same time, I mean. But it's not necessarily
some weird . . . transference?"

"Well, you could fancy them both at the same time,

but yes, you could have a crush on first one, then
the other. Ask yourself this -- do you want to be
Cedric, or be with Cedric?"

"Be with him. I don't . . . I don't really think about

Cho much any more. I did. But then it just stopped.
Sort of weird, really, how you can be that caught up
in somebody, then . . . not."

"Did that happen before or after you started fancying

Cedric?"
"Before, I think. We went on a sort-of-date to
Hogsmeade, but it didn't go very well. We didn't
have a lot to talk about, and I was too worried she
wasn't having a good time. Later, when I talked to
Cedric about it, he asked if I'd had a good time, and I
realised that, well -- I hadn't. Later, I realised it was
really Cedric I wanted to be with, and I started
wondering if it had always been Cedric. I couldn't
stop looking at him even though I didn't want him to
catch me staring. Then during the Quidditch game, I
got distracted and just completely missed the Snitch
because he was right there and the sun was on him
and he was so . . . beautiful."

Harry stopped abruptly, neck and ears burning.

Remus was smiling again like he thought it was cute
-- which was rather annoying, actually. "Crushes
fade sometimes when you realise there's not much
behind it. That's normal, Harry. It doesn't mean
what you felt for Cho wasn't real -- or what you feel
now for Cedric isn't real, or that you want Cho to be
a boy or Cedric to be a girl. It just means you had a
crush on one and now have a crush on the other.
It's normal, all right? Perfectly normal."

"So you think I do have a crush on him?"

Remus actually laughed -- if not unkindly. "Given
what just came out of your mouth, I'd say yes. And
badly." He patted Harry's shoulder and Harry felt
relieved, but also confused further. The minute he
solved one problem, another presented itself.

"You know," he said, "there's a certain irony in

realising you fancy a bloke who just happens to be
gay and could fancy you back, except he fancies
somebody else instead."

Remus's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you think

he fancies somebody else?"

"He told me. You remember Oliver Wood?" Remus

nodded. "Well, we were talking about the Yule Ball
and he wouldn't tell me who he'd wanted to go with,
said it didn't matter, but I said he knew who I fancied
-- Cho -- but wouldn't tell me who he fancied, so he
told me it was Wood."

"He told you he fancied Oliver, or that he'd wanted to

ask Wood to the Ball?"

"Right."

"No, Harry -- which? Which did he say?"

"Huh?" Harry was confused; it must still be the wine.

"Did he tell you that he fancies Oliver Wood, or did

he tell you he'd have liked to ask Wood to the Ball, if
he could have? They're not the same thing."

"Well they sort of are, aren't they?"

"No." Remus was shaking his head and smiling

slightly. "The Yule Ball was last year; things change
in a year."

Harry just blinked. "Oh. You don't think . . . but he

wouldn't. We're just friends; he's never acted like it's
anything else. And it makes sense he'd fancy Wood;
he's a professional Quidditch player. I'm just me,
and three years younger. He thinks of me like a little
brother. Besides, he's really angry with me right
now."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck and shook his

head. "Look, Harry, Cedric is your friend, but he
also believes you're straight. He's no doubt put you
in the 'not available' category in his head. If you
want to make it clear you are available -- and
interested in him -- then you might have to stop
avoiding him and have a real conversation. You
could start by telling him the truth -- you missed the
Snitch because you were looking at him."

The prospect of telling Cedric any such thing was

vaguely terrifying. "But what if he doesn't like me?
What if he does still fancy Wood?"

"That's the risk we all take, Harry. You found the

courage to ask Cho to the Ball last year, then, even
though she turned you down the year before, you
asked her out again this year and got a 'yes.'
Sometimes the answer's 'no', but sometimes . . .
sometimes the most amazing thing happens and we
discover the person we care so much about feels
the same way for us. But you can't know unless you
take the risk. Remember, your mother turned down
your father a number of times, and they ended up
married."

Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder and steered

him out of the room. "Go to bed. And when you get
back to Hogwarts, find Cedric and have that talk.
Even if you don't tell him you fancy him, you
shouldn't let a misunderstanding sour a perfectly
good friendship."

Despite being tired, however, Harry couldn't sleep

immediately. He tossed and turned, playing out
scenarios in his head. Most of them ended with
Cedric laughing and calling him a silly little boy for
ever thinking an eighteen-year-old could fancy a
fifteen-year-old. He finally drifted off into a restless
slumber that slid into ugly nightmares full of screams
and hissing and green light.

He woke shouting. That roused Ron, who was

sharing his room, and Viktor, who'd been sleeping in
the room across the hall. It was still dark out, but
they'd both lit their wands and were staring at him
with frightened faces. "Voldemort's struck again," he
said.
Chapter 10: A Knife in the Back

"Oh, for goodness sake, Dolores! Let me tell the

poor child!"

"It is the duty of the Headmistress to inform students

of family emergencies."

"Emergency! Is that what you're calling this?"

Groggy, Cedric raised his head from his pillow and

pushed back the bed curtains. He didn't know the
hour, but it was most definitely still dark. He could
hear Sprout and Umbridge arguing somewhere in
the Sett. "What the hell?" Scott muttered from his
own bed, and a wand suddenly lit inside the curtains
of Peter's. Ed remained dead to the world.

Grabbing his dressing gown -- a ratty green-and-

brown thing that barely made it past his knees now
-- from the bed's foot Cedric lit his own wand and
headed for the door in socked feet, Peter and Scott
right behind him. Apparently, Sprout and Umbridge
were in the common room and Cedric headed that
way. They weren't the only students awoken by the
noise. "Go back to your dormitories," Umbridge was
saying as curious heads poked out of round
doorways. "This doesn't concern you, go back to
your dormitories."

"Who's in trouble?" Scott muttered behind Cedric,

who merely shook his head. He wasn't going
anywhere until he knew what was afoot, regardless
of Umbridge's orders. Extinguishing his wand, he
moved into the common room and stood back
against one honeycombed wall. The room had once
been a wine cellar and ancient wooden racks still
ran along two walls. Students used them now for
cubbyholes or to tack up notices.

Sprout spotted him before Umbridge did, and raised

both her arms as if in relief. "Cedric, thank heaven.
Come here, come here," she waved him over. He
crossed to join her, frowning, worried. Was he the
'poor child' with a family emergency? What on earth
had happened? His feet and hands felt suddenly
cold.

Umbridge glowered but Sprout just slipped an arm

around him, saying, "I don't see Ernie, and you've
been like a big brother to Hannah since she arrived.
Come with me."
Oh, no . . . not Hannah. "What happened?" he
asked.

Professor Sprout rubbed red eyes. "Her mother . . .

" but she didn't finish. Cedric felt his throat close.
Hannah only had a mother; her father had left them
when she'd been little. Did Hannah even know
where he was?

Boys weren't the only ones up; in fact, Susan Bones

and Hannah herself could be seen peering out from
the girl's side, Hannah's blonde hair down for the
night instead of up in its customary ties. She looked
sleepy and confused. Sprout went right to her,
pulling her out of the tunnel and hugging her tightly.
"Now the rest of you go back to your rooms," she
said to the students still stubbornly hanging about,
"except Susan, and Cedric. Somebody fetch Ernie,
and Justin too."

Students disappeared at Sprout's command

whereas they'd ignored Umbridge's. Hannah's eyes
were round and she dumbly let Sprout lead her over
to a couch and sit her down, Susan on one side,
Cedric on the other. Perhaps annoyed at being
passed over, Umbridge bustled forward to sit before
Sprout could, taking the chair next to the couch. "I'm
so sorry to have to inform you, but there's been
another murder, Miss Abbott. Your mother was
found dead in her home a little after midnight tonight,
a Dark Mark in the sky above."

There was, Cedric reflected, probably no good way

to deliver such news, but there had to be a better
way than that. Beside him, Hannah had simply
frozen. She didn't make any sound at all, just stared
at Umbridge as if she hadn't understood what she'd
just heard.

"Well, dear?" Umbridge asked.

"Give her a minute!" Susan snapped, her arm

around Hannah's shoulders.

"Miss Bones!"

"Dolores," Sprout said, but before she could say

more, Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley
practically tumbled into the common room from the
tunnel to the boy's dorms.

"Where's Hannah?" Ernie demanded, but he

sounded more scared than pompous at the
moment. Spotting them on the couch, he hurried
over and Cedric gave up his seat to Ernie. Hannah
still hadn't spoken, even to acknowledge Ernie's
arrival; she stared straight ahead. "What
happened?" Ernie asked.

"Her mum was killed by You-Know-Who," Susan

answered.

"Oh, no," Ernie said, wrapping both arms around

Hannah's shoulders and pulling her to him, rocking
her and stroking her hair. "Hannah banana." With
Ernie there, Hannah finally slumped and began to
cry -- not loudly, but with the heaving gasps of
shocked grief. Cedric moved back even as Justin
moved forward and knelt at Hannah's feet, patting
her knees as Susan rubbed her back and Ernie held
on tightly. Seeing Hannah cocooned by friends,
Cedric felt superfluous and glanced at Sprout, but
she wasn't watching him. Umbridge was; she lifted
an eyebrow. He took a few more steps back, but
didn't leave quite yet.

"Well?" Umbridge asked Hannah again and Cedric

wondered why she kept pushing, or what she
expected Hannah to say, or why she was even
there. Most people would rather avoid a duty like
this -- telling a student her only parent had been
murdered -- not insist on being the one to deliver
such painful news.
"What happened?" But it was Ernie who asked, not
Hannah.

"Doesn't Miss Abbott want to know?"

"Of course she wants to know! But she's a little

upset, professor."

"She hasn't asked," Umbridge pointed out.

Everybody in the room (except Hannah) gaped at

Umbridge, as if they couldn't believe she'd honestly
said that. "What happened?" came a small voice
from the couch -- Hannah's finally.

"What happened, what, Miss Abbott?"

For several seconds, Cedric didn't understand what

Umbridge was asking; it seemed to make no sense.
"Don't you need another word there?" Umbridge
prompted when everybody just stared at her. "'What
happened, please?'"

Justin nearly came up off the floor at the

Headmistress, but Sprout put her own bulk between
Umbridge and her students. "What on earth,
Dolores?"
"Manners are important, Professor Sprout, don't you
agree? These students seem to forget theirs at the
drop of a hat."

Cedric simply saw red. He'd never felt so angry in

his entire life. "You sadistic -- !" He cut himself off
before he actually cursed a teacher. "A girl's mother
is dead, and all you care about is whether or not she
remembers to say 'please'?"

Eyes frightened, Sprout was shaking her head at

him, wordlessly urging him to stop right there but
Umbridge appeared gleeful. "As I was saying,
Pomona -- manners here are quite atrocious.
Detention, Mr. Diggory. Tomorrow night -- well,
tonight, I suppose. You may go."

"Dolores!" Sprout began, "They're just children! Of

course they're emotional! Cedric is one of the
politest boys in my house, but in a stressful situation,
anyone can say something he doesn't mean. Don't
you think we should concentrate on Hannah, right
now? She deserves to know what happened to her
mother."

And she moved out of the way so that Umbridge

could speak to Hannah, who was red-eyed and
white-faced. Her friends all looked as furious as
Cedric but remained silent as Umbridge began to
relate the story to Hannah. Sprout crossed swiftly to
Cedric, whispering, "Go to bed. Quickly. Maybe
she'll forget about the detention. See me tomorrow."

Jaw clenched, Cedric nodded and turned to leave,

but as he exited into the tunnel, he heard
Umbridge's high, girly voice interrupt herself to call,
"Tomorrow evening immediately after dinner, Mr.
Diggory -- 6 o'clock sharp."

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Naturally, Scott and Peter hadn't gone back to sleep,

and Ed was awake now too. "What happened?" all
of them wanted to know with one voice.

"Please," Cedric corrected almost automatically,

voice vicious.

"What?"

Yanking off his old dressing gown, he threw it across

the room, but it didn't weigh enough and just
fluttered to the ground impotently. Collapsing on his
bed in his pyjamas, he said, "Hannah's mum was
murdered by Voldemort." Then he told them the rest
of it, including his punishment.

"Merlin's beard," Ed muttered when he was done,

even as Peter said, "You're stupid sometimes, Ced,
but I'd probably have called her worse."

"I know I'd have called her worse, me," Scott added.
"That woman is sadistic. It sounds like she was
looking for someone to hurt. Hannah didn't react by
screaming and crying, so she had to find another
victim."

Cedric cocked his head. "You know -- I think you're

right. And that scares me. The whole time, I kept
wondering what she was doing there but I think you
hit on it, Scott." He paused, thinking a moment, then
went on, "She likes power, having it, and causing
pain with it."

"Yeah. And you're the one who helped get her boss
sacked," Scott pointed out, "so watch your arse
tomorrow night. Do whatever the bleedin' hell she
asks and don't make it worse on yourself."

Cedric nodded, but couldn't sleep until sunrise.

Then he dropped off for what amounted to half an
hour before his alarm clanged, leaving him in worse
shape than if he'd just stayed awake. He considered
skipping breakfast, but the extra hour wouldn't be
worth it and food made up for sleep -- not to mention
he wanted to find out how Sirius' trial had gone -- so
he dressed and went down to the Great Hall.
Unfortunately the trio weren't back yet but the news
was all over The Daily Prophet. Cedric didn't learn
the details until after lunch when Hermione found
him and related an epitomized version, finishing
with, "I'm terribly sorry to hear what happened to
Hannah's mum. I assume she went home?"

"Yes. Ernie got permission to go with her, at least

until the funeral's over. She's going to live with her
aunt now -- her mother's sister."

"Will she come back to school?"

"I don't know."

She just nodded, then confided, "I heard the Patil

sisters talking after Arthmancy. Apparently their
parents are thinking about leaving Britain altogether
-- going back to India to stay with relatives."

"If they've got somewhere to go outside England, I

can't say I blame them for considering it."
"Me either, but I couldn't leave; Harry needs me."
That made Cedric smile. "Anyway, I have to go, but
see me after dinner and I'll tell you about the trial in
more detail."

His smile faded. "Can't. I've got detention."

"What? You?" So he told her about the night before

and she shook her head as she patted his arm.
"You remind me of Harry so much sometimes."

"Gee, thanks. Complete with missing Snitches on

purpose?"

"Don't even start with that. I'll talk to you tomorrow,

Cedric."

Defence Against the Dark Arts was his last class of

the day, and as he was packing up to leave, Moody
said, "Diggory, stay."

Surprised, Cedric looked up. "But I've got an

appointment right after dinner. I need to eat quickly
-- "

"Don't worry about that. Sit."

When the class was gone, Moody parked himself in
the desk right in front of Cedric's and turned in his
seat to rest forearms on the top of it. "For such a
clever boy, Diggory, you can be a right royal idiot."
Cedric's mouth dropped open, but Moody went on
before he could gather wits to respond. "I know
you're just a kid, but you need to learn when to keep
your mouth shut -- and that comes from an ugly old
dog who's done more than his fair share of barking
in his day."

"This is about Umbridge, isn't it? You heard about

my detention?"

"You're damn right it's about Umbridge. That woman

is looking for heads to hang on her wall and yours
would look mighty pretty up there to her mind."

"But what she said was just . . . unbelievable!"

"I know; I talked to Pomona. She's letting me talk to

you instead of her doing it. You kept your own
secret for six years here, so I know you can keep
from blurting out the first thing that flies through your
head. You're standing at the edge of manhood, lad.
In the real world, a remark like the one you made
last night wouldn't just land you in detention, it could
get you sacked -- which means no income to buy
food or pay bills. Actions have consequences, and
the process of growing up involves learning how to
think first, speak second."

"But aren't there times when you . . . when you have

to take a stand?"

