I apologise greatly for making you guys wait so long, but school ended, and friendships, relationships, injuries etcetera were taking up my time. It's been a long road and this story is coming to a close with this being the last chapter. I hope you've all enjoyed it, and read my Ced/Hermione stories in the future. On with this one, though!

Muse – Falling Away With You
And I'll feel my world crumbling down.
I feel my life crumbling down.
Feel my soul crumbling away,
and falling away,
Falling away with you.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – Death

As Hermione lay on the hospital bed, she wondered a few things. One of them was where exactly she was laying. Another was why the hell she felt so much pain, especially in her leg. The last thing she wondered, or really pondered, was the slight ache in her chest. Surely this would be included in the wondering of the excruciating pain, but no – this was a different sort of ache, a different sort of sting. To Hermione, she realised that it was wholly emotional, like she had lost something dear to her. And that was when her memories rushed to the forefront of her mind. She felt her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her muscles tensed up. All the fifteen year old could think of in that moment was that she surely couldn't go on with the loss – not this one.

"What is she doing?"

"Hold her down!"

"Madam Pomfr-"

"I said, hold her down!"

"Is she having a seizure? Oh Merlin, she's having a seizure!"

A sharp sting assaulted the right side of her face. It was so abrupt and the pain so fleeting that it was as if it hadn't happened.

"Don't slap her, you daft child!"

"I didn't know what else to do! I can't watch her like that!"

"Harry, maybe we should leave-"

"Yes, you should leave."

A cool palm rested on her forehead, and Hermione felt her muscles unclench and her eyes flutter in exhaustion. Her breath was coming out in rattles, and she felt like she wasn't in her own body. She couldn't feel much, if anything at all.

Would her chest ever stop burning?

When she next woke, she was alone. It looked to be night time as Hermione saw the black wall of sky outside, decorated with the weak glittering of stars as they fought to overcome the encompassing darkness. She turned her eyes away from the depressing sight, something that so very much represented her very own struggle at the time. Maybe if she didn't fight, she would save everyone the trouble – let the chips fall where they may; although she knew where they'd fall, or more precisely where hers would – into death.

A light flickered in the distance, and she tried to blink away the blurriness surrounding her vision. She tried to speak, but nothing came out but a raspy garble. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Of course letting nature take its course would be better than fighting if this was her version of it.

Things were going in and out of focus, and all of a sudden she felt a cool cloth on her face. Choking on her tears, she tried to swat away the feeling. Her arms didn't move like she wanted them to – instead, one fell off her stomach to lie beside her, and the other twisted to fall off the bed. The tears continued to fall, and suddenly great wrenching sobs echoed into the infirmary. At least, that's where she presumed she was – after all, what other place would house the nearly immobile?

Turning her head as quickly as she could, which was a snail's pace, Hermione closed her eyes as her cheek brushed the pillow. Breathing heavily, she realised her body must be sick of sleeping – if that was possible. Her skin tingled, and she could almost feel the blood moving sluggishly through her veins. A fiery trail, but a slowed one nonetheless. She groaned in suffering.

Her eyes opened, and she froze at the sight of her loss.

He was there. Why was he there?

Her tears stopped, and she looked at him with her glimmering brown eyes. He was laying unusually still, both arms beside him, and his hair as messy as always. She could see his chest rise and fall with his labored breath, and hoped that she wasn't just seeing things. Unwilling to let go of this illusion, Hermione made a decision. Gritting her teeth, albeit weakly, Hermione gave a groan of exertion as she lifted herself up on her hands. They shook with the effort, and she quickly twisted her body, giving just the right amount of push to move from the bed, and swing her feet around-

There was a smack as her bare bottom hit the floor, and she stifled the cry that threatened to resonate throughout the room. Crawling over to his bed slowly and pathetically, she rose on her knees, careful not to strain her broken leg.

Madam Pomfrey found her there in the morning, sobbing into Cedric's sheets and grasping at his hand desperately. She couldn't really remember what had happened after she was pulled from Cedric. Maybe a physical fight ensued, or maybe, surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey couldn't remove her from his side. Regardless – it was hours later that she realised the ache in her chest was gone as she sat on his bed. Despite being relieved, Hermione didn't want to think about why it had ached. She knew that wasn't normal, even after losing a loved one. That was something for later analysis. For now, she was just thankful. Thankful, thankful, thankful.

She stroked his hair, his face, his arms, his chest; anything that reminded her that he was there, and very much alive. He seemed to be burnt in many places – his right shoulder for one, and his right thigh. His left elbow bore slightly lesser burns. What confounded Hermione the most, however, was the state of his left ear – it was as if it had been hacked at. The perpetrator must have missed several times, for it seemed to have only chips out of it. Despite its battered appearance, the nurse had reassured Hermione it was in perfect condition.

She brushed his bangs back from his face, and gazed at his closed eyes, the soft eyelashes just not long enough to brush his high cheekbones. She didn't know what was ahead of them, or what the next few days would entail. She didn't even know whether he would live, but as the thought nearly brought her to tears again, she vowed to do anything to keep him alive. On her back, playing with his hair absentmindedly while she gazed at the ceiling, Hermione thought of all the things she would have to face. Harry, Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic, the whole damn Wizarding world – it was pretty laughable, really, that all these things seemed so much more foreboding than meeting with Voldemort ever did. In a way, Hermione was grateful. Although, it did spur the question – if Voldemort wasn't her biggest problem, who, or what, was?

Curled up beside Cedric, his breath causing her hair to tickle her face, Hermione was lulled into sleep by the sound of his heartbeat.

Something was shaking her.

"Hermione, get up."

Her eyes sprung open, and she sat bolt upright in her bed – or really, Cedric's bed. He was lying as still as before. She looked away quickly, saddened by his lifeless face and unmoving body, even though he had not passed on without her.

"What? What is it?" she said, and was surprised at the sound of her voice, normal and even.

"I think you have a lot of explaining to do." She looked up and saw a be-speckled boy with green eyes and spiky black hair.

"Harry," she sighed, smiling, moving as if to embrace him. She didn't expect him to reciprocate so readily, but found comfort in the bone-crushing hug.

"You can't just do that!" He broke the hug then, sitting beside her and cradling her face. Cedric's bed was becoming a party, Hermione noted with amusement. She grinned happily, trying to forget that Harry was trying to interrogate her. Maybe Dumbledore had put him up to it – but she didn't have the time or the energy to wonder about the headmaster any longer.

"You're so stupid! Do you realise what could have happened?"

He rested his bruised head on her shoulder. She felt like collapsing.

It wasn't his head that weighed her down, but the tone of his voice, and the implications of her actions. Just what had she risked by facing Voldemort? At least Harry had the protection of his blood, but she – well, Hermione had nothing, no advantage in their little duel. She hadn't thought of it that way, but then she realised that without the protection she needed, how had Harry and Ron reacted? They knew she was as vulnerable as could be… she pushed Harry back, horrified.

"I'm… so s-sorry." Hermione choked up, looking away from Harry to Cedric, watching the slow and slight rise and fall of his chest. She gave a sad, watery smile and squeezed his hand.

Harry sighed, like he had expected this.

"I get it. You're my best friend, Hermione – you always forget that I know you, and so I know why you did what you did… but sometimes I just wish you'd think. But that doesn't even make sense because that's all you do!" He got up from the bed and began pacing. She followed him with her eyes, unshed tears just waiting to fall.

Should she tell him everything? Harry was in the dark, and surely he had a right to know. But whether it was worth the risk, was the question. After all, the more people knew, the greater possibility everyone would find out. She trusted Harry, yes, but people overheard things – especially in Hogwarts.

No. She couldn't. She knew, and Cedric knew. Dumbledore too, Hermione was sure. But that was all who could know – anyone else would be a liability.

I'm sorry, Harry.

Did she only apologise these days?

Harry was saying something, and she wasn't quite sure what. He seemed to be gesturing madly, and his hair was even messier than before, sticking up oddly, almost looking like a porcupine. It was as if she were deaf; she could see his mouth moving, nearly feeling the reverberations of his deep voice – something which had changed this year – but his words were muted, his steps almost silent.

"-me, Hermione. You can tell me anything. I am always here if you need me. I've noticed you've taken to confiding in Cedric, and that's okay, really-"

A hand squeezed back.