Moody grinned. "Certainly. Just be sure you know

when they are. Don't excuse a rash reaction by
making it sound moral and upstanding." Cedric's
mouth opened, but Moody held up a hand. "I know
you reacted the way you did because of outrage.
But you reacted . . . you didn't act, and that was the
problem. Empty gestures may look noble but they're
still empty. I know that sounds cold and calculating,
but my house was never Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.
You're all a bunch of hotheads about things like
that."

Cedric just blinked. "Which house was yours?"

"Ravenclaw. But truth is, Diggory, the more well-

rounded you are, the more you've got of all the
houses -- and I see 'em each in you. Yes, even
Slytherin; it's hardly bad. Learn to rely on those
colder greens and blues; it'll serve you well. I don't
think you'll ever be in danger of losing your heart."
"Yes, sir," Cedric said a bit meekly and reached for
his rucksack.

"We're not done," Moody said.

"We're not?"

"No, come on. I've something I want to show you."

Curious, Cedric rose to follow Moody out. As they

exited into the hallway, his belly rumbled and Moody
laughed. "Don't worry, I'll be sure you're fed before I
hand you over to the Toad Woman." Cedric jerked
his head around to look. "What? You didn't think I
knew what the kids are all calling her? I've got ears,
boy."

They went all the way up to the seventh floor where

Moody stopped in front of a blank expanse of stone
across from a tapestry where some loony wizard
was trying to teach trolls to dance. Cedric frowned
at the "One, two, three, again!" and twitter of distant
music as Moody paced back and forth. He
wondered what Moody meant to show him? Surely
not the tapestry.

Abruptly, a door appeared in the blank wall and

Moody opened it. Astonished, Cedric followed him
into what looked like a training studio. There were
mats and mirrors along one wall and exercise
equipment, as well as books, a mini-potions lab, and
various detection devices similar to those the false
Moody had showed his classes the year before.
"What is this place?" he asked.

"An exact replica of the training hall at the Auror

Academy."

"How did you create it here?"

"I didn't. The castle did. It's a magic room.

Hogwarts is a very old and odd place, Diggory. It
has secrets not even all the headmasters know. In
any case, this is where we'll start having duelling
classes. Our real classes." That got Cedric's
attention and he turned from studying the high-
ceilinged hall to look at Moody, who finished,
"Umbridge will be shutting us down formally
probably this Thursday."

"How do you know?"

"Spies. Information is an Auror's most important tool

-- good information and a sharp mind. It's not about
how powerful your spells are, or how skilled your
concealment, or how gifted your magical sense. It's
about information and preparation -- constant
vigilance! I reckoned it was only a matter of time
before Umbridge consolidated power enough to
move against me, so I've been planning. We'll let
her shut us down, then continue here."

"Won't she know?"

"No doubt she'll suspect -- but she has to catch us

first." Moody winked. It looked just a bit evil.
"That's why I brought you here. I have some
thoughts on who to invite to the real lessons and
want your input. You know these kids in ways I
don't."

Cedric was surprised. "Well, I know some of them,

but not everybody . . . "

"I didn't expect you to know everybody. I'll be asking

others' opinions too."

Suddenly there was a pop and a house-elf appeared

bearing a tray. Cedric nearly leapt out of his skin,
although Moody just said, "Ah! Dinner. Thank you,
Gemmy, you can put it on that table over there."

"I thought nobody -- "

"House-elves know things we don't. And here's
another lesson for you, Diggory -- ask questions
even of people and non-people others might
dismiss. Amazing, the things you learn." Walking
over, he took one of the sandwiches from the tray
and a brown bottle that Cedric was pretty certain
wasn't Butterbeer. He pushed the rest towards
Cedric. "You eat, I talk."

So whilst Moody read off names, Cedric wolfed

down dinner and gave his opinions, then Moody sent
him on his way. At the door, Cedric paused to look
back over his shoulder. "How do you know when it's
time to take a stand and not just keep your mouth
shut?"

"When it'll do the most good, kid. If you're going to

make a sacrifice, be sure it counts."

Cedric nodded and turned to open the door, but

Moody stopped him with, "One other thing. Lines in
the sand. Be sure you know where yours are -- and
think about it before you get to them and have to
make a decision you'll live with for the rest of your
life. Now go."

Cedric pondered sacrifices and lines in the sand all

the way down to the Sett where he dropped off his
books and relaxed for a moment before heading
back up to Umbridge's office. He arrived there right
on six; she was waiting for him, door open and
smiling as if he'd just come for tea. "I see you're
punctual, at least, Mr. Diggory."

"Yes, professor." He didn't apologise for what he'd

said the night before. He wasn't sorry.

Her office reminded him a bit of his maternal

grandmother's parlour, full of frilly white doilies,
cheap-looking porcelain knickknacks, and antique
furniture. The walls were hung with pastoral country
scenes (some of which were actually rather nice)
and collector plates showing frolicking kittens.
Cedric liked cats, but that much mewling would get
on anybody's nerves; he wondered how Umbridge
stood it. He looked around, wondering what she
planned to have him do. "Er, what did you have in
mind, professor?"

She gestured to a desk where several pieces of

parchment were laid out, a long, black quill beside
them. "Have a seat there, Mr. Diggory. This
evening, you'll be doing lines."

Lines? That was all? Suppressing a shrug, he sat

where she'd indicated and picked up the quill,
looking around for the ink. "What do you want me to
write? And where's the inkwell, or is this one self-
inking?" He wished he'd brought his rucksack with
his inkwell.

"You won't need to worry about ink, Mr. Diggory.

And you'll be writing, 'I will properly respect my
betters.'"

Moody's admonitions still ringing in his ears, Cedric

bit his tongue. Sarcastic remarks about respecting
his true betters wouldn't gain him anything but
another detention. Instead, he turned to the
parchment and set the quill to the surface. "How
many times shall I write it?"

"Oh, until it makes an impression. I'll let you know."

If Umbridge thought writing that stupid line 500 times

was going to make any impression on him besides
boredom, she was sadly mistaken. Or that's what
he thought until he began:

I will . . .

He stopped, barely managing to suppress a fervent

"Ow!" and stared at the page. The words were
written in red. Not ink. Blood. His blood. "I will"
appeared on both the parchment and the back of his
own right hand. The damn quill was pulling "ink" out
of his veins. Even as he watched, however, the
wound closed and stopped hurting.

A punishment quill! He'd heard about these; they

were illegal -- had been since his grandparents had
gone to school, and he couldn't believe the
Headmistress had one . . . and was using it. He
turned in his seat, mouth open, only to find her
watching, that half-predatory, half-prim smile
plastered on her face. "Yes, Mr. Diggory? Did you
have a question?"

The absolute, cheeky gall of the woman! Every

muscle in his body tensed to rise and stalk out of
here with her nasty, illegal pen in his hand.

Think, said Moody's voice in his head.

She wouldn't be doing this if she didn't think she

could get away with it. She might be vicious and
manipulative, but she wasn't a fool. If he got up and
tried to leave, she'd no doubt freeze him in his
tracks. He couldn't see a wand in her hand, but he'd
bet it was up her sleeve. She'd hide evidence,
change his memories -- do something. She might
even be expecting him stalk out. It was all about
power with her -- not brute force, but power. She
wasn't a toad, she was a bloody spider at the centre
of her sticky web.

"No," he said now, "No questions," and turned back

to the parchment, determined to tough it out.

It was hard; it hurt like hell, but he kept his lips

closed and wrote. He tried going slowly and going
quickly, but neither made it easier and he still
needed breaks every few minutes to let the wounds
heal. By the end of half an hour, he'd gnawed his
lower lip raw, and by three-quarters, he'd rubbed a
bruise onto his left shin with the heel of his right
foot. Pain elsewhere helped distract from the ache
in his hand. Just when he thought he couldn't take
anymore without breaking down and crying like a
baby, Umbridge stopped at his shoulder and gripped
his wrist, pulling up his hand for inspection. It was
raw and swollen, the words 'I will properly respect
my betters' made two angry red lines across the
back. "I think that will do," she said, then released
the wrist with a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow
evening, same time."

"Excuse me?" Cedric resisted gawking.

"Detention, Mr. Diggory. Did you think it would be for
only one evening? How quaint. You'll have
detention until Friday, I think."

Sick and furious, Cedric departed, right wrist gripped

in his left hand, as if squeezing could make it sting
less. He pondered what to do all the way down to
the Sett. He didn't like to think he was weak, but he
didn't know if he could take three more nights of
constant, cutting pain for an hour. Outside the Sett,
he leaned up against the wall and just breathed,
head back against the stone. His hand wasn't
hurting as much as it had when he'd left, and indeed,
when he looked down at it, the swelling had reduced
noticeably and the red lines were already fading,
leaving no evidence.

Evidence -- that's what he needed. Running to

McGonagall, or Moody, with a story of a punishment
quill but no evidence would wind up being his word
against Umbridge's. Even if McGonagall believed
him, would the Board of Governors? Or the
Minister?

Evidence meant a picture or something. He

certainly didn't have a camera -- they were
expensive -- but Ernie did. Unfortunately, Ernie was
gone. Cedric entered the Sett and went in search of
Justin. Pulling the younger boy aside, he said "I
need your help . . . "

For the rest of the week, he and Justin took pictures

of his hand. Justin would be waiting for him in a
classroom down from Umbridge's office where he'd
go immediately after detention. Justin brought
gauze as well, which they laid on Cedric's wounded
hand, still oozing blood. It stained the words into the
gauze. "It'll prove that's not just a spell trick in the
photos," Cedric had explained. "A mediwitch can
verify this is my blood."

He also talked to diary-Regulus, although briefly

because his hand pained him and he needed to
save it for note taking in class. But Regulus knew
the Dark Arts, and Cedric hoped he might, at the
very least, be able to pass on a counter-spell to
ease the ache. Unfortunately, Regulus didn't know a
counter-spell, but he did tell Cedric his parents had
owned such a quill -- which somehow didn't surprise
Cedric in the least. According to Regulus, it was
illegal only for use in school. Apparently, the Ministry
had stepped back from telling parents how they
could punish their wayward children. Cedric also
passed on the news that Sirius's petition had been
successful, which earned an oddly quiet response
from the diary. Regulus wasn't dismissive, but also
didn't express evident relief or joy.

Friday night, Zach Smith burst in on Cedric and

Justin in the deserted classroom, making both of
them jump. "What are you doing in here?" he asked,
suspicious. "Your clothes are on."

"Merlin's beard, what d'you think we're doing?"

Cedric asked, shocked and insulted and a bit
nervous that Zach had been paying so much
attention.

"Well, that was the question," Zach drawled,

approaching. "I thought Finch-Fletchley here might
be making those detentions bearable after-the-fact."

Justin just rolled his eyes and gave Zach the two-
fingered salute. "I prefer ladies to lads, thanks."

Cedric refrained from comment entirely, but Zach

must have noticed him trying to hide his hand
because he swooped in to grab it and yank the arm
up. Then his breath hissed out when he saw the
wounds on the back. "What the bloody hell?"
"A punishment quill," Cedric said, and Justin added,
"That's what we've been doing every night -- keeping
records with Ernie's camera."

Zach was studying Cedric's hand. "You should have

told me; I've got a camera."

"I didn't know." Cedric was suddenly aware of just

how gentle Zach was being, his touch light as if
trying to soothe Cedric, and that touch was having
effects Cedric didn't think Zach had intended.

Or maybe he had intended them. He was looking up

at Cedric now from those gray-green eyes as if he
knew exactly what he was doing, fingers soft on
Cedric's wrist and in the centre of his palm, and
when he said, "I'd like to help," Cedric didn't think he
meant about the pictures. Almost painfully hard,
Cedric tried taking a step back but Zach didn't let
him go. Justin appeared oblivious whilst packing
away Ernie's camera.

"Erm, ah -- " Cedric was certain he was blushing;

Zach was still massaging his palm in a subtle circle
and Cedric thought he might die right there. "We
could probably use some help developing the film.
If, well, er, if you know how to do that."
"I can get it developed. I'll get Ernie a new roll, too,
to replace that one."

And whilst Cedric knew Zach had money and could

probably afford it, he doubted Zach was doing it for
Ernie -- whom he didn't like. "All right," he said,
pulling his hand free, albeit gently. "Thanks. Er,
Justin? Give Zach the film when you get it out."
Zach was looking disappointed, but took the film
Justin handed over. "Thanks," Cedric said again.

"Sure. And I was serious about wanting to help. I

hate that bitch."

"You and the rest of the school," Justin said. He still

seemed oblivious to both Cedric's discomfort and
Zach's faint disappointment.

"I should go," Cedric said. "I still have loads of

revision to do."

"It's Friday night," Justin said. "You've got all

weekend."

"I know, but I'm way behind." And he almost dashed

out of the classroom.
He did have homework, but no intention of doing it.
He'd have liked to talk to the diary again, but his
hand hurt too badly. His mind was running in circles,
and he found himself thinking about Harry -- not
Zach. What would he have done tonight if it had
been Harry stroking his hand like that? But of
course it wouldn't be Harry because Harry wasn't
interested in him that way.

(Older-Harry had been, a rebellious part of his brain

reminded him.)

Zach was interested in him that way. Any doubts

he'd had about that were gone. If he really wanted
to find out what it was like to kiss a boy, Zach would
be happy to show him. Except he already knew.
Older-Harry had shown him first, and that was why
he found his body willing but his heart resistant and
his mind divided. Regulus had said he didn't have to
be in love with somebody to have sex with him. He
didn't even have to like him. Cedric knew this was
true, at least on the physical level. His quick
reaction to Zach's touch had proved that, but he
wanted more. And ironically, he suspected Zach
might as well . . . more from him, but he didn't have it
to give. Zach had been looking at him like he looked
at Harry sometimes when Harry wasn't watching.
There had been lust there, but something else too.
When he'd said he wanted to help -- whatever else
he'd been implying -- his face had been earnest with
no trace of his usual cynical sneer. Cedric couldn't --
wouldn't -- seduce Zach just to empty his own balls.
Moody had spoken of lines in the sand, and Cedric
realised this was one of his. He'd learned his lesson
with Cho. Never again. He'd been thinking never
again with a girl, but it extended to boys, too.

When Cedric reached the Sett, he found Scott and

Ed playing gobstones in their den. "Hiding out from
some second years," Scott explained.

"Where's Peter?"

"Dunno," Ed said. "How goes the evidence

collection?"

"Fine," Cedric said now, looking down at the lines

still hot and red on the back of his hand and thinking
again about Zach's touch.

His wandering thoughts were interrupted when their

door banged open to reveal Peter waving a book.
On the cover, an image of Albus Dumbledore smiled
serenely. "You are not going to believe this, mates!"
All three of them jumped in surprise and Scott stood
to snag the book Peter was waving. "The Life and
Lies of Albus Dumbledore," he read. "Skeeter's little
exposé on Dumbledore is out?"

"Went on sale this morning. Mum bought a copy,

went home and read it cover-to-cover, then sent it to
me with a letter. You're not going to believe what
Skeeter said in here about Dumbledore!"

Ed appeared amused. "Well tell us then before you

bust something!"

"The old bloke was queer!"

The room went dead silent. Cedric felt first hot, then
cold. A moment later, Scott and Ed found their
voices. "What?" Ed asked even as Scott laughed
and said, "Oh, bollocks! That's rubbish."

"No, really! Mum said Skeeter suggests he had a

love affair with Grindelwald. Grindelwald! Can you
imagine? They were friends when they were
younger. Dumbledore even wanted to help him take
over the world!"

"Pish," Scott replied. "Skeeter is full of shite and hot

air."
"Oh, but it gets better! She also implied he was
diddling none other than Harry Potter."

"He was not!"

That was out of Cedric's mouth before he could even

consider. He was standing too, although he didn't
remember rising. "Scott's right -- she's a lying bint.
We saw that last year. Dumbledore didn't do
anything of the kind to Harry. He's my friend; I'd
know." But hadn't he worried about Sirius doing the
same just that summer?