Hermione spun around, very nearly toppling off the bed in her haste. Her hair whipped her face but she took no notice.

"Cedric… Cedric!" she exclaimed, shaking his hand which made him stir.

Suddenly his grip became vice-like, and Hermione heard her own intake of breath in surprise. It was a painful grip, and she desperately tried to free her hand.

"Cedric… you're hurting me." she whispered weakly, on the verge of crying. She felt Harry try and release her hand as well, but it remained firmly encased in Cedric's. A second later, his whole body was shaking, and Hermione glimpsed his eyes fling open before they slowly rolled into the back of his head. Her own eyes widened, and she screamed for the nurse.

"MADAM POMFREY!"

Her voice echoed off of the infirmary walls, and everything seemed to blur except for Cedric writhing on the bed. Madam Pomfrey obscured Hermione's vision as she pushed her aside. Harry began to lead her out of the Hospital Wing.

"He's seizing. Dobby!" The elf appeared. He looked at the hysterical Hermione and visibly winced. "Fetch me Healer Frevki from St. Mungo's, immediately."

"No! NO! Let me back in there! I can't leave him! HARRY!" Her protests were unheard it seemed, as she was dragged through the doors and into the corridor. She was released and stood there panting for several moments. The sound of Cedric's shouts from within the infirmary were painful, and Hermione so wished she had the courage to hex Harry again. She needed to help Cedric. Hermione could not stand there and do nothing… there was surely a way to help him, make him better. Voldemort had used a dark spell, no doubt. So she would have to use a dark spell to turn Cedric back to normal; and she knew just where to find one.

Hermione straightened up, took one look at her best friend, slapped him, and ran down the corridor. She knew where she needed to go to fix this, to fix him. And no one was going to stop her.

"Hermione, wait!"

She ran on.

Draco Malfoy was having an ordinary day. There wasn't anything particularly special about it, or the people involved. It was your average day at Hogwarts when you were a Slytherin.

Yesterday, however, Draco Malfoy had been served quite a treat in regard to entertainment. Granger had got herself in some trouble with the Dark Lord, polyjuiced herself to look like Potter, and admitted her love for the golden Hufflepuff all in one day. And to top that off, she and the badger were in the infirmary, quite nearly dying.

He'd had the best day, yesterday.

But now his day was just about to get better… possibly better than yesterday if he thought about this moment in hindsight.

He strutted into the library, because that's what Malfoys did – they strutted everywhere like they owned the place because the truth was that they did. Malfoys owned everything. At least, in theory. That's what Draco liked to think, anyway.

He was perusing the bookshelves for a text that would help him in the coming year. Granger always had a one-up on him every year, and he'd decided that with OWLs fast approaching, he better get a move on and beat the mudblood already.

"Speaking of the mudblood," Draco muttered to himself, peering around the bookshelf to see the girl frantically flipping through the pages of a black book. Her hair was frizzier than normal, if that were possible, and she seemed to be in a hospital gown that was a tad bit too see-through. Malfoy didn't mind so much – just because she was a mudblood didn't mean he couldn't admire her fully-developed body. He was a man, after all. Her eyes seemed red-rimmed and there were tear tracks down her face. Draco congratulated whoever made the insufferable goody-two-shows Gryffindor cry. It was about time.

She stopped abruptly, staring at the pages like they were the wizarding plague. Thank Merlin Draco's descendents had avoided that particular debacle – nasty disease, it was.

Probably why the majority of wizarding society is so ugly these days, he thought, disgusted.

"What are you doing?"

"I couldn't let it go. Merlin, I tried, but I couldn't!"

Her sobs were loud and she forced herself to stop breathing.

"Granger!"

Her head snapped up and she hiccupped several times, her sobs now quiet shakes of the shoulders. She was staring at him strangely.

Draco stood there in shock as her eyes closed and she collapsed against the cushioned chair she was sitting on.

"Shit, shit, shit." he muttered under his breath, walking briskly to her. A girl fainting was one thing, but Granger fainting was a whole other story. True, he disliked the girl – but she was what kept him motivated, his retorts sharp and his grades even sharper – to leave her here would be his downfall.

At least, that's what Draco liked to think. Besides, why would he selflessly help a mudblood? There is no reason.