"No -- think," Peter said. "All that time they spent

together? And if Dumbledore really was queer, then
maybe he was doing Harry."

"No," Cedric said again. "No. Just because he

might have been gay -- might have been, remember
-- doesn't mean he was a paedophile."

"What's 'gay'?" Peter asked.

"What's a 'paedophile,' for that matter?" Ed added.

Cedric felt his whole body still again. He'd used the
word automatically. Funny, after his long battle to
grow used to it, he'd finally used it out-of-hand at a
time he really wished he hadn't, and he remembered
Moody's warning of Tuesday night. Once, anything
about homosexuality would have been the last topic
he'd have shot off his mouth about, but he'd been
learning things, struggling with things, and felt hot
and defensive with new knowledge.

"Gay means queer," he said now in the same tone

he used when explaining their Transfiguration
homework. "It's a nicer word. Don't use queer or
poof; it's sort of rude. And a paedophile's a man --
or I suppose a woman -- who's sexually attracted to
children. They're not the same thing."

"They're not?" Ed asked.

"Of course not." Cedric kept it impersonal and

intentionally pedantic. "Most paedophiles are
actually heterosexual -- men preying on little girls,
not boys." He'd read in his book how to respond to
questions like this (including his own questions). "A
homosexual -- a gay man or a lesbian -- is just
someone attracted to his own gender instead of the
opposite gender. Not to kids. Somebody attracted
to kids is sick in the head, whether they're gay or
straight."
"Straight is . . . heterosexual?" Scott asked.

"Right," Cedric replied.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Ed asked, but not

as if he doubted Cedric. He was too used to Cedric
having the answers.

Yet Peter said, "I'm not so sure a queer isn't sick in

the head."

Count to five, Cedric told himself. Peter didn't know

what he was saying, or rather, he wasn't saying
anything Cedric hadn't believed himself just a year
ago. He wasn't trying to hurt Cedric.

"First, how I know is that I read it in a book."

"Of course," Scott said, grinning. "King swot strikes

again!"

Cedric ignored him. "And second, being gay" -- he

stressed it -- "is atypical, but not abnormal. Not 'sick
in the head'."

"Well I think it's sick." Peter looked to Scott and Ed

for confirmation. "I mean, come on. Two blokes
and a bit of how's your father up the arse? Nature
never intended that." Ed appeared to agree,
nodding, but Scott was watching Cedric with a
disturbing interest. Peter walked over to lay a hand
on Cedric's shoulder. "Look, mate, you're a good
man with all this 'don't make fun' -- like with Potter
last year -- but there are limits."

"Limits to trying to educate myself so I don't sound

like a bigoted idiot?" It came out more viciously than
he'd really intended, but Peter's last remark had set
him off.

"So you want to watch two blokes snogging?"

"Well, no," Cedric lied, back-pedalling from the

question that would take all of this beyond the
theoretical. Coward, he scolded himself . . . but he
wasn't ready for confessions -- not at all, not when
this was the reaction waiting for him. Harry, Krum,
and Hermione, Sirius and Remus -- their reactions
weren't normal. This was normal, these reactions,
unscripted and raw. He struggled to stay calm, not
let how it affected him show on his face.

Ironically, Scott came to his rescue. "Hey, I wouldn't

mind watching two birds snogging!" Ed laughed,
and reluctantly, so did Peter. Cedric was too
ashamed of himself to be amused.
"Anyway," Scott went on, "I doubt Dumbledore was
queer, or gay, or whatever. Don't you think it
would've come out before now? And even if he was
-- doing Harry Potter?" Scott frowned, turning
serious. "I mean, I know it happens, and I'm sure
Dumbledore wasn't the saint people make him out to
be. But I don't think he was that twisted. Besides,
Potter seems to fancy fanny if the way he's been
chasing Cho Chang is any indication. When he's got
pert young tits and a tight box available, he'd not be
going for Dumbledore's shrivelled old pecker!"

"Ew!" Ed said. "There's a mental image I'd like to

Scourgify from my brain! Did you have to say that?"

"You three are wankers," Cedric muttered, gathering

his dressing gown and pyjamas. He couldn't stand
this anymore. "I'm going to take a shower. My
hand's killing me."

"Put some pickled murtlap tentacles on it!" Peter

called after him.

Later, as he was leaving the boys showers, he found

Scott waiting for him. "What?" he asked defensively.
Scott handed over a gauze bandage soaked in
pickled murtlap; Cedric could smell it, strong and
antiseptic. "Who do you know who's gay?" Scott
asked.

Cedric struggled not to react, although Scott was

good at this sort of ambush. There was nobody else
in the Hufflepuff bathroom at the moment although it
probably wouldn't stay that way. "What makes you
think I know anybody who's gay?" Cedric's skin felt
cold and he was mildly nauseous.

"You were a bit too defensive in there. So who is it?

Smith?"

And Cedric felt the tension drain. Scott had smelled

a rat indeed . . . just the wrong rat. Glancing at the
still-closed door, he said, "Let's not have this
conversation here."

Scott led him back to their den. "Peter and Ed went

out to the common room," Scott said, closing the
door whilst Cedric tossed his dirty clothes in the elf-
bin.

"What makes you think it's Smith?" Cedric asked,

plopping down on his bed. He didn't deny it might
be somebody -- it kept the spotlight off him -- but he
also wasn't ready to tag Smith even if he was pretty
certain Smith at least swung both ways.

"Call it a hunch," Scott said. "No girlfriend ever, likes

throwing his underpants at the heads of pretty
boys." Cedric blushed. "I'd be a bit careful, me.
You're the sort people take their troubles to, even a
chap like Smith. You're kind. Genuinely. But he's
been watching you. Sometimes he looks like he
might like to have you for dessert."

"What? You think I'm leading him on? Or that I can't

take care of myself?" Or that I actually considered
taking him up on dessert? But of course he didn't
add that.

"Not intentionally. And it's not like I think he'd

actually try anything. I mean, you were dating Cho
half a year, and now you're spending a rather
inordinate amount of time in the company of a
certain Gryffindor."

Cedric's first confused thought was of Harry. "Huh?"

Scott actually laughed at him. "Granger, you dope.

Oi! You were like this about Cho, too, acting as if
you weren't sharking her."
And oh, Scott was quite badly off base, if also
frighteningly observant. He'd noticed more than
Cedric would want, just come to entirely the wrong
conclusions about it. Now what did Cedric do?
"Okay, look," he said, "first, Hermione's only a
friend. She's still seeing Krum and I'd have to be a
complete nutter to get in the middle of that."

"She's still seeing Krum?" Scott seemed

astonished; Cedric actually grinned.

"You know, some of us do date the same person for

longer than three weeks or the second shag,
whichever comes first. As for who's gay -- that's for
me to know and you not to find out -- at least not
from my loose tongue." Cedric didn't want to talk
about it anymore.

"You're no fun."

"I know how to keep my mouth shut."

Or at least he was learning.

Chapter 11: Lives and Lies

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore began
appearing at Hogwarts with the Saturday morning
post. Harry had refused to buy one; he didn't want
to give Skeeter the royalty cut. Hermione wasn't so
picky. Her copy arrived with the other brown-
wrapped packages. "It's important to know what's
being said, Harry. You two can read mine when I'm
done."

"Don't think so," Ron was saying as he helped

himself to more fried tomatoes, mushrooms and
potatoes. "Just give us a digest version, yeah?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she unwrapped her

package. "If you can't be bothered to read it, Ron, I
can't be bothered to tell you what it says."

"Harry can, then."

"You assume I want to read that rubbish Skeeter

spews?"

Rather to Harry's surprise, however, a big eagle owl

sailed in almost on the heels of his comment and
dropped a package into his grip. The Black family
crest showed prominently on the seal. Sirius must
have relished being able to use that again, but Harry
suspected what it contained, and sure enough, when
he tore it open, he found a copy of the very
biography Hermione was holding. "See," Hermione
said, "Sirius obviously thinks you should read it too."

There was a letter; Harry opened it:

Dear Harry,

Rita ever so kindly sent us an autographed copy.

Read it carefully. Read between the lines. We'll
talk more over the holidays.

Love, Sirius

A second note was included behind the first. It was

even briefer.

I hope all is well regarding that matter we

discussed. Write if you need to talk further.

--Remus

Despite the vagueness of that, Harry found himself

blushing. Unlike Hermione, however, he couldn't
spend the day reading. Angelina had called a
practice; the all-important Gryffindor-Slytherin match
was coming up soon and Angelina was determined
not to lose again. "If we score enough points, and
Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw or Slytherin, we'll still
have a shot at the cup," she said, then proceeded to
drive them all hard for two hours.

The team returned to the castle in time for lunch and

found quite a stir in the entrance hall. Headmistress
Umbridge had squared off with Sybill Trelawney and
Charity Burbage whilst Professor McGonagall stood
like a buffer in front of the latter two, lips pinched,
eyes furious. "You can't simply dismiss professors
and close classes in the middle of a term, Professor
Umbridge!" Students hung about the fringes of the
hall or occupied the main stairwell, listening with
horrified fascination. Harry, Ron and the rest of the
Gryffindor Quidditch team joined them.

"Indeed I can," Umbridge was saying from her perch

at the bottom of the stairs. She looked not the least
apologetic in the face of Burbage's haughty glare or
the keening of Trelawney. "Part of my assignment
here according to Educational Decree Number 22,
passed on 18 July, is to evaluate Hogwarts teaching
staff and let the incompetent go."

"That was your assignment under the previous

Minister."
"So far as I know, that assignment hasn't changed.
I've received no message from the current Minister
nor the Governors telling me to halt instructor
evaluations -- and eliminations."

"We don't fire professors here without due notice or

providing a replacement, Headmistress."

"You misunderstand, Professor McGonagall. I'm not

simply firing instructors, I'm eliminating these
courses altogether."

"You can't do that!"

"Again -- I can." Umbridge smiled, holding up a

parchment roll. "Educational Decree Number 23,
passed on 20 September -- under the new
administration, I might add -- granted me the
authority to evaluate the course offerings themselves
and modify or eliminate any that might be
considered dangerous, or superfluous."

"How are Divination or Muggle Studies either of

those? These are time-honoured courses at
Hogwarts."

"Elective courses, I might point out. Divination might

eventually be re-instated, but with more careful
oversight. The Ministry wonders whether those who
practise it might not attempt to determine the future
of public figures with an eye to the disruption of our
government."

Harry snorted and Ron muttered, "What tosh."

McGonagall and Umbridge were still going at it, but

they'd moved on. ". . . not a valid class at all. We
are wizards, not Muggles. What possible use is it to
study Muggles or their way of life?"

"You live elbow to elbow with them!" Professor

Burbage replied. Unlike the distraught Trelawney,
she stood angry and defiant with her luggage about
her feet. "Some of your students were born
Muggle. Some have a Muggle parent or
grandparents. You can't simply ignore their world."

"Oh, yes we can," Umbridge replied, a bit nastily.

"We've been ignoring them perfectly well since
1692. What use have we for ignorant mundanes
who sought to imprison and murder us for
possessing what they lacked? They envied us. And
why? They recognised us for their betters! Your
classes simply promote interest in their world and
glorify their attempts to ape magic through their
'technology'. At best, Muggle Studies is useless. At
worst, it's dangerous."

She turned her back on the women standing in the

entrance hall below her and marched up the stairs.
"My decision is final. There will be no more
discussion. For now, students taking Divination and
Muggle Studies can use that time for revision. After
the holidays, we'll have additional hours added for
each of our other, legitimate classes.

The entrance hall was dead silent in the wake of

Umbridge's departure, eyes on the two dismissed
professors and McGonagall. "What are you all
looking at?" McGonagall snapped. "Go about your
business!"

Muttering, students withdrew, and Harry turned to

Ron, who said, "I reckon that means we're off the
hook for Divination homework."

"I suppose," Harry agreed. He chewed it all over as

he followed Ron upstairs to Gryffindor Tower. "You
know," he said as they climbed, "I sort of feel sorry
for Trelawney. She might be barmy and her class
rubbish, but she didn't deserve that."

"It's not like we're really losing out on much, though."

"What do you know about Burbage?" That was
Harry's real interest. "Your dad took Muggle
Studies, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but she wasn't a professor then. Most of us

kids didn't take the class; maybe it's dad's whole
Muggle fascination, dunno. Percy had her, but
Percy took everything. Hermione had her in third
year, though, and Neville's in her class now. Let's
ask one of them."

News of the sackings had already reached the tower

before they did. The common room was full of buzz
-- and not just about Trelawney and Burbage.
Students were arguing over the contents of
Dumbledore's biography, too. Hermione was
nowhere in evidence so Ron and Harry went in
search of Neville. They found him in their dormitory
perched on his bed, staring at his Muggle Studies
textbook and a half-completed essay, a sad but
contemplative expression on his face. "Neville,"
Harry said, dragging over a dressing chair, "was
Burbage a bad teacher?"

Surprised, Neville looked up and shook his head.

"No, she was nice. I mean I reckon Trelawney was
nice too, but . . . "
"Trelawney was a few bricks short of a load," Ron
said.

Neville gave a brief smile, but then the frown

returned. "Professor Burbage was a good teacher, I
thought," he said. "She made classes interesting.
Her exams were easy but everybody knew that. I
don't understand why Umbridge sacked her. I mean,
why not Binns?"

"Sort of hard to sack a dead bloke," Harry said.

"Besides, they don't have to pay him. I'm sure the
Board of Governors likes that."

"True," Ron said.

"So she wasn't especially bad?" Harry pressed

Neville.

"No. Not at all."

Harry sat back in his chair and drummed fingers on

the arm. "I was afraid of that. Since the beginning,
Umbridge has scuppered pretty much anything to do
with Muggles, and now she's even shut down the
class. I knew there were wizards who didn't like
Muggles and Muggle things, but I also had the
impression it wasn't . . . politically correct." It was
clear neither Ron nor Neville had any idea what he
meant, and Harry tried to think of a better term for it.
"Socially acceptable," he explained, although that
didn't quite convey all the connotations.

"In some circles, it is socially acceptable," Neville

said. "It's just not nice."

"Voldemort's circles," Harry said.

Neville shook his head. "Not necessarily," he said.

"I mean, yes, You-Know-Who's circles, but not just
his. That's the thing. There are wizards who
consider Muggles a bit dodgy, or at least look down
on them, but wouldn't follow You-Know-Who or
agree with his politics. They may not even dislike
Muggleborns, but there's a bias against them."

Ron was nodding, albeit reluctantly. "He's got a

point. Dad's job at the Ministry -- it's not exactly
well-thought-of, you know."

"And Squibs," Neville added. "It's considered a

tragedy to have to go and live with non-magic folk.
There are wizards who openly dislike Muggles and
Muggleborns, but there's also disdain for them, and
disinterest -- even pity. This is something we talked
about in Professor Burbage's class, actually -- how
we show our anti-Muggle bias without necessarily
being openly hostile. Marrying a Muggle is
considered to be marrying 'down,' and Muggleborns
are encouraged to leave that world behind for ours."

Harry was nodding. Neville had good points. For

Harry, it didn't matter. He had no attachment to the
Dursleys and their world; he belonged in this one.
But sometimes he felt as if Hermione were being
forced to choose -- her family or her magic. He
wondered if his own mother had felt estranged from
her family and that had become part of Aunt
Petunia's dislike -- her awareness that her sister's
friends looked down on her? These were
uncomfortable new thoughts for Harry. "So you can
dislike Muggles without being on Voldemort's side?"

"Absolutely," Neville said.

Ron nodded in agreement, adding, "These days,

though, most people who're openly anti-Muggle are
Slytherin types."

"I wonder what house Umbridge was in?" Harry

mused. "And if she knew Tom Riddle when he was
at school? She's old enough she might have."
"You think she might be a Death Eater?" Ron
asked. "But she was on Fudge's side."

"She might be a sympathizer. Sirius told me his own

parents weren't Death Eaters, but they were
sympathizers."

"Wouldn't Fudge -- "

"Fudge listened to Lucius Malfoy, and we know he's

a Death Eater. I don't think Fudge was that careful."

By the time Harry and Ron returned to the common

room, discussions had become rather heated. Harry
hadn't paid close attention before, but now he did.
People weren't discussing Umbridge any longer.
They were discussing only Dumbledore.

"He was not friends with Grindelwald! That's just . . .

it's slander!"

"Actually, it's libel. It's in print, so it's libel, not

slander. And it's only libel if you can prove she knew
it was a lie and wrote it anyway."

That was Hermione, and Harry made his way over to

where she stood at the edge of a circle that included
Ginny, the twins, Lee Jordan, Seamus Finnegan and
Kenneth Towler (who was in Fred and George's year
and Harry didn't know well). "What's going on?" he
whispered to Hermione.

Seeing him, she pulled him aside with a glance to be

sure Ron wasn't following, but Ron seemed to be
listening to something Seamus was saying. "Have
you read any of the biography?"

Harry shook his head. "Angelina had us practising

all morning. What's this about Grindelwald?"

Hermione sighed. "You need to read it for yourself,

Harry." She pulled him even further from the hot
debate among the Weasleys and friends. "Rita
Skeeter implied that Dumbledore and Grindelwald
weren't just friends, but friends, if you take my
meaning."

Clueless, Harry answered "Huh?" He was still trying

to wrap his mind around the idea that Dumbledore
and Grindelwald had been any sort of friends at all.
"Didn't Dumbledore fight Grindelwald?"

"Well, yes -- that's the point. In her biography,

Skeeter tried to suggest that Dumbledore and
Grindelwald weren't enemies in their youth, but
friends and -- so she suggests -- lovers." Harry just
gaped. "Oh, she never comes out and says that.
It's all implied, but it's pretty strongly implied, in my
opinion."

"What?" Harry said, embarrassed a bit by the

squeak in his voice.

"Rita Skeeter implied that Dumbledore was gay.

And, well, there's a chapter in there about you and
him. It's sort of . . . suggestive, too. You really need
to read it, Harry. I know what she implies isn't true,
but you need to read it -- and quickly, so you can
think about how to respond."

Harry was flummoxed. Dumbledore gay? Skeeter

implying that he and Dumbledore had been . . . he
couldn't even complete that thought without wincing.
Yet even as he struggled to assimilate Hermione's
news, he had to admit some of it made a certain
sense. He couldn't comment on Grindelwald, but
Dumbledore's portrait had known about Cedric, and
had seemed concerned and rather . . . insightful
about Cedric's feelings. Was that because he'd
been there himself?

Harry didn't answer immediately, then said only,

"What do you think? Is she right? About
Dumbledore and Grindelwald, I mean, not
Dumbledore and me."

"I think she took a kernel of truth and shaded it the

way she wanted, then put the worst spin on it she
could. And, erm, speaking of boys who like boys,
Harry . . . "

"I don't want to talk about Cedric," Harry muttered,

pushing past her to head up to his dormitory. He
needed to go and skim this biography.

He was glad he had, as talk about Dumbledore

didn't abate for the entire week; if anything, it
gathered momentum as days passed. Arguments
and even a few fistfights broke out in the hallway.
Dumbledore's possible unconventional sexual
preference was only a part of it. Much larger loomed
Dumbledore's putative friendship with Grindelwald
and his adolescent sympathy for Grindelwald's
theories of wizarding supremacy, along with the fact
his father had ended up in Azkaban for murdering
Muggles, and he'd had a little-known sister who'd
been hidden away for some reason, perhaps
because she'd been a Squib.
"I don't understand it," Harry said to Hermione and
Ron on Wednesday afternoon when they were
revising in the Great Hall.

"The Moonstone has to be put into -- "

"No, not the Potions essay. I don't get how even half
of what Skeeter said could be true. I mean, look at
everything Dumbledore did later for Muggles. He
couldn't have disliked them so."

Sighing, Hermione set down her quill. "Harry,

people change. Sometimes they change because of
the bad choices they made when they were
younger. That's what half this school seems to be
forgetting." She rubbed at her eyes. "It's so
frustrating!"

"I'm not sure I believe any of it," Ron said without

looking up from his parchment. "It's that Skeeter
woman, after all. She probably made it all up."
Then in a softer voice, he added, "I really wish we
could find Dumbledore's portrait. That'd put an end
to the talk. Dumbledore and Grindelwald as
friends? And Dumbledore some Muggle-hating
poofter? It's plain rubbish."
Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. "First,
Ron," she said, "Muggle-hating isn't an automatic
adjective for a gay person -- "

"There's that word again -- "

"Well, yes. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you
keep using derogatory language about people who
pursue alternate lifestyles."

Ron just rolled his eyes. Harry stayed out of it. He'd
tried getting in the middle on Monday but had given
up; he was too close to matters. Ron had turned out
to be less hostile than Harry might have thought,
given Cedric's fears about wizarding attitudes, but
he was far from accepting -- and stubborn about it.
"You're still assuming Dumbledore was queer,
Hermione. I mean, yeah, he never married, but
neither did McGonagall or Snape or Sprout or
Hagrid. You think they're all this . . . gay thing?"

"Of course not. But you don't always know, Ronald.

That's my point. People can surprise you, and I
think it's possible -- that's all I've said. I don't think it
affected his abilities as a wizard or his abilities as a
teacher."

"At least we agree on that much," Ron muttered.

"But you act as if being gay would call into question
his abilities as a wizard and a teacher."

"No, I just . . . don't think he was. He couldn't have

been so successful if he was."

"Why?" Harry asked, unable to keep his mouth

closed any longer.

Ron gave him a dirty look. "We've been over this

before, and I don't care what the Muggles say --
being gay isn't normal, and if somebody isn't normal
there, how can they be normal otherwise?"

Harry wished he could hold up Cedric or Sirius as

examples to the contrary, but he wouldn't betray
Cedric that way even if Cedric were angry with him.
As for Sirius, he didn't think Sirius would mind -- he'd
told Harry earlier that most of the adults in the Order
knew or suspected -- but Sirius didn't go about
announcing it, either.

"You make it sound as if it's the be-all and end-all,"

Hermione was saying. "It's not, Ron. It's just one
aspect of a whole person. Who Dumbledore fell in
love with didn't have any impact on either his
intelligence or his magical talent."
Ron was shaking his head, but not so much in
disagreement as in irritation, and this was where all
of their discussions on the topic had ended. Ron
was convinced it mattered, and viewed
Dumbledore's success as proof he wasn't gay.
Hermione and Harry were convinced it didn't matter
but couldn't be certain of Dumbledore's orientation in
order to prove it didn't -- and couldn't use other
examples they were certain of because of privacy.
Yet Harry wondered if pointing to either Sirius or
Cedric would really convince Ron of anything, or just
make Ron try to force Sirius and Cedric into his
preconceived notions about gays? He didn't want to
think Ron would be that unreasonable, but Ron had
been unreasonable about things in the past.

The person Harry most worried about handling all

the talk was the one he barely saw anymore. The
few times he did spot Cedric at a distance down a
corridor or in the Great Hall for a meal, he appeared
unruffled but also a bit withdrawn. All of this intense
focus on homosexuality couldn't be easy for him to
bear. Harry knew he should talk to Cedric about
what had really happened at the Quidditch match,
but nerves and indecision still sealed his lips. When
it came right down to it, he wasn't certain he was
ready to make that gigantic leap out into vulnerable
space and hope Cedric would catch him. Hermione
tried to get him to talk about Cedric a few times, but
he always sidestepped the topic. He neither wanted
nor needed a lecture from her.

On Thursday night when Harry and the rest of

Gryffindor's older students showed up for their
advanced duelling club meeting, they found the
Great Hall doors locked and a notice tacked up.
Moody was there too, looking mildly annoyed but not
surprised. "No club meeting tonight," he said, tilting
his head sideways towards the notice:

---- By Order of ----

THE HOGWARTS BOARD OF GOVERNORS

All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams,

Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.

An Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club is

hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or
more students. No Student Organisation, Society,
Team, Group, or Club may exist without the
knowledge and approval of the Headmistress, and
permission to form or re-form must be sought from
the Headmistress.
 Any teacher or student found to have formed, or to
belong to, an Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or
Club that has not been approved by the
Headmistress will be fired or expelled.

The above is in accordance with

Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four

"It took her a bit longer to get her ducks in a row

than I thought it would," Moody remarked
conversationally as more students arrived . . .
although no Slytherins were among them. Harry
suspected they already knew. "Then again, she
seems to have taken it a bit further. I reckon she
thinks the only way to get past my parental consent
forms is to close down everything across the board,
then reopen them on a case-by-case basis."

Most of the students were gaping in astonishment at

this new decree. "But what about the Quidditch
match on Saturday?" Angelina asked. "She can't
really mean teams, can she?"

"Oh, I'm quite certain she means everything," Moody

replied. "She wants students coming to her to ask
permission. It'll make her feel important." His grin
was just a little vicious. Angelina turned on her heel
to march off but Moody reached out to snag her
arm. "Not so fast, kid. She wants students running
to her in a panic. Let it sit overnight, then approach
her first thing in the morning. That goes for all you
Captains" -- he eyed Cedric and Roger too. "You
might want to talk to her together, present a united
front. As for the rest of you -- go back to your
dormitories; we wouldn't want this to seem like a
club meeting." He winked. "I'll be in touch."

Students milled about another minute or two, then

began to disperse. Even though Umbridge wasn't
standing there, Harry suspected she was watching
somehow, and sure enough, he spotted Filch at the
other end of the hallway, trying and failing to be a
covert spy. Harry looked back at Moody, who simply
nodded once, solemnly, and Harry knew the time
had come for Moody's back-up plan. They'd
discussed it already; apparently Moody had
discussed it with several people. Harry wasn't sure
how Moody would contact them all, but the next day,
he found out.

It began badly when Angelina arrived at breakfast

practically slamming down her juice glass. "She
said she'd 'think about it'! Cedric, Roger and I all
went to her office this morning first thing to ask to
reform our Quidditch teams, and she said she'd
think about it. I mean, what on earth? We've got a
match tomorrow! We ran into Adrian Pucey on the
way out, and he was quick to tell us Montague
already has permission for their team. If we don't
show up tomorrow, we'll have to forfeit. But we can't
show up till we've got her bloody permission! How is
that fair?"

"She's not interested in fair," said a familiar voice a

few steps behind Harry, who twisted on the bench to
look. He swallowed hard. It was Cedric, with Roger
behind him. "She's interested in power," Cedric
went on. "She'll keep you hanging till the last
minute, then let you play."

"What if she doesn't?"

Cedric didn't reply, just looked uncomfortable.

Roger said, "She'll let you. She has to. Quidditch's
a tradition here."

Harry doubted Umbridge 'had' to do anything,

however, and by the end of the day, she still hadn't
made up her mind despite the fact tomorrow was the
match. But Moody had sent out messages --
apparently in a variety of ways; Harry's came in the
form of a note beneath his grade at the bottom of his
essay on jinxes versus hexes: Tonight, 7pm. Harry
supposed that on a Friday evening when students
typically went in all sorts of directions, it would be
less noticeable if a select number disappeared for
an hour.

They arrived in twos and threes, slipping into the

secret room that Moody had told Harry was a
recreation of the main training hall at the Auror's
academy in London. It wasn't, Harry noticed looking
around at faces, the same group who'd been at their
official duelling club, it wasn't even the same group
minus the Slytherins. For one thing, Moody had
included a few fourth years, Ginny Weasley and the
strange Ravenclaw girl, Luna Lovegood, among
them. There was even a third year -- the younger
brother of Colin Creevey. Both brothers stood
together near the front of the group. Harry took up a
spot with Ron on one side and Neville on the other,
Hermione and Ginny in front of them. He tried to
pretend he wasn't aware of Cho, or Cedric.

When everybody was there, Moody faced the lot. "I

could make speeches about how coming here has
put all of you in danger of expulsion, so be sure
you're committed. Or about how this is serious
business and You-Know-Who's not some toddler
bogie man, but your worst nightmare. But I won't,
because you know all of that. We'll get right down to
business instead."

Harry smiled to himself at the way Moody had just

made the very speech he'd claimed not to make
under the guise of not making it. He'd got his point
across.

"You older ones have been practising hexes and

disarming spells in club, but tonight, we'll all be
doing something else. You won't be facing each
other, but your own fears." He pointed to a
wardrobe behind him that rattled ominously.
"Anybody got a guess as to what's in there?"

"A boggart, sir?" Roger asked. "Professor Lupin had

his classes face one too."

"Bully for him," Moody replied. "And you're right, Mr.

Davies, that is a boggart. I've talked to Lupin about
what sorts of fears he saw two years ago -- snakes,
spiders, angry girlfriends, failing grades . . . Snape."
That last won titters from most and a blush from
Neville. "What the boggart shows us, however,
doesn't stay the same any more than we do, and I've
brought it here tonight less to practice Riddikulus
than because it's important to understand what we
fear so it can't catch us with our trousers down. If
we can't face our fears, then other people can use
them against us.

"We'll start with the oldest students. Mr. Davies,

since you named our evening's guest, would you do
us the honour of going first?"

It wasn't really a request, but Roger nodded,

swallowed and stepped forward, wand out. Harry
wasn't watching him, however, he'd turned eyes on
Cedric, who'd slipped to the rear of the group as if to
hide, his face as white as a sheet. Harry joined
him. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this," Cedric said, voice literally shaking.

"If I do it, my greatest fear will come true."

Confused, Harry frowned. "The boggart's not real,

Ced."

"I know that!" Cedric snapped, voice still low. "Think,

would you?"

Harry did, but still couldn't come up with the reason.

"What is your boggart?"

Bending so he could speak at the softest whisper, he

said, "People finding out."
And suddenly Harry understood. If Cedric's greatest
fear was that his secret would become known,
revealing as much in front of a crowd would ensure
that it did. "Didn't you face a boggart two years
ago?"

"I was sick that day. Well, not really, but I heard
what the lesson was beforehand and skived."

"And Remus -- well, Professor Lupin -- just let you

just skip it?"

"It was OWL year; we were pressed for time, so

yes."

"Diggory! Where'd you go! Get up here!" It was

Moody and Cedric started, then looked as if he'd
simply faint.

"Cast the spell fast," Harry whispered, "before the

boggart has a chance to form. You're quick."

"I don't even know what to replace it with!"

But Moody was calling again, "Diggory?" and Harry

hissed, "The Slytherin Quidditch team in their y-
fronts," then shoved Cedric forward through the
crowd since he seemed unable to move on his own.
Hermione must have guessed something was up
because she came to grip Cedric's hand a moment
before letting go. Taking a deep breath, Cedric
stepped up before the wardrobe.

Moody frowned, as if trying to puzzle out why Cedric

was so reluctant. Harry knew Moody considered
Cedric one of the best in his year, but he must not
have thought this through in terms of Cedric's
personal terrors. Harry pulled his own wand silently,
ready to jump in front of Cedric if needed, just as
Remus had once saved him from a fear he wasn't
ready to face. If it looked like Cedric's secret might
come out, Harry would make certain it didn't.

Moody nodded to Cedric, then unlatched the

wardrobe door. For a moment, nothing happened,
then a hand appeared, pushing the door open all the
way -- but it didn't reveal a flock of students pointing
and laughing and calling Cedric names. It wasn't
even Cedric's father or mother wearing a
disappointed expression.

It was Harry, holding his wand out in front of him.

All around, a collective gasp went up and Cedric

halted, mouth open but no sound emerging, no
'Riddikulus.' This wasn't the fear he'd expected, and
Harry had no idea why Cedric would be most
frightened of him. In the next moment, however, he
understood. A green flash came out of nowhere,
striking boggart-Harry in the chest. He fell without a
sound, and it was quite a shock for Harry to see
himself lying dead on the floor. Cedric stood rooted,
gaping in horror and anguish and simple shock.
"Don't just stand there, boy!" Moody barked, making
Cedric jump and raise his wand, glancing sideways
to where the real Harry stood.