He clutched Granger's head, the bushy hair tickling his nose and making his intense feelings of dislike for her grow.

"Granger. Granger, wake up. Mudblood, bloody hell, wake up!"

It was all to no avail.

So he slapped her. At the time, it was a logical solution to a problem presented to him and something he'd dreamed of doing for many years. In hindsight, it was an irrational solution to a problem presented to him and something he'd dreamed of doing for many years.

She screamed at him, slapped at him, pushed at him, scratched at him – and she wondered why he called her mad?

"Granger, calm the bloody hell down!" he yelped, as she happened to pinch him at the same time.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, tears still streaming.

"Alright, alright!"

It was silent as they stared at each other.

"What do you have there?" Draco inquired. He squinted at the book to read its title, "Deadly Solutions To Deadly Pro- hey!"

Hermione snatched the book and held it to her chest.

"Go. Away."

"Granger, I have seen that book before," he carried on, despite the girl's quickly narrowing eyes, "and trust me, you don't want to delve into that stuff."

"Trust you?" She laughed mockingly. "You're the last person I would trust, Malfoy."

"Well good!" he shouted, "I am the last person you should trust." he stated bitterly, quietly this time. Draco knew what kind of person he was, and Granger didn't need to bloody well rub it in his face. She did it almost every day, but today was a little too much.

She stared at him suspiciously for a moment, waiting for him to continue.

"Look, all I'm saying is that I think I know where you are right now," Draco couldn't believe he was saying this. He hated Granger. Well, not hate – more an intense dislike. But still! It didn't mean he had to go all deep and meaningful on the mudblood. Did he want her to go crazy, though? Because it sure seemed she was going that way to him. He'd seen many others go down her path, and none of them had kept it together, even his own father. Draco's eyes darkened at the thought of his father. Granger didn't deserve that kind of treatment, or that mentality. "It's not a good place, alright, Granger? From first hand experience, it's somewhere you definitely don't want to be." She just kept on staring. What the hell was wrong with her?

"And why are you giving me advice?" she asked curiously. Her eyes were wide and her posture was tense.

"Because you're Granger, and Granger could never be dark." Draco said frankly, standing. He looked down at her for a moment before he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, he thought he might have heard her say thank you.

Yes, today was definitely better than yesterday, he thought.

"How are you feeling?" she asked tenderly, replacing the flowers on his bedside table and sitting on the side of his bed. He smiled at her sleepily and she squeezed his hand in response. She spent most of her time in the infirmary now, as she tried to avoid masses of students as much as possible. The stares were getting to her.

"Better than yesterday, for certain." His voice was husky, and Hermione couldn't help but shiver in delight at the quality.

They sat there for a while in silence. It was often like this in the morning. Hermione would scoff down breakfast and run up to the hospital wing just in time to see Cedric awaken, and they would sit quietly for the duration of the morning while Cedric dozed on and off.

She had been released from the infirmary a day after her library escapade, as she'd taken to calling it. The healer from St. Mungo's had given her a clean bill of health and had thankfully stabilized Cedric with the help of one of Professor Snape's potions. Healer Frevki was a Russian that had moved to England fifteen years ago, just before Harry was born. She had been concerned about Voldemort's growing power and implications to civilians as a result of it. Hermione couldn't help but smile goofily whenever she spoke to the healer, however, because her accent was still very prominent. She was eternally grateful, though, for the healing she and Cedric had received from the middle-aged woman.

Hermione looked to Cedric and smiled. He seemed to be getting better. The seizure had been a one off, something Madam Pomfrey had not been able to explain. It would remain a mystery as Hermione had no interest to figure out why it had happened. She had made an oath to herself to just accept some things – she'd spent too much time the past year researching and pondering issues that were unimportant in the long run.

Although Cedric was improving, the cursed burns on his right thigh were very severe and he was told he would have scars there permanently. He hadn't seemed fussed when he had found out, merely thankful to be alive. Hermione had insisted Madam Pomfrey heal as much of the burn as possible, but the witch had stated that it was simply impossible – they were cursed wounds, and the caster had been intent on killing Cedric; there was nothing the healer could have done but save his life. His face, suffering from the same burns, was not as bad. There was scarring, but it was extremely scarce and could only be seen at a certain angle and if in bright light. She often cradled the left side of his face, as Cedric had told her the skin was a lot more sensitive there, and her touch gave him comfort.