Fortified, he said, "Riddikulus!" And suddenly the

figure was no longer lying on the ground -- was no
longer Harry, in fact, but Marius Montague in his
underpants, more or less as Harry himself had
originally suggested. Behind them, the crowd of
students began giggling and the boggart fled back
into the wardrobe.

"Johnson!" Moody snapped, taking the heat off

Cedric, who immediately moved to the rear of the
crowd again. If seeing Harry dead wasn't what he'd
expected to come out of the wardrobe, Harry
thought it might have shaken him worse. Certainly, it
puzzled Harry. Why himself? Why not Cedric's own
parents? He might have asked, but it was clear
Cedric didn't want to talk to anybody right now, and if
some of the other students were casting him odd
looks, that didn't last. By the end of the hour,
nobody in the room was inclined to look askance at
someone else for his revealed fears. Cedric wasn't
the only one to face a dead friend, sibling or parent,
and most fears were darker. Ron wasn't seeing
spiders any more, but the blasted husk of the
Burrow. Hermione wasn't being told she'd failed
everything, but that Death Eaters had killed her
parents.

Harry's fear was, ironically, unchanged.

As the club broke up for the evening, shaken

students leaving in twos and threes as they'd come,
Harry approached Cedric. "Can I have a word
before you go back to your dormitory?"

Looking as if he'd expected that, Cedric just sighed

and nodded. "Meet me by Paracelsus' bust after we
leave."

Harry nodded, then departed with Ron and

Hermione when Moody gave them the all-clear. Yet
when they turned towards Gryffindor Tower, he
nodded to a left turn that led to the owlery. "I'll be
back in a bit."
"You're going to meet him, aren't you?" Ron said.
"Cedric."

"Well, yeah. I'd like to know what that was all about
back there with the boggart."

"I know what it was about," Ron muttered, turning

and stalking off, leaving Harry standing with
Hermione and feeling suddenly anxious.

"What'd he mean?" Harry muttered.

Hermione was peering at him, lips pursed. "Oh,

Harry, you can't be that dense, can you? Why do
you think Cedric's greatest fear was seeing you
dead?"

"I don't know. That's what I want to ask him."

"Harry!" She sounded exasperated, but lowered her

voice. "He's in love with you. Even Ron can guess
as much."

And Harry felt blindsided, even whilst he recognised

he should've known. He thought again about
Remus urging him to talk to Cedric, tell him why he'd
missed the Snitch. Had Remus guessed too? All
Cedric's attention since June took on a new cast,
and almost as if following his thoughts, Hermione
added, "You went back in time to save his life,
Harry. You're his hero. You're also his friend -- you
accepted him. He's head over heels for you."

Mouth dry, Harry swallowed. "How long?"

"Oh, probably since at least July." Her smile was

wry and she was watching his face carefully. "I've
been trying to hint it to you all year, but you didn't
want to believe it. The question now, I think, is how
you feel about it."

"Huh?" Harry felt his whole face go red.

"Earlier, it was Cho you fancied. I don't think it's Cho

anymore, is it?"

Harry didn't reply, just muttered, "I have to go. He'll

be waiting." And he scampered off.

Indeed, Cedric was waiting, pacing and looking

anxious. Nervous himself but giddy with new
possibility and a feeling he could only describe as
high, Harry stopped stock still three feet away.
Cedric stopped too and stared. Up here at this hour,
nobody else was around. The corridor was freezing
and Harry's nose, fingers and toes felt like ice. His
teeth had begun to chatter. Perhaps Cedric had
been pacing as much to keep the blood flowing as
from nerves. "Ah," Harry began but couldn't speak
further. He must look like an idiot with his mouth
hanging open, yet now that it had come down to it,
he wasn't sure what to say. 'Do you fancy me?'
seemed foolish.

"If you died," Cedric began without preamble,

"Voldemort would win."

Bemused, Harry cocked his head. "Er -- I suppose?

What's that -- "

"You wanted to know why my boggart was you dead,

didn't you?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah."

"That's why. I'd thought it would be -- you know --

then it wasn't, and I realised why it wasn't. After that
prophecy, well -- if you die, Voldemort wins, and
Voldemort winning is a lot bigger than my own petty
fears of exposure."

That was true, and Harry's mood abruptly crashed.

This wasn't what Hermione had suggested but now
that Cedric had said it, it made more sense than
some fanciful notion that such a handsome and
talented seventh year as Cedric could ever fall for an
awkward, bespectacled fifth year. Once again,
Harry had no idea what to say. Admitting he'd
missed the Snitch because he'd been staring at
Cedric didn't seem like such a brilliant plan. "Erm,
are you still angry with me?"

"What? Oh, um, no. Yes. I don't know." He

reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I
suppose I'm tired of being angry with you, but I'm still
angry with you."

"Oh." Harry shuffled his feet. "I really didn't lose to

you on purpose, Cedric. You caught the Snitch. I
wasn't looking at it."

"What the bloody hell were you looking at then?"

"Cho," Harry blurted, then wanted to kick himself for

the out-and-out lie. "She was in the stands,
cheering, and I glanced over at her and . . . you had
the Snitch. I felt sort of stupid."

The anger drained out of Cedric's face, replaced by

weariness. "Why didn't you just tell me that weeks
ago?"
"Like I said, I, er, felt sort of stupid. But yeah, um -- I
didn't lose to you. You won."

Sighing, hands on hips, Cedric glared down at

Harry. "All right, fine. But you'd better not tell
Angelina the truth. If you were my Seeker, I'd kick
your arse for losing concentration in the middle of a
match like that."

Relieved that Cedric had been so quick to buy it,

Harry just nodded. "Yeah, I know. And I didn't tell
her why. So, we're okay then? Friends again?"

"Yeah, friends again," Cedric said, smile wry. "Now

go back to your dormitory and get some sleep. You
have a match tomorrow."

"Yeah, let's hope."

They parted, and Harry trudged back to Gryffindor

Tower, step heavy with the weight of the lie he'd told
and the truth behind Cedric's boggart. The entire
wizarding world was depending on him to live and
defeat Voldemort. If something happened to him,
the rest were screwed. Yet were prophecies
absolute? If he died, could someone else step in?
Dumbledore had said that at least initially, it hadn't
been clear Harry was the one the prophecy had
meant. It could've been Neville. But by assuming it
was Harry and acting on that, Voldemort had made it
him. So if he did die, could it become someone
else?

He shook his head. Whatever the case, always-right

Hermione had been wrong about Cedric. Of course
Cedric wasn't in love with him. Knowing the
prophecy, Cedric understood the real stakes and
that was what he feared.

Hermione was waiting to pounce on him as soon as

he stepped through the portrait hole. Ron wasn't
with her. "That didn't take long!" She looked
excited, but upon seeing his disappointed face, her
own fell. "Oh, no -- oh, no. What happened, Harry?"

"Shhh," he said and they moved off towards the

fireplace so he could warm his hands, still cold from
the corridor. Nobody was near them although a
second year was pouring over her Charms
homework in a chair three feet away. Harry shot the
girl a nervous glance. "Where's Ron?"

"He went up to your room -- said he should turn in

early in case you play tomorrow."

"Yeah. I should too."

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what
happened."

Harry sighed and turned so the fire could warm his

back. He looked at his feet, not at her. "It was about
the prophecy, Hermione. That's all it was." His
voice dropped. "He's not in love with me. Of course
he's not. He's three years older than me -- all but an
adult. Well, he is an adult legally, has been since
last year. What would he want with me?"

Her face was gentle but also exasperated. "Oh,

Harry, don't be silly. What did he say?"

In soft tones, Harry related the brief conversation

he'd had with Cedric. "You told him you were staring
at Cho?" she asked, aghast, when he was done.
"But that was a lie. I know you weren't; you said so
yourself. You were staring at him, weren't you?"

"Well . . . I, er . . . okay -- yes. Yes, I was." And it

felt as if a great weight had slid off his shoulders
finally admitting that to her, even if she'd already
guessed. "But I don't want him to know that."
Hermione stared at him for half a minute whilst he
squirmed. "You are such an idiot," she said finally,
"both of you," and turning on her heel, stomped off.

Chapter 12: Loves and Truth

It took until noon the next day -- at the Quidditch

match, in fact -- before Cedric realised Harry had to
have been lying the night before. As Cedric had
predicted, Umbridge had waited until the last
possible minute before giving her approval, but the
match had gone on as scheduled. Now Cedric was
seated in the stands with his denmates, watching
Gryffindor crush Slytherin, when he suddenly
realised Harry couldn't have been looking at Cho
because the Ravenclaw stands would have been
behind him, not in front of him, when Cedric had
caught the Snitch.

It came like an epiphany, or the hammer strike that

stunned the bull. Weeks ago, Hermione had said
Harry had missed the Snitch because he'd been
looking elsewhere -- at Cedric, according to her
implication. Cedric hadn't bought that theory
however much he'd have liked to, yet Harry had
confirmed it last night -- although he'd claimed to
have been looking "elsewhere" at Cho, which Cedric
hadn't questioned. Yet now he saw it couldn't have
been at Cho. Did that mean . . . ?

He shook his head, as if to clear it of both confusion

and possibility. Given what had happened with
older-Harry, he knew it was theoretically possible for
Harry to fancy him. That didn't mean it would
happen, and Cedric had told himself so firmly. Now
he wondered. Then again, if it had been Cedric
who'd distracted him, why would Harry lie about it?
It'd be understandably risky to admit to any other
bloke at Hogwarts he was staring at him -- but not to
the gay fellow.

An elbow in the ribs jolted him out of his musings.

"Hey, you in there, mate?"

"What?" Cedric asked, turning to look at Ed.

"You were a million miles away." And laughing, Ed

repeated himself, "I said did you see that save
Weasley-the-younger made? We rattled him, to be
sure, but he's actually not too naff."

"Ron?" Cedric asked, refocusing his attention on the

field and the game.
"Yeah -- saved one practically hanging off the end of
his broom."

"Harry said he's good when he's on his game."

"Well, the way they're making goals out there, we

may have to worry about Gryffindor -- even if we win
all of ours."

"I could hold off catching the Snitch next time -- let
you three run up the score."

"I wouldn't try it with Ravenclaw, but Slytherin's

another matter. Malfoy couldn't catch the Snitch if it
danced a jig in front of him."

Cedric chuckled. "He's not quite that bad, but it

would be easy for me to mislead him. Their
Keeper's no good, either. It might be a way to raise
our own overall score."

"As long as we stayed on top of it," Ed agreed.

"Would you two shut it about strategy?" Peter leaned

over to ask.

On the way out of the stadium after the game --

Gryffindor victorious -- Zach Smith caught up with
Cedric to say, "Got those photos for you; they came
this morning."

"Spectacular," Cedric said, clapping Zach on the

shoulder. "Thanks." Then he wished he hadn't
touched the younger boy because Zach's whole face
lit up. "Er, I'll see you later at the castle," and he
hurried off with his friends.

"He's a great Chaser," Ed remarked as they walked

away, "but creepy. Acts like he's your personal lap
dog, Ced."

"I think he's got some competition for that spot,"

Scott drawled, nodding ahead to the exit gate where
Hermione Granger was waving to Cedric. "And
competition who'll likely get further." He elbowed his
friend whilst Peter and Ed laughed and whistled.
Cedric turned red.

"Nothing going on there," Cedric protested. "I told

you, Summers -- she fancies Viktor Krum."

"You claimed there was nothing going on with Cho

Chang, too," Peter said. "We know how that turned
out."
"Nothing's going on," Cedric reiterated before
beating a hasty retreat to join Hermione.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

Cedric shook his head and took her arm, walking her
through the gate quickly. "They're convinced we've
got a thing. Don't worry, I told them about Viktor;
they're being obnoxious."

Hermione's face had turned thoughtful. "Actually, it

might not be a bad idea if they do think we've got
something going on. Viktor wouldn't care."

"Hermione, I swore after Cho, I'd never do anything

like that again -- "

"Cho didn't know. I know. It's good cover for you."

"I don't want to play games."

"Well, you're not out marching in Gay Pride parades,

either," she whispered. "We don't have to 'play
games.' We can just . . . not disabuse people of
their illusions, all right? It's pragmatic. But speaking
of game playing, I wanted to talk to you about
Harry."
Cedric sighed and, hands on hips, glared down at
the frosty grass. Late into November, there had
been more than a few hard freezes at night. "Would
you stop trying to play match-maker? He doesn't
fancy me. He fancies Cho. And you were right that
he was looking at something besides the Snitch --
but it wasn't at me."

She let out a great sigh. "Oh, for heaven's sake --

he lied. Cedric, he lied. I know he lied."

And despite Cedric's own realisation up in the

stands earlier, now he practically shouted, "What
makes you think he lied?" Then he remembered
they were hardly alone. Other students passed by
on the path back to the castle, shooting them
glances. "He's been crushing on Cho for ages," he
said more softly.

"Yes, well, his date with her didn't go so well, and I

happen to know" -- she stressed it, albeit softly --
"that it was you he was looking at out on the Pitch."
Cedric felt his mouth go dry at that. "I have it on
very good authority -- the horse's own mouth. And
that's no doubt betraying a confidence, but really, the
two of you are starting to give me a headache. It's
not betraying a confidence when the only reason it is
a confidence is that he's afraid you couldn't possibly
be interested in him, and you're afraid he still fancies
Cho Chang. You both fancy each other. How much
clearer do I have to be?"

Blushing hot and rubbing his forehead, Cedric

muttered, "All right, all right." Between her
insistence and his own earlier realisation, he was
finally willing to accept Harry might have a crush on
him. "But why on earth would he be afraid to tell
me? For pete's sake, I'm gay."

"Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're

interested in him," she pointed out. "And Harry's not
exactly brimming with relationship confidence, you
know."

"Oh." And stated so, it did seem obvious. Cedric

had leapt a step in the middle. Abruptly, he found
himself smiling like a silly loon. "Er -- now what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I think that's where I'll

leave it to you to figure out, Mr. Diggory. My work
here is done." Turning, she began to pick her way
back up the path towards the castle, the wind lifting
her bushy hair.

Cedric stood watching a moment, his own thoughts

dashing to and fro like a litter of puppies. His heart
hammered, he felt positively giddy, and he wanted
nothing more than to find Harry right now and get
this whole matter settled. Without stopping to think,
he headed back into the stadium -- now virtually
empty -- around towards the Gryffindor changing
room behind the seats. He practically ran into half
the team headed out -- all three Weasleys and Harry
still dressed in Quidditch gear. He stopped dead,
eyes on Harry, whose cheeks were pink with
exhilaration. Harry stared back, and the smile slid
off his mouth. "What do you want, Diggory?" one of
the twins asked -- just a bit hostile.

"Er" -- he didn't want to talk to Harry in front of them

and now felt foolish for running off half-cocked,
forgetting that Harry wouldn't be headed back alone
-- "actually, I was looking for Johnson. To
congratulate her." He nodded to Harry, unable to
keep from grinning. "And Harry too. Good catch."

"Thanks," Harry said, blushing.

The four of them passed him by, and as he'd said

he'd come to see Angelina, he reckoned he'd better
do it, so he moved on towards the changing rooms.
"Oi! Diggory!" stopped him, and he turned to see
Ron trotting back towards him alone. "I want to talk
to you."
Puzzled but not liking Ron's expression, Cedric
halted, waiting for the other boy to catch up. Despite
being two years younger, Ron wasn't that much
shorter. He was frowning, looking uncomfortable but
determined, as if he didn't want to do this but felt
compelled somehow. "What was all that yesterday?"

"What?"

"With the boggart?"

Cedric sighed heavily, not wanting to talk about it.