It was only a couple of days before Cedric could leave the infirmary – Madam Pomfrey had told her he could leave on the first of July, although he still had to take potions daily to fend off the lasting effects of the unknown green hex that he had been hit with. A couple of weeks of those over the summer, and then he would be nearly as good as new; only with some burns and an incomplete ear as a result of his sixth year.

"Have you heard anything from your parents?" Hermione asked, running her hands through his hair as she lay next to him while he ate lunch that same day. It was a daily occurrence, one Hermione enjoyed thoroughly. She felt guilty saying that these times in the hospital wing were the most relaxing of the year, but she couldn't deny the truth.

Cedric gulped down pumpkin juice from his goblet before setting it down on the table that his lunch sat on beside the bed.

"Dad sent a letter confirming my improving health and saying that unless I was 'gravely ill', he didn't have time to come to my bedside." Cedric said bitterly, playing with her hands. Hermione didn't know what the relationship was between Cedric and his father, but it was rather eclectic. Sometimes he would be a proud, loving father, and other times he would be distant and uncaring. It had Hermione wondering, but it wasn't her place to ask. After all, inquiring into Amos Diggory would only result in inquiries into herself, which she couldn't have. For now, she would just have to try and understand.

"Oh, Ced…"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly, "I'm more worried about mum," He frowned, "I haven't heard a peep from her since before the task."

Hermione frowned with him.

"I'm sure she's fine, she's probably on her way to Hogwarts now to surprise you. It takes a while to get through the security, after all – especially after the task." Hermione had a sinking feeling that all of that was a lie. Just what was Mrs Diggory up to? It was a little strange, and something Hermione knew was serious. She couldn't express her concerns to Cedric otherwise his health might get worse, which she definitely didn't want. No, it was up to her to find out what had happened to Cedric's mother. She'd give him an update when she could.

"I hope so." Cedric muttered, burying his head into her neck and tickling her with his hair.

The ringing of her laughter down the hallway adjacent to the hospital wing would be the last sounds of laughter amongst the two for a while.

"I'm sorry."

"How is this possible? Are you sure? Did you find-"

"They found her body, Cedric."

Hermione grasped his hand firmly, not even thinking of letting go. Just when things were getting better, Voldemort had to go and drop this on their heads. She hated him. She hated that monster for what he had done to Cedric, but most of all what he had done to her. She knew his game – he was trying to take Cedric away from her, bit by bit. Her eyes flashed with her hate, and she gritted her teeth. She saw Cedric in the corner of her eye, and his expression made her anger dissipate. He looked completely and utterly lost. He was staring at Professor Dumbledore in disbelief, clenching his jaw in that familiar habit of his.

"My mother is dead." He said brokenly.

"Please know, Cedric, that I am deeply sorry."

The headmaster left them alone after that.

She was worried about him. They sat in silence, one not comforting but desperately sad. Silence was comfort. Silence was how Cedric was coping. But he wasn't coping well. Hermione saw him fight back tears, saw him struggle to sleep at night, and saw the several crumpled up attempts by the bed to ask his father about a funeral. Cedric was slowly coming apart at the seams, and Hermione knew that when he did, she would have to be there for him.

When he was released on the first, he told her he wanted to be alone. She frowned in concern, but complied. If he needed to be alone, she would let him be alone. When her grandmother had died, all Hermione had wanted to do was be alone. The need to let go had been unbearable, and it was something she had done in the confines of her own room.

So when Cedric sat down next to her in the library that evening, and decided to lie down on her lap, Hermione understood what had just happened. She saw his red eyes and his clammy cheeks, and she understood. The two of them remained in the library for the rest of the evening.

When it came to go back to their dorms, Hermione didn't question him when he led them not to Gryffindor tower, like he normally did first, but to the Hufflepuff dormitories. She understood when he asked her to lay next to him, and understood when he sobbed into her hair until he fell asleep during the early hours of the next day.