"Didn't Harry tell you what I told him?"

"Yeah, I know what he said." And although Ron

didn't state as much, the implication seemed clear
that he didn't believe it. His expression was sullen
and hostile.

"Well, what more do you want me to say?" Cedric

asked, deciding to ignore what Ron had implied.

Ron didn't answer immediately. He studied Cedric's

face; Cedric glared back. After another moment,
Ron took one step backwards, then a second --
giving over. "Harry's got a lot to be going on with,
y'know?" he said. "Don't give him more. It's not fair
to him."

Cedric might have been angry at that, but found he

couldn't be. Ron was jealous -- that had been clear
for months -- but he hadn't made it all about him. He
was thinking about Harry.

"Trust me," he said, "I don't plan to make anything

more difficult for Harry."

Again, Ron looked frankly dubious but didn't

challenge Cedric directly, just turned on his heel and
trotted off after his brothers.

Cedric got no opportunity to talk to Harry at all that

day; Gryffindor was celebrating well into the
evening. Antsy and anxious, Cedric returned to his
own common room where he found a great deal of
whispered talk about an article in that morning's
Prophet. Apparently Igor Karkaroff had been found
-- dismembered -- in a shack somewhere in Eastern
Europe, a Dark Mark in the sky above it. It all
sounded a bit gruesome, and Cedric wondered how
Viktor had taken the news. He should owl him later.
He didn't think Viktor had been all that fond of
Karkaroff, but the man had still been his teacher and
Headmaster. Cedric wouldn't wish a death like that
on anybody. The news was additionally disturbing
because it suggested that Voldemort was extending
his reach outside Britain, and Grindelwald still had
supporters on the continent. Voldemort might be
seen as someone around whom those old
Grindelwald supporters could rally.

Cedric was pondering these things when Zach found

him. "Here are those pictures," Zach said, handing
over the stack he'd had developed. "Do you think it
might be enough to get rid of her?"

Cedric glanced through them; they showed his hand

in various stages of wounding from the punishment
quill. "I don't know," he said. "I've got these, and the
gauze to prove it really was my blood. It might be
enough to take to the Board of Governors. I'll ask
Moody." Even though he was still irritated with
Moody over the boggart, the old man seemed the
most likely to know whether he had a case he could
win. McGonagall or Sprout would be too enraged to
think it through clearly.

"You've also got your reputation," Zach said now.

"Huh?" Baffled, Cedric glanced up.

"Well, it wasn't like she used this on the Weasley
twins . . . although maybe she did, but yeah. It's
you. Mr. I-Never-Get-Into-Trouble."

That made Cedric smirk. "I'm not an angel, Zach."

"I mean you don't go out of your way to break the

rules or cause problems, and everybody knows it.
You're . . . a good person."

And Zach was suddenly looking at Cedric again like

that, as if the sun shone out of his arse, and Cedric
didn't know how to respond or react. "Er, thanks.
But I'd better go and find Moody." He smiled so that
it didn't sound like a brush off, even if it sort of was.

"Good luck," Zach called after him as Cedric headed

back to his dormitory to find the gauze, then headed
upstairs to Moody's office, but Moody wasn't there,
so he tried Moody's room, but Moody wasn't there
either. Puzzled, he walked around for a while inside,
but couldn't find the professor anywhere and nobody
seemed to know where he'd gone until he ran into
Seamus Finnegan.

"Well, he's probably down in Hogsmeade at the

Hog's Head getting tight -- likes a drink, you know.
'S why he's not an Auror anymore. Well, one
reason, so they say. Hey, did you hear about
Karkaroff? Parvati Patil's afraid her mum and dad
will definitely withdraw her and her sister now. Bit of
a loss, that -- such a pretty pair of birds." Cedric just
nodded, not really paying attention. "Then again,"
Finnegan went on, face suddenly sly, "I don't reckon
Parvati's the Gryffindor you've got your eye on."

"What?" Cedric asked, jerked abruptly back to the

present. Finnegan couldn't possibly know . . .

"Hermione." Finnegan elbowed him with a leer. It

wasn't attractive.

Oh, good grief, not that again. "I'm not wooing

Hermione," Cedric insisted. "She's seeing Viktor
Krum." Whatever Hermione had said earlier, he
wasn't going to lie.

"Yeah, well, you're here -- and Krum's not."

"It doesn't matter; she's seeing Viktor. We're just

friends." And Cedric left, still pondering Moody.
He'd known Moody drank, could smell it on his
breath even in class sometimes, but he'd never seen
him truly drunk and hadn't given a lot of thought to
it. Was Moody an alkie? It seemed hard to believe;
he didn't stagger around the castle on a regular
basis. Perhaps Regulus would know more. He
seemed familiar with such things even if he'd come
from the upper classes (maybe because he'd come
from the upper classes). So Cedric opened the
diary to tell about the death of Karkaroff and ask
what Regulus knew about alcoholics.

Yes, Moody's an old soak, the diary responded.

That's not news.

But wouldn't he be unable to function if he were?

I doubt he can function without a shot of firewhisky

in the morning, like some can't function without tea
or coffee. But I want to talk about something more
important. You mentioned Karkaroff was murdered .
. . I think it's time we discussed the Horcruxes.

Cedric stared at the words, quill hovering above the

page. Since the end of the summer, he'd carefully
not pushed Regulus, hoping that when he did ask
more questions, Regulus would be forthcoming. He
hadn't expected Regulus himself to bring it up. I'm
ready if you are, he wrote after a moment. What
can you tell me?

Well, the first thing we've got to consider is how

many the Dark Lord may have made. We know it
had to be more than one, and he didn't lack for
victims, but Horcruxes aren't produced like you
multiply beans in your cauldron for soup. They're
incredibly hard to make. For instance, I know he
was incapacitated for days after he made the one in
the locket, and he never liked to appear weak in any
way.

So maybe he only made one other?

Ironically, no, the diary wrote. No, I think if he were

actually able to pull off making more than one, he
wouldn't stop at two, but he couldn't make oodles,
either. He'd have used a magically significant
number. He might have chosen four, for the number
of the elements or the directions, but more likely five
for the points on a pentagram. That would appeal to
him. He might have tried for seven, but that seems
excessive. I've been thinking and five is probably
the number you're looking for. Or rather, four, plus
him. Remember, one part of his soul is still in him.
So -- one down, likely three to find.

Where do we even begin to look? Cedric felt the

beginnings of despair. Even one had seemed
daunting, but three more Horcruxes to locate?
He'd have used things that are significant to him --
like the locket.

How would we know what they are?

There are clues. In his own arrogance, the Dark

Lord sometimes gave away more than he realised.
Chin up, Cedric. It may take a while, but we'll find
them.

It was only as Cedric put away the diary that it really

struck him: Regulus had used 'we'.

Cedric found Moody on Sunday, but not Harry.

Weekends brought irregular eating times, to be
certain, but Cedric thought Harry might be avoiding
him. Moody, however, was in the Great Hall for
lunch when Cedric arrived, and the informal
atmosphere made it easy for Cedric to approach
him. "Could I meet you this afternoon?"

Both Moody's eyebrows went up. "Don't see why

not." He checked his pocket watch. "Drop by my
office in an hour."

"Yes, professor."
Cedric ate hastily, then returned to his dormitory to
collect the photos and gauze before heading
upstairs again. He was there sitting on the floor
outside Moody's office, reading, when Moody
arrived. "I thought I said an hour?" Moody asked,
but more in surprise than heat.

"I know -- sorry." Cedric hurried to his feet. "I just

didn't want to miss you." He didn't mention he'd
been looking for the older man all the day before.

"Come on in," Moody said, unlocking the door with a

tap of his wand, then swishing it around almost idly
as they entered. Cedric suspected he was undoing
wards. Moody plopped himself down at his desk
and stretched out his artificial leg. "Take a seat." He
gestured.

Cedric nodded once and looked around, finding

another chair and settling into it. Then he began,
"You remember that I had a detention with Professor
Umbridge?"

"Yeah," Moody said.

"Well, er, she gave me lines. But, um, not of the

normal sort." He pulled out the photos and the
bloody gauze and laid it on the edge of Moody's
desk. "I didn't want to go to anyone before I had
proof. And I was a bit reluctant to tell Professor
Sprout. I thought she might be overly angry; I didn't
want her to get into trouble. I'm not sure whether
there's actually anything to be done."

Moody had picked up the photos and looked through

them, glancing at the bloody gauze and making a
face but not bothering to touch it. "Punishment
quill."

"Yes, sir."

"This was clever," Moody said, wagging the photos

back and forth before handing them back to Cedric.
"Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's enough to pursue."
Sighing, Cedric slipped the photos back into a
pocket of his robe. "We'd need the actual quill, plus
a few more testimonies. But don't trash those,
Diggory. Something more might come up. This is
the sort of thing we need multiple testimonies to
make anything of. As you've no doubt gathered,
Dolores has a friend or three among the Governors,
even if she's not Scrimgeour's favourite person. The
Ministry's very divided right now. If we bring just one
case of documented misconduct, she's likely to get
her wrist slapped and that's it. There's misconduct
and then there's misconduct. Punishment quills may
be illegal in school, but there are those who think
they shouldn't be, and this isn't sexual or financial.
The most we could hope for would be a public
censure and perhaps a fine, or you could request
damages. Unfortunately, it's not enough to get her
sacked."

"I was afraid of that," Cedric muttered.

"I'm glad you told me; I wish you'd told me sooner --

while it was happening. I could perhaps have got it
lessened. More to the point, I'm impressed you
thought to keep records. You've a good, logical
head on your shoulders, kid." Moody leaned back in
his chair, drumming fingers on the desktop. "Have
you given any thought to becoming an Auror?"

Cedric blinked. "Er -- no? When I had my careers

advice, Professor Sprout didn't suggest that."

"I checked your timetable and you're already taking

the main NEWT classes you need -- Charms,
Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and
Potions. Even Snape is complimentary of your
abilities, and we know that's rare." Moody's grin was
wry. "I take it that means you're actually talented."

"Er, competent is probably more honest."

"You've also got History of Magic, Herbology and
Care of Magical Creatures -- any of those would do
for your fifth NEWT. You'll need an E or O in five,
but looking at your OWLs, that should be a doddle
for you. If you get Es or Os in all seven, you'd be a
shoe-in."

Cedric bit his lips, thinking hard. "You really think I

might be good at it?"

"Hell, yes. I've seen more than my fair share of

young Aurors, and I think you've got the talent."

Still lip chewing, Cedric asked, "Wouldn't my, er,

preferences be a problem?"

Moody leaned over and held Cedric's eyes. "No. In

any other career, perhaps, but not the Auror corps.
Being an Auror is one profession where you get
judged on your instincts and arrest record -- not who
you sleep with, as long as it's legal. If you bugger
your preteen nephew, that'd be a problem, but if you
bugger the barman, nobody gives a shit, frankly."

Cedric was blushing hard.

"Come spring term," Moody went on, "I'll be hand-
selecting a few seventh years for extra lessons --
those who I think could go on to a career in magical
law enforcement. Your name's topping my list,
Diggory. You interested?"

"I -- er, yes. Yes, I am." He felt stunned and

flattered at once. An Auror. One of the elite. He'd
never really considered that he might be Auror
material, his selection by the Goblet aside.

"Good," Moody said, slapping his desk top. "No

need for you to make any career choices just yet.
You can see how it goes. But I will be putting you
trainees through your paces, physically as well as
mentally, so over the holidays, you may want to keep
up with the exercises I set the club this autumn."

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir."

Moody made a vaguely dismissive gesture. "Get out

of here; go and enjoy your Sunday. And don't thank
me until you're flat on your back, gasping, after I
make you run five miles."

Cedric spent the next several days consumed

mentally by three very different topics -- the chance
to become an Auror, how many Horcruxes
Voldemort had actually made, and what exactly
Harry was feeling towards him. Only the latter was
something he could do much to solve presently, yet
Harry proved elusive that last week of November.
Cedric left him two notes, caught him before dinner
once, and even sent a message through Hermione.
The reply was always some variation on, 'Sorry, I've
got to be . . . ' with any number of other
commitments named. Part of it was the return of
Hagrid from whatever mission the Order had sent
him on; Harry, Hermione and Ron were spending a
lot of time in his company. Nonetheless, by Friday,
Cedric was frustrated and beginning to feel a bit
desperate. They had only two weeks of term left
before the winter holidays.

He had no luck cornering Harry until Sunday, when

word came from Moody that the duelling club would
meet at half past three. When they'd all arrived and
were milling around, he said, "Consider this your
autumn term test." Then he made them count off --
one, two, one, two -- in order to divide the group in
half. To one side, he gave slips of parchment and a
self-inking quill so they could write their names, then
drop the slips into a ratty old bowler hat. This, he
took to the other group to pull names. Cedric had
assumed the idea was to guarantee a truly random
match-up, until George Weasley pulled Fred's name,
Ron pulled Ginny's, and Cedric pulled Harry's. All
the pairings were like that: siblings, close friends,
boyfriend and girlfriend . . .

Sighing, Cedric went over to sit on the ground

beside Hermione and watch whilst Angelina faced
Alicia. "Random, my arse," he muttered to her.

"Who'd you get?" she whispered back and he

unfolded the slip to show her. She snorted. "To be
honest, though, I've been waiting for him to call that
match all term."

"Me too," Cedric admitted. "I told Harry as much

after the first meeting. How d'you think he pulled off
the charm?" He was curious, and Hermione
wouldn't just roll her eyes at him.

She sat thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I

bet he put a general spell on the slips so they'd
move towards the hand of the person who felt the
greatest protective attachment to the writer. The
twins have each other, Colin got Dennis, you got
Harry, I got Neville."

"But why did Ron pull Ginny instead of Harry? The

hat went to him before me."
"She's his little sister. When it comes down to it, I
think Ron feels more protective towards Ginny than
towards Harry. Harry's more his equal; Ginny's not."

"You think that's how I see Harry?" They'd been

whispering, but now he lowered his voice even
further. "It's not as if I think he's incompetent or a
little boy, you know."

"Of course not. But you don't have to be

condescending towards someone to feel protective
of them, Cedric. I feel protective towards Harry too;
I just meant that between Harry and Ginny, I think
Ron feels more protective of Ginny."

Lips pursed, Cedric changed the subject. "Well, in

any case and once again, it'll be painfully obvious to
everybody that Harry means a little more to me than
he should."

"Shh, lovebirds!" Peter tossed over his shoulder.

Cedric went fire red and dropped his head into his
hands, whilst Hermione snorted. "Obviously, you
might want to rethink that last remark."

Being at the back, Hermione and Cedric were

among the last called forward, and Harry didn't
appear terribly surprised when Cedric just pointed to
him silently. There was a rustle and murmur as they
squared off in the room's centre to bow politely, then
turn back-to-back. "No quarter," Cedric muttered to
Harry under his breath. "Agreed?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied. "No quarter." This might

not be a Quidditch match, but it was a chance to
make up finally for previously fouled competition,
whether by dementors or Harry's distraction.

"Ready?" Moody asked, but began counting off

before either could reply, "One, two, three, four, five
-- "

Knowing Harry was right handed, which would tilt his

wand slightly to the left, Cedric dove to his own right
without even turning, tucking into a ball and
somersaulting, coming up with his wand out, still well
within the duelling circle. It had momentarily
disoriented him, but had caught Harry by surprise,
and Cedric shot off a silent Stinging Hex before
Harry could centre on him. Yet Harry had moved
too, and the hex merely grazed his shoulder, making
him wince. Harry tried to return with his usual
Expelliarmus, but Cedric already had up a Shield
Spell and was moving again, circling behind Harry
and forcing him to turn. The students had all fallen
well back, not wanting to be on the receiving end of
any missed spells.

Harry tried a Stunner, but still couldn't break Cedric's

Shield at a distance. Cedric returned a Freezing
Spell that had no more effect than Harry's spell had,
and although they continued to circle, each looking
for an advantage, Cedric had a feeling this would
wind up a matter of wearing down the other. Magic
took energy no less than other forms of exertion,
and powerful spells took more, so Cedric put effort
only into his Shielding Spell whilst Harry continued
to hammer at him full strength. He was incredibly
strong; Cedric could feel every jinx or hex all the way
to his teeth, and made certain to keep his distance.
But Harry was no chess player, and Cedric was
content to let him wear himself out.

When Cedric could see he was panting, his arm

wavering, Cedric launched his final assault. Waiting
until Harry let off another Stunner, he pivoted on the
balls of his feet, twisting -- and ran headlong at
Harry, who was unprepared. Cedric was gambling
on Harry's Shielding Spell being too weakened to
hold off a point-blank spell cast. "Aguamenti!" he
shouted, bringing a fountain of water from the end of
his wand. It struck the invisible wall of Harry's
Shield, and for a moment, the spell held -- then gave
under the weight of the water. The cascade crashed
down on Harry, soaking him to the skin. Startled by
the unexpected spell, Harry froze. "Accio wand!"
Cedric said. Harry's wand popped out of his
loosened grip, sailing over to Cedric.

"Match to Diggory!" Moody said amidst of a burst of

applause. "Return the wand, please."

Cedric approached Harry, offering up Harry's wand

on his open palm. Voluntarily returning the wand to
its owner was the last part of a duel for sport -- the
difference between a friendly match and an
unfriendly one. The owner had to actively retake his
wand in order to make it work for him again
correctly. Now, Harry reached out to remove his
from Cedric's hand, his touch wet and cold on
Cedric's skin. For the briefest instant, Cedric curled
his fingers so that they caressed Harry's palm. It
made the younger boy start, although his expression
was unreadable. "Don't run away again after, right?"
Cedric asked softly. "I need to talk to you."

Then he returned to his half of the room, accepting

back slaps and hand shakes, but looked over his
shoulder to where Harry was drying off. Please
don't leave, he mouthed silently.
Chapter 13: Kiss

Ego-bruised and cranky, Harry tried to resist

sulking. For the most part, he'd excelled in Moody's
duelling club even against students older than him.
If he'd been knocked off his feet a time or three, he'd
never yet lost a duel. Of course, these had been the
first extended duels they'd had -- their end-of-term
'exam', as Moody had suggested. And he'd lost. At
least he'd lost to Cedric, but he'd lost, and what
would the other students think of the 'Chosen One'
now? He might never have asked for that title, but
he resented it being disproved so publicly.

In fact, Harry didn't like losing at all. He didn't resent

Cedric for winning (quite) -- but he didn't like losing,
and sitting cross-legged on the training hall floor
beside Neville, he went back over the duel in his
head, trying to decide where he'd erred. He didn't
believe the outcome had been inevitable. He'd
managed to survive against Voldemort; he could turn
the tables on Cedric next time. He would turn the
tables on Cedric next time.

When the last match was over, Moody called them

all to gather round and Harry found himself book-
ended by Ron and Hermione -- his dependable
support. Yet he was also aware of Cedric hovering
behind, perhaps to keep an eye on him so he
couldn't run away again. The fact Cedric wanted to
talk to him wasn't improving Harry's mood. He
supposed he couldn't avoid Cedric forever; he didn't
even want to avoid him, really. What he wanted was
to watch him from a safe distance, but the shaky-
gelatin sensation even that brought terrified him. It
was easier to hide than gibber like an idiot. Not the
bravest thing perhaps, but he didn't feel brave about
Cedric.

"So," Moody said, propping himself on a stool in

front of them to save his bad leg. "Why d'you think
you duelled the people you did?"

"Because you spelled the parchment," replied Scott

Summers, Cedric's roommate.

Moody snorted. "Thank you for stating the obvious,

smart-arse." Most of the other students laughed
although Harry didn't. Hermione held up her hand,
but not with the wiggle-fingered insistency of her
younger years. Moody glanced around. "Anybody
besides Granger have a clue? No? All right,
Hermione, let's hear your theory."
"You wanted us to face people we care about -- and
not just care about, but feel protective towards."

"Very good. Why?"

"So we'll . . . overcome feeling protective when we

shouldn't?"

"That's part of it. There's a more specific reason,

however."

"Because the person we trust most might betray us,"

Harry blurted, understanding coalescing in his mind
as he remembered his parents, Sirius, Remus, and
Peter Pettigrew. "People you think have a reason to
betray you, don't. And people you trust, do."

"Yes," Moody said, nodding towards Harry. "Twenty

points to Gryffindor. You nailed it exactly."

After losing to Cedric, earning house points when

none of the winning duellists had earned them was
almost enough to offset the sting of failure. Almost.

"But Fred would never betray me!" George was

protesting.
Probably guessing exactly why Harry had known the
answer, Moody said, "I'm sure that's what Lily and
James Potter thought about Peter Pettigrew too."

The twins looked gobsmacked, and turned to each

other, "But I'd never -- " both said at once.

"But you might," Moody overrode them. "That's the

ugly truth, boys. None of us knows the future. None
of us. Furthermore -- and outright betrayal aside --
Polyjuice can make you think you're facing someone
you're not, and a well-cast Imperius Curse can make
a man kill his own mother, or brother, or himself."
He nodded to the Weasley twins. "You need to think
about that -- discuss it with friends and family. I can
tell you without hesitation that I'd rather take a Killing
Curse than use one because I was successfully
Imperiused. When we come back after holidays,
we'll start work on resisting Imperio. You can see
what it feels like, and learn some tricks to resist. It
can be legally cast for training purposes and training
purposes only, but whatever my Doppelgänger did
last year, it can't be cast on a wizard without his
permission or the permission of his guardian, so you
younger ones will need a note from your parents --
and I don't think I need to tell you not to mention this
to Umbridge."
He clapped his hands. "All right, time for dinner;
leave in twos and threes as we did last time."

As students milled about gathering anything they

brought, Harry felt a hand come down on his
shoulder. He turned. Cedric, of course. "Don't
leave," Cedric said yet again, then moved past
Harry, approaching Moody to speak quietly to him.
Moody just nodded. Harry could guess what Cedric
had asked and felt his cheeks flushing. What would
Moody think?

Whatever Moody thought, he kept it to himself, and

kept Cedric and Harry back until the end. Other
students cast glances at them, but probably
assumed Moody wanted to talk to them. When the
last trio had slipped out -- the twins and Lee Jordan
-- Moody waited a few minutes, stumping about,
collecting things, then left without comment or a
backwards glance.

Harry was alone with Cedric, and his stomach

suddenly filled with wild fluttering like a whole spring
migration of painted ladies. "Sorry about that,
earlier," Cedric began.

"I'm not angry," Harry interrupted, defensive.

Cedric's left eyebrow went up and Harry blushed,
half-turning away. "Annoyed, but not angry. And not
annoyed with you, either. We agreed on no quarter."

"We did."

And Cedric had moved closer without Harry quite

noticing. He seemed . . . different. He'd been
different all this past week, not as shy . . . or perhaps
not as uncertain. Cedric wasn't really shy -- he was
reserved, he was insecure sometimes, he was
modest, but he wasn't shy. Shy boys didn't put their
names in magic goblets. "Er . . . " Harry began, but
had nothing whatsoever to say. Cedric was just
watching him from about two yards away, hands in
robe pockets. He could go so still, like a marble by
Michelangelo, not a boy. "You asked me to stay,"
Harry blurted, a little pugnacious. "What did you
want to talk about?"

"Do you fancy me?"

Harry blanched. "Erm -- what?"

"Do you fancy me?" Cedric had moved a few steps

closer. "I fancy you."

A dozen thoughts tumbled over each other in Harry's

head, tangling up and tripping. He stood with his
mouth hanging open. He'd suspected, but hadn't
suspected. He was surprised -- and he wasn't.
Cedric Diggory, O-student and true Hogwarts
Champion, ex-prefect, Quidditch Captain, and the
Head-Boy-Who-Should-Have-Been, fancied him.
There he stood, openly admitting that he fancied
Harry. "But you can't," Harry blurted.

"Why not?"

"You're . . . you."

"Yes, and?"

He was closer yet -- just a few steps away -- but his

face remained distant. After that summer and
autumn, however, Harry understood the look.
Reserve born of doubt. Cedric didn't see in himself
the things Harry saw. He was the gay boy, the
misfit, the swot who happened to be athletic and
pretty so nobody made fun of him for the amount of
time he spent in the library. He no more saw himself
as special than Harry thought of himself as The Boy
Who Lived. So yes, he was Cedric Diggory, but he
was also just Ced, Harry's friend -- and he was
scared. Harry could see it in the pale grey eyes.

"Yes," Harry blurted.

"Huh?"

"Yes, I fancy you."

Abruptly, Cedric smiled -- that perfect, sweet-sweet

smile that had absconded with Harry's heart. They
stared at each other, not touching, half a foot
between them, until it passed from easy into
uncomfortable. Harry felt . . . itchy -- as if something
more should happen. He just wasn't certain what.

So he stepped forward on tiptoe and mashed his lips

to Cedric's. It was awkward and titillating and
confusing and miraculous at once. They weren't
touching at all beyond mouths, and that only for a
moment or three. Then Harry jerked away, eyes
wide, a little astonished at himself. But he hadn't
been comfortable waiting and not at all sure what he
was waiting for. They were two boys, after all, so it
wasn't as if he should expect Cedric to kiss him first,
should he?

Cedric was grinning, but his face wore a slightly

bemused look as if trying to assimilate a too-rapid
turnover of events just like Harry was. Seeing that
helped. Harry worried that Cedric knew things he
didn't, and he, Harry, would look a fool in
comparison. Ironic how the age difference always
seemed to matter more in his imagination than it did
in person. "That wasn't very good, was it?" Harry
asked. "The kiss."

And for absolutely no reason that Harry could

fathom, Cedric burst out laughing, almost as if he
were hysterical from tension. Harry backed off;
Cedric didn't let him. Closing the distance between
them, Cedric cupped Harry's face, grinning down at
him. "We just need practise." It was almost flippant,
but not. He bent and they tried kissing again, but
their heads were facing the same way so noses
bumped; they turned their heads once more, but
wound up in the same direction again. It was
probably comical to watch, had anybody been
watching. Finally aligned correctly, they bent
forward and met in the middle.

At first, they just pressed their lips together, then sort

of worked their mouths against each other, as if
chewing without food. Harry's lips parted, catching
Cedric's full lower lip between even as Cedric caught
his upper lip. Soft, soft. Shivers shook him and his
arms went around Cedric's back. Cedric moved his
own hands from Harry's face down to his shoulders,
pulling him close. With so many new sensations,
Harry couldn't sort it all out and had to step away,
almost gasping, eyes wide-wide open. Cedric's own
eyes opened slowly and he studied Harry's face.
"All right, Harry?" he whispered.

"Yeah. Yeah -- all right." Harry dove back in, as if

making up for lost time. He wanted to find out
exactly what all the fuss was about when it came to
kissing. And perhaps they should talk about things,
try to figure out the future, but they could do that
later. He shifted his arms so he could get closer, his
chest pressed to Cedric's, but kept his pelvic region
clear, not wanting Cedric to know how intensely this
had affected him. He wasn't quite ready yet to think
about that. Soon maybe, but not now. Kissing was
enough to get used to.

They spent a while experimenting. Past the

maladroit angling of heads and figuring where their
hands should go, they could concentrate on
discovering what they liked. Even if he must have
kissed Cho before, Cedric probably hadn't liked it
much and while he knew the mechanics of kissing,
he'd suddenly turn forceful with raw emotion and pull
Harry against him as if he wanted to eat him alive.
Harry felt overwhelmed. There was a tongue, too.
Well, two tongues, once Harry realised he could do it
back. When Cedric first parted his lips and slid his
tongue into Harry's mouth, however, Harry's initial
thought was, "It's big and wet!" and he almost jerked
away. Why having somebody's tongue in his mouth
should be erotic, he had no idea. But just a few
moments later -- past the shock of it -- he discovered
it was.

"Slow down, slow down, slow down," Cedric said at

one point -- which Harry found amusing as Cedric
had just been the one trying to suck all the air out of
Harry's lungs. "Only a little tongue -- gently." And he
used his own to demonstrate swipes at the bottom of
Harry's lip or the corner of his mouth. Harry tried to
copy it. "Better," Cedric said. "The tongue's not a
Moray eel."

And that put a cap on it. Already high on

excitement, Harry started laughing. Giggling, really.
Then Cedric joined him, and before long, they were
both too far in stitches to kiss at all, but the anxiety
had drained away. Harry suddenly found himself
being hugged. Not 'embraced' or 'held', but hugged.
It was wonderful, safe and happy and wonderful.
They didn't say anything, just held on, faces buried
against the other.

It was going to be okay. It might all be new, and

scary and nerve-wracking, but this was still Cedric,
his friend, and it would be okay.
They went down to dinner shortly after. Now that the
terrible tension of the last few weeks was broken,
Harry found himself ravenous. But the minute they
stepped out the door, he knew the subterfuge had
begun. Cedric stepped away to put about a foot
between them while they walked. They were back in
public. And who did he tell about the change?
Hermione, and Remus and Sirius, of course. He
should probably tell Ron, too, but feared doing so.
Anybody else? He wanted the whole world to know,
but didn't -- and not only because it wasn't
accepted. He felt a bit shy. Like a butterfly just out
of the cocoon, this new thing between them was
damp and fragile. He needed to accustom himself
to it before blurting it out to anybody else. All he
knew right now was that he'd fallen head-over-heels
for Cedric Diggory, who seemed -- miraculously -- to
feel the same way about him.

In the Great Hall they had to part to go to their

separate tables. He tried not to keep shooting looks
at Cedric while he ate, but failed. Cedric kept
shooting him glances too. "What's going on with
Diggory?" Ron asked at one point. "Did you two set
some sort of practical joke?"
"What? Oh, no. I mean, yeah, it's a joke, but not
something we did." Well, it was something they'd
done, but not like Ron meant.

Hermione appeared as if she were trying not to

break out in laughter and Harry kicked her under the
table.

After dinner, Harry disappeared before Hermione

could grab him, or Ron, either, for that matter. Right
now, he just wanted to be with Cedric even if he
couldn't be with Cedric. "Library?" Cedric asked,
almost breathless when Harry appeared at his side
on the way out of the Hall. Harry nodded, then
dashed up to Gryffindor Tower to get books and met
Cedric there twenty minutes later. If they couldn't do
more than sit next to each other, they positioned
their chairs close enough that their knees brushed,
and sometimes, when they were certain nobody was
watching, one would reach over to touch the other's
hand. Harry could barely concentrate on the chapter
he was supposed to be reading for Flitwick, and
Cedric seemed to be using an Erasure Spell quite a
lot on his essay. They didn't talk much but this
wasn't about talking; it was about being. They
stayed in the library as late as they could without
breaking curfew, then walked slowly out to the place
they had to split up in order to head to their
respective common rooms.

Nobody was around, at least at the moment, so -- a

bit shyly -- Cedric reached out to take Harry's hand,
squeezing his fingers. "We should talk about this,"
he said.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Not sure when, or where.

Someplace nobody will walk in on us."

Cedric nodded, squeezed Harry's fingers again, then

let go. "You're all right with it?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Cedric's smile was brief but glorious, then he turned

and headed for the staircase that led down as Harry
took the stairs up.

Hermione pounced on Harry almost as soon as he

was through the portrait-hole door. "Well?"
"Shh. We talked." Harry was afraid to get specific in
the middle of the common room, even if they were
speaking quietly.

"All you did was talk?" Hermione asked, eyes

practically glittering.

"Well, no, but do I pester you about Viktor?"

She backed off, face sobering. "Sorry. Not

intending to be a nosey parker, just" -- her grin
flashed back briefly -- "want you to be happy. And
Cedric too."