She went to her dormitory early that morning, promising to come back after lunch as she was packing to go home and had other matters to attend to like her best friends. She had kissed him, and left him to sleep away his grief for the day.

As she packed, Hermione wondered. The year had passed quickly – too quickly. Maybe it was a repercussion of using the Time Turner the year before, which made days longer. She was sure that wasn't it, though. The past year had had purpose. She had done what had she needed to do with little collateral damage. But there were so many questions that still needed answering, and she presumed that they would be answered over the summer. Or, at least, she hoped they would be. Why did Dumbledore think letting Cedric die was the best idea? If Voldemort had been a Death Seer like she was, what did that mean? And why had the evil monster cursed Cedric so?

She and Cedric had finally sorted things out, but it wasn't conventional. It wasn't normal, really. She didn't particularly care for normal, but she wondered how it would affect them in the future.

Knock, knock.

Hermione's head snapped to the door. She didn't want to see anyone right now, but at the thought that it might be Cedric, she relented to some company.

"Come in." Her voice shook, and she cleared it hastily.

"Harry," she said, surprised. Her best friend had entered holding a bag of something, she did not know. He smiled at her tiredly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to give you this." He held up the bag, and when it clinked, Hermione realised it was the Triwizard winnings.

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"Just hear me out, alright?" He walked over to her and placed the bag in her hands. "You were there, you fought him. You deserve this purely for that single reason – but that's not the only thing." She went to protest, but he stopped her, "No, Hermione; you saved Cedric's life, something I would never have been able to do. You've helped him and me all year. You've kept everything in balance. You deserve so much more than these winnings, but it's all I can give you. So please, take it. It's the only way I'll feel just slightly less guilty for not helping you."

"Harry, I can't-"

"Merlin, Hermione! Do something for yourself for once!"

She paused, looking at the bag and then at her best friend. He smiled a smile she could not resist, and she hugged him tightly.

When she let go, she frowned at Harry.

"But… when did you get these? I didn't hear anything of the Minister coming to Hogwarts." Hermione asked. Although she had avoided her peers, she was still up to date on all national affairs, she was certain.

"It was when you were first in the hospital wing. I was in there, too. I wish you had witnessed the whole thing, actually." Harry added. His expression seemed thoughtful.

"What happened?" she asked, placing the winnings in her trunk and snapping it shut. She placed her usual locking charms on it that she did every year. When they were all completed, she nodded in satisfaction and put away her wand in her jacket pocket, turning back to Harry.

"Fudge came and started hassling Dumbledore about Voldemort's return-" At Hermione's flabbergasted look, he explained, "I believe you, don't worry. I felt the whole thing, remember? Anyway, Fudge got all flustered and just dropped the winnings in my hand. Seems that although you were there, it still counts as a Harry Potter win because they thought Cedric was dead."

Hermione frowned at that. Surely by that time Madam Pomfrey and Healer Frevki had revived Cedric and were working on healing him? How long had he been thought dead?

Harry continued on, engrossed now, "Sirius came, and then Snape showed up! Oh, by the way, Mad-Eye wasn't really Mad-Eye – he was Barty Crouch's son, a Death Eater. The one everyone thought was dead. He's as good as dead now, though – Dementor's Kiss and all that. But back to Snape; the git is a Death Eater! Apparently he's a spy for Dumbledore. It explains so much, don't you think?"

Hermione stared at Harry.

"Harry!" she whined, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

He laughed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I figured you had… other things on your mind." His expression turned serious and Hermione knew exactly what he was talking about.

The two of them walked down to the Great Hall together for lunch, and Harry helped her forget all about the stares and the whispers. She should have been used to them by now, anyway – they'd been following her all year, for Merlin's sake.

They entered the room and a sudden quiet came over it. Hermione tried to look everywhere but at her peers, and found a shock of red hair that was wholly comforting.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed through a mouthful of food. And the only reason she could understand him was because she was well-trained in Ron-speak.

"Ron, do you even have table manners?" Hermione asked, eyebrow raised, as she sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Hermione, do you even have a sense of humour?" Ron mocked back, making her scowl. Harry laughed at the two of them and began eating.

Sitting through conversations about Snape's loyalty, what Sirius said to them, Dumbledore, and Snape's loyalty; Hermione couldn't help but feel a little out of place. She loved her best friends, she did, but there was a sense that she had done some growing up in that graveyard, and it was without the two of them. Sighing, she pushed her food away.

"I'm just going to go to the library. Don't wait up for me." Hermione announced, lifting herself from the bench and making her way out of the Great Hall.

"Why does she say that?" she heard Ron say behind her, "She knows we always wait up for her, anyway."

Hermione looked around the Entrance Hall, thankful that no one was there to see her slip into the corridor that led to the Hufflepuff dormitories. She reached the portrait, spoke the password with little insult from the fruit, and entered. Passing the fire, she quickly made her way to the stairs to the boys' dormitories, and walked into Cedric's room. She saw him, sprawled and asleep on his bed. His hair was even messier than usual, and he was shirtless. His face, though, was what shocked her so entirely. It was content, pleasant – happy. In his sleep, Cedric had escaped the reality of his situation. He was at ease.

She sat down next to him and placed her hand in his hair. She massaged his scalp for a while, thinking. Would this year change Cedric as a person? More specifically, would his mother's death change him? She knew what it was like to lose a close loved one, but she had vowed that she wouldn't change when her grandmother died. She'd kept that vow to this day. But Cedric didn't have any reason not to change. He could, so very easily. It scared her. Cedric had a temper, one he didn't express often – but when he did, he was a force to be reckoned with. Could his tempers become his usual attitude? A never-ending bad mood?

She felt a calloused hand on her wrist and looked down. Cedric's sleepy eyes looked back up at her, and she relaxed her, what she now realised were tense muscles.

"Hey." She whispered, kicking off her shoes, taking off her jacket, and carefully slipping underneath the covers with him. He was behind her, arms around her, and head in her neck. She was lying there for a few hours as he slept, trying to think away the problems that had yet to be solved. After a while, his breath silently brushing her pulse point, she was lulled to sleep with him.

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she looked to the clock on Cedric's bedside table.

"Merlin!"

She rolled over, pushing at Cedric to wake up.

"What is it?" he asked in post-wake up grogginess.

"The end of year feast is about to start! Get UP!" She pushed at him once more before literally hopping out of bed and throwing on her jacket and shoving on her shoes. She looked down at herself and groaned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, clothes." she said wistfully as she pulled out her wand. Speaking the incantation, they transfigured into standard Gryffindor uniform and robes, something which was undoubtedly going to ruin her actual clothes. She turned around, ready to leave, and saw Cedric still in bed.

"Ced-"

"I'm not going."

"What?" she said after a pause.

"I'm not going." He repeated, and his tone was so serious that it almost made Hermione run off to fetch the Headmaster, despite his meddling ways.

"Ced, you have to go. I'm not letting you sleep all day." She said jokingly, pulling at the covers. He snatched her wrist, holding it tightly.

"I don't want to go." His eyes bored into hers, and she felt a little uneasy.

She looked at him forlornly. What could she do when he was like this?

"Please come, Cedric. I'll do anything. Really. I'll- … I'll even sit at the Hufflepuff table, even though it's against the rules and everything, but I just really-"

"You'll break the rules?" his face looked to be on the verge of laughter, and Hermione was so surprised she said nothing. Her wrist was still firmly in his grasp. "Well, I have to see this." He let go of her wrist suddenly, and she rubbed at it incessantly. He was being a little sharp, maybe a little condescending, but that could just be her taking it the wrong way. It was best to just let it fly over her head. He was going to the feast, after all.

He made up for it by grabbing her hand on the way out of the dormitory, anyway.

The feast was an entirely different affair than all the previous years at Hogwarts. The Great Hall, buzzing as always with the excitement of the end of the school year, seemed to double in noise due to the happenings in the past week. She and Cedric walked in quietly, still holding hands. He led her to the Hufflepuff table, with no expression on his face – not even a smirk.

Their hands sat, entwined, on the Hufflepuff table, talking to no one. It seemed almost everyone was staring at them, but when Hermione noticed, their gazes would look elsewhere. She let him do what he wanted throughout the feast. He played with her hair, her hands, her robes. He touched her back, her neck, her cheek, her arm, and at one point even her upper thigh which had been a rather large shock. She didn't care, though; anything to distract him from his peers, and from his mother. Hermione looked over to Harry and Ron occasionally, but they seemed perfectly at ease, only sending the occasional questioning glance. Even Ron was well-behaved, which was probably the first time Hermione had seen him that way when she was around a boy. Well, more like a man in Cedric's case.