"Hey, mate!" Ron called, apparently having just

realised Harry was back, coming over to join them.
"Where the bloody hell have you been? I've been
writing that History of Magic essay all by myself."

"Imagine that, Ron," Hermione replied, rolling her

eyes, "actually doing your own work!"

Ron glared at her. "I'm not cheating; I just wanted to

consult with Harry since you won't help."

"I don't want to be expelled."

Harry sighed. With Ron and Hermione squabbling,
things were obviously back to normal in his life.

But he discovered they weren't. If the uncertainty of

his unrequited crush were past, he had a new freight
of worries now as he and Cedric tried to navigate
this new side to their friendship. It would've been
confusing enough in normal circumstances, but
keeping it all secret made things worse. Was
Cedric's failure to notice him in the corridor on
Wednesday morning due to Cedric not seeing him?
Or had Cedric ignored him in order to maintain their
cover? Or had Harry inadvertently done something
to upset him?

It turned out Cedric simply hadn't seen him, but the

case was axiomatic of Harry's new anxieties, and on
Friday at breakfast, Cedric passed him a note:
Tomorrow after lunch, my Captain's office. It was
unsigned, and vague enough it could have been
about anything -- but it would be the first time since
Sunday that they'd be reliably alone.

Getting away, however, proved to be difficult. Ron

wanted to play Exploding Snap opposite Seamus
and Dean. Harry managed to talk Neville into taking
his place, but then was waylaid by Angelina who had
a new match tactic she wanted to discuss. By the
time Harry made it to the Pitch, it was almost two in
the afternoon and he feared Cedric had given up.
Cedric hadn't. The door to his Captain's office in the
Hufflepuff changing rooms stood open. It was a bit
odd entering to see yellow and black where Harry
usually saw crimson and gold. Cedric heard him
and came to his office door, smiling. "Sorry," Harry
said. "Kept getting stopped on my way here."

"S'okay. Come in." Harry felt Cedric's hand trail

over his back as he passed him in the doorway, then
the door was being closed and he turned and Cedric
turned and they were kissing hard like the Sunday
before. Harry heard Cedric tap wood with his wand,
presumably locking the door behind them.

With a week between of smiling glances and brief,

friendly pats on arm or shoulder when passing in
corridors, of stolen time studying at library tables
and public conversations where they had to watch
everything they said, tension had built. Harry
couldn't get close enough, and found himself
vaguely annoyed that he was so short, or Cedric so
tall. He stopped long enough to glance around for
something to sit on, but the small room held only
Cedric's desk, a couple of chairs, a tall, narrow
bookshelf and a blackboard -- much like Wood's
office, or Angelina's now. Cedric's desk was covered
with parchment and books. "I come here sometimes
to study where I won't be interrupted," Cedric
explained upon seeing Harry's staring, but Harry
was thinking more about the desk's height than what
covered it.

"If you sit on the edge, our faces will be more on a

level," Harry said.

Understanding, Cedric moved things; Harry helped.

Then Cedric settled down and pulled Harry to him,
his head slightly lower now than Harry's, but only by
an inch or two -- not half a foot. "Better?" he asked
between kisses, reaching up to remove Harry's
glasses. "I keep bumping my nose on them."

"Can't have that," Harry agreed. "And it's much

better." They stopped talking then and spent half an
hour (Harry glanced at his watch) kissing, holding
each other, and just breathing together, Cedric's
head on Harry's shoulder, his hair soft under Harry's
palm.

"Five days left," Cedric muttered into the room's

quiet.

"Five days left till what?" Harry asked.

Cedric lifted his head. "Till the Christmas holidays.
We may not get to do this every day, but at least
here I get to see you every day."

Harry had rather deliberately not been thinking about

Christmas. "Surely your parents will let you come
and visit us in London, at Grimmauld Place. You did
this summer."

"Well I should hope, although we've family things to

do. My grandma -- dad's mum -- lives down in
Cornwall and dad'll want to visit for a few days -- the
whole family meets there once a year -- then mum's
sister lives in York. So we've loads of visiting and
they won't be happy if I run off all the time."

Harry supposed he should have realised Cedric

would have extended family even if he were an only
child. It was just that Harry didn't have much of any,
and wasn't accustomed to thinking about holiday
visits. At least this year, he'd have family -- real
family -- of his own, and as much as he'd miss
Cedric, he also had to admit he was looking forward
to getting to go home. "We can still see each other
some -- and not have to worry about hiding."

Cedric's expression was wry. "Well, I'm not so

certain about that."
"You think Sirius would care . . . ?"

"Harry, he's your godfather. I'm three years older

than you. He might be a bit concerned."

And that brought Harry up short; he'd not even

considered it. He'd written to Sirius and Remus on
Monday, telling them he'd kissed Cedric, and had
received a somewhat careful response. He'd just
assumed Sirius didn't want to embarrass him by
teasing, but now it occurred to him that Sirius might
have doubts of one sort or another. "Oh, surely he
wouldn't think he has to protect my virtue or
something equally stupid." But as soon as he said it,
he wished he could take it back because it raised
the uncomfortable spectre of sex.

Cedric gave a wry grin. "Of course not, but he might

worry I'd push you." His expression sobered. "You
know I wouldn't, right?"

"What if I push you?"

That made Cedric laugh. "I wouldn't object. But

then I don't suppose that would be pushing, would
it?"
Harry opened his mouth to ask how much Cedric
knew about sex firsthand, but couldn't get the
question out. His face and neck burned, and to
change the subject, he asked, "How do we do this?"

"Do what? Not -- "

"No! Not that!" Certain now that his face was

tomato red, Harry reached for his glasses on the
desktop. "I mean, this . . . what we have. We can't
hold hands, or show too much interest, or tell hardly
anybody."

"It's all new to me too," Cedric reminded Harry

gently. "But we shouldn't act too differently. I've
already had a few questions from my denmates."

"I have too, from Ron. And one even from Ginny."

"The problem," Cedric said, "is that by not acting

differently, that means we shouldn't try to see each
other less, either. And we have been this past
week. We meet in the library, but alone, and you've,
er, sort of been avoiding me at meals. That's part of
what I wanted to talk about. Scott asked the day
before yesterday if we were quarrelling again. We
are friends, have been friends, and people expect to
see us together sometimes."
"Oh." Harry pursed his lips and couldn't quite look at
Cedric. "The problem is that, well, being around
you, I can't think straight. It's like I've got this . . .
pressure inside and I'm afraid it'll just burst and
everybody will see how I feel. That probably sounds
idiotic, doesn't it?

"No," Cedric said, and Harry could feel Cedric's

fingers trail through his hair. "I feel the same. You
make me positively giddy." That admission raised
Harry's head to find a soft look in Cedric's eyes.
"But we've got to work more on being normal with
each other, like we were before. That means
sometimes spending time together with others and
managing to keep our hands off each other."

Harry nodded. "Just friends."

"Yeah." Cedric's expression was sad. "Welcome to

my world." Then he frowned. "And Harry, are you
sure about this, that you want this -- ?"

"I told you yes."

"But you don't have to live this way. I may, but you
don't. You could find a nice girl . . . "
"I don't want a nice girl; I want a nice boy. I know
what it entails -- well, more or less. I may not be
happy about it, but that doesn't have anything to do
with you, and you're worth it, okay?"

Smiling up at Harry from where he still sat on the

edge of his desk, Cedric said, "Okay."

They spent another twenty minutes kissing before

Cedric broke it off, his face flushed and lips swollen.
"We should do something else," he said, and while
he didn't explain that remark, he didn't really need
to. Harry wondered if he looked as dishevelled as
Cedric, and he'd suffered an erection for so long his
groin was numb.

They sat on Cedric's desk and held hands, talking of

Quidditch and their classes. Harry asked Cedric
about his relatives, then told him about his Aunt
Marge and her stupid English bulldog, Ripper -- how
Ripper had once treed him until after dark. "I hate
dogs," he confessed.

"Poor dog was badly trained," Cedric replied. "She

made it as cruel as she is."

"You like dogs? I thought you turned that rock into a

labrador last year and let the dragon get it."
"It wasn't a dog, Harry. It was a rock. I wouldn't do
such a thing to a real animal. Don't confuse a
temporary Transfiguration with the real thing. I like
dogs fine, although I reckon I'm partial to cats. I had
a cat when I came here, but he was old and died in
my fourth year. He'd been in our family since before
I was born and used to babysit me -- saved me from
a snake once."

"What was his name?"

"Oh, nothing clever, just Shadow. He was black with

a white bowtie and one white foot. More distinctive
looking than handsome, but it seemed appropriate
for a wizard to have a black cat, you know."

Harry laughed, and by the time they went to the

castle for dinner, he felt relaxed, as if they'd found
their feet again. It was easier over the next week to
stand beside Cedric in a corridor or the courtyard or
the Great Hall and behave as if nothing had
changed. Nothing had changed. It had simply
enlarged.

That year marked the first Christmas Harry didn't

stay at the castle but piled onto the Hogwarts
Express along with the other students, headed back
to London to a home, a family, and a place in the
world where he was welcome, not a burden. He
rode with Ron, Hermione and Neville, but not with
Cedric. Cedric had his own compartment with his
friends. The odd girl, Luna, came by for a while,
wearing blinking lights for earrings and warning
about nargles in mistletoe, where they could be
found "quite often."

"What's a nargle?" Harry whispered to Hermione,

who whispered back, "Don't worry; doesn't exist."

Nonetheless, before Luna left, she leaned in to tell

Harry -- very solemnly -- "You and Cedric be careful
of nargles. Their bites leave purple pimples all over
your face." Nodding, she rose and drifted out of
their compartment -- leaving Harry blushing,
Hermione wide-eyed, and Ron and Neville peering
at Harry.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked -- suspiciously

more than dismissively. "Naming Cedric and you
and mistletoe?"

And there lay Harry's biggest hurdle in all this -- how

to tell Ron, even whether to tell Ron. Ron was his
best mate, and if Harry might excuse a short delay
by saying he'd needed to settle matters in his own
head, the more time that passed, the more shaky
that excuse became. Unfortunately Harry had seen
how Ron would react in Ron's response to Skeeter's
claims about Dumbledore -- and he didn't want to
deal with that directed at him.

His optimistic other side, however, scolded him for

not trusting Ron. Ron had stuck by him, been his
friend since the very beginning . . . except last year,
when Ron had believed that Harry had put his name
in the Goblet even when Harry had said he
hadn't . . . If Harry had gone some way towards
forgiving Ron for that, he hadn't forgotten, and it
made him hesitate now. He wanted to believe that
Ron would get past his misconceptions and still be
his friend, but he wasn't sure. And he wasn't feeling
emotionally centred enough -- or conversely,
desperate enough -- to take that chance. It was
easier to keep the truth to himself.

So now, deadpan, he replied, "I have no idea."

Shrugging, Ron accepted that, as apparently did

Neville, both assuming Luna was off in her own little
world again. Harry wondered if he'd been wisely
cautious, or just cowardly.
In the dead of winter, the train pulled into King's
Cross Station after dark, and Harry, tired and dazed,
trundled off along with the rest. Somehow, he, Ron
and Hermione wound up near Cedric on the platform
although he hadn't attempted to engineer that, and
they all queued up at the barrier to be passed
through.

On the other side, Harry spotted Sirius immediately,

dressed in indigo velvet for the public eye. He stood
out among the Muggles, who cast him peculiar looks
as they passed in a hurry. Being out and about
legally must not have worn off yet. "Harry!" Sirius
called.

Harry made his way over, giving Sirius a big hug,

followed by Ron and Hermione, who'd come to say
hello. Mrs. Weasley was there to collect Ron, Ginny
and the twins, and Hermione's parents had come for
her. Cedric's father was there as well and made his
way over when Cedric appeared, hugging him
enthusiastically. Cedric returned it, although his eye
sought out Harry's. Harry wondered if they'd be able
to steal a moment to say goodbye before Cedric was
hurried off, but almost before he'd finished that
thought, Sirius was calling out, "Amos!" and waving
Mr. Diggory over. He shot Harry a quick wink.
"Sirius," Mr. Diggory replied more cautiously, shaking
Sirius's hand.

"I'm planning to have a Christmas party next week,"

Sirius said. "You and Fiona are invited, of course,
but I could use an extra pair of young muscles.
Harry will be there" -- he rested a hand on Harry's
shoulder -- "but after twelve years in Azkaban, my
health's not the best, and neither is Remus's. Think
you could loan me your son for a few days ahead of
time?" He leaned closer to speak where passing
Muggles couldn't hear. "Some things require more
than a wand swish."

Harry did his best to look neither gobsmacked nor

too pathetically eager, but Cedric had turned
hopefully to his father. "It would give me a chance to
do some shopping in London," he said.

Mr. Diggory appeared mildly surprised, but not

suspicious. "Well, I don't see why not -- "

Before he could say more, however, there was a

loud scream, then an ululating wail from Harry's left.
Harry had his wand out instinctively but couldn't see
anything because Sirius and Cedric had both
jumped in front of him.
"Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!" echoed off
station brick along with, "She's dead! He just killed
her. She's dead!" Another voice began shouting for
police while yet another called, "Ring 999!"

For a minute, Harry had no idea what was going on

-- assumed it was a Muggle thing, as King's Cross
wasn't in the best part of London. Then he heard
Cedric gasp and cry out, "That's Rose! Somebody
killed little Rose!"

Then he was moving forward -- and he wasn't

alone. Other members of Hufflepuff who'd been
standing around, greeting family, did the same,
headed for the small knot of people gathered around
a screaming woman rocking the body of a little girl.
Now that Cedric had moved, Harry could see. There
was no blood, no evidence of violence, but the girl
was obviously dead, eyes staring, body flopping. It
was horrible.

All around, Muggles were panicking and running

away. So were some of the Hogwarts students, but
despite the cries of parents to flee, a goodly portion
of Hufflepuff had ringed the girl's family, wands out,
ready to do battle -- although it wasn't at all clear
where the attack had come from or who'd made it.
Muggle Transport Police in dark blue came running,
shouting, "Stop! Police!"

"Bloody hell!" Sirius muttered, gripping Harry as if to

Apparate away but Harry fought free. "Leave it to
others, Harry!"

"But Cedric -- "

"-- will be fine. The Death Eater who killed that little
girl is long gone."

"Death Eater?" Harry asked, letting Sirius get a hold

of him again then point to the train station roof where
the snake-and-skull symbol had appeared in eerie,
glowing green. Almost on the heels of Harry's
question, other -- wizarding -- voices took up the cry,
"Death Eaters!"

"Lots of Obliviating on tap tonight," Sirius was

saying. "Let's go! Now! Grab Hedwig's cage."

And with a firm grip on Harry and Harry's trunk, he

Disapparated them right off the platform -- but not
before Harry spotted Hermione also being hauled
away by her parents. The expressions of pure,
shocked horror on the Grangers' faces did not, Harry
thought, bode well.
The End

Final Notes: The beautiful manip at the top was

done for me by Ginger001. The ending is less of a
cliff-hanger than it might at first seem. The next
novella in the Aorist Subjunctive series -- tentatively
titled Past Present -- won't be begun immediately.
For one thing, and as some of you know, I'm
currently working on another Cedric!Lives AU novel
called Dulce et Decorum est, the sequel to Finding
Himself, and I want to return to write some more on
that. For another, I've got some real life
commitments this spring, including editing an
anthology and attending a couple of conferences.
The time between installments tends to run between
6-9 months, as I prefer to finish these in their entirety
before posting, to make certain everything hangs
together. Ergo, the next installment likely won't
come until the summer or autumn of 2008. I do
have one short story that's H/C, called "Vulnerable,"
for those who haven't already read it and want more
of this pairing. "Vulnerable" is not set in the Aorist
Subjunctive universe, although it does share some
things.
That said . . . Feedback is much appreciated and
replied to. I love to know what readers thought, and
even what they think might be coming next.