The feast ended late, like normal every year, and she and Cedric stayed behind in the Entrance Hall. It would do no good for people to see her go to his room, or even his common room.

They spent roughly two hours in an unused broom closet.

The next morning, Cedric and herself were standing in the Entrance Hall with their trunks and respective pets. They weren't talking as other students hustled and bustled around them, and they were both content that way. When it came time to go to the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade station, they both picked up their belongings and entered the same carriage. Harry and Ron had signaled to her to join them, but she could not leave Cedric, not when he was like this – not talking and emotionless.

They sat in the carriage in silence.

Boarding the train was done in a similar manner, and they found a compartment at the back of the Hogwarts Express that seemed to be ignored by the majority of the Hogwarts population. They sat next to each other, observing the countryside flying by them as the train gained speed. Cedric held her hand, and that was enough. She rested her head on his shoulder, and that is how they spent the ride to King's Cross. Sometimes one of them would read, sometimes one of them would eat, but mostly they just sat. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had spent so much time in silence consecutively. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When they arrived at King's Cross, they were greeted with the sounds of relieved students and happy parents. Hermione saw Cedric clench his jaw out of the corner of her eye, and knew if she didn't do something, he would breakdown at home with no one to comfort him. She couldn't rely on his father to do the job. She squeezed his hand and led him out onto the platform, their trunks following close behind them.

The couple stood in the middle of platform nine and three quarters, waiting. At the first sight of Amos Diggory, Hermione turned to Cedric.

She hugged him tightly, almost bone-crushing, "I'm so sorry."

She felt his hot tears fall down her neck and held him more tightly. He didn't let go for a couple of moments until he pulled back and kissed her intensely. It was almost bruising with its force, and Hermione knew he just needed to vent his grief, and this was the only way he knew how.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when he pulled away, and she kissed him again. "I'm so sorry."

"Cedric!"

His father's yell over the crowd of students and parents caused Cedric to hold her more tightly.

"Please," he whispered desperately, "please let me stay with you."

Hermione looked up at him. She saw a man who had just lost his mother, and a boy who needed to be taken care of. It was when she realised this later that she couldn't understand how she had done what she did.

"I can't, Cedric." She said, frowning. "I would love to, but I can't. I'm sorry."

Cedric clenched his jaw and released her from his embrace. He pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and shoved it into her hands. He'd picked up his trunk and owl, and had walked off through the busy crowd toward his father before she could even realise what he'd written.

17 Ottery Rd, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, U.K.

Write me.

In a daze, Hermione carried her belongings through the wall to the actual King's Cross station. She looked around, trying to find her parents, the note still in her hand.

"Hermione!" Her mother ran up to her, and hugged her until Hermione thought she wouldn't be able to breathe. "We've missed you so much, dear!"

Her father came into view.

"Welcome home, kiddo."

When Hermione did nothing but stare at them, her mother frowned.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

The question snapped the fourth year soon to be fifth year out of her daze, and she stashed the note into her jacket pocket.

"Nothing, nothing!" she exclaimed as she hugged them both. Her dad took her trunk and Crookshanks purred in her arms as they set off toward the car.

"So, one word to describe the past year?" her father quizzed, the same question he asked every year, and she gave the same answer. Except this year, her answer changed.

"Different."

"Well, that's a new one."

As her parents participated in idle chatter about their past year, Hermione reached into her jacket pocket for the note.

Write me.

Fastening her seatbelt, Hermione knew she would do more than write.

She would love.

Uhm, yeah, okay. Wow. Just ended this story. Little surreal, given it's half past one in the morning right now, but I'll go with it.

Few things to say. I wrote a Ced/Hermione one-shot way back in October when I felt like a break from this story. If you want some Ced/Hermione fluffiness, go read! You can find it on my profile. I quite enjoyed writing it, I have to say.

Also, one last request for you all:
Do you want a sequel?

Give me your answer with a review!

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

PheeCullen