Chapter 5

Back at the Burrow, Hermione found the Weasleys and Harry just about to sit down to a late lunch. She rushed to get herself a plate and silverware and joined them, sitting somewhat uncomfortably between Fred and Bill, the only seat with some space still available. She looked around her with a sort of feeling of unease which she could not quite understand. For years, the Weasleys had been her family. Her parents were lovely, yes, but they could not understand her or her world. They saw her as a bit of an anomaly and tried to ignore the difference in her. They rarely asked about anything magical, and when Hermione brought it up they soon toned it out, moving on to more muggle topics 'that everybody can understand and participate in, dear. You understand.'

But with the Weasleys Hermione fit well enough. She could be as magical as she wanted, and that was truly, perfectly normal. And she could be a bit of a muggle at times, and they just saw it as a strange character quirk, not any different from Mr. Weasley's interest in muggle life. And it had all worked wonderfully for a few years now. But… after the fiasco at the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione found herself feeling slightly on the outside of the family. She could not understand how the Weasleys could have forgotten her. She had said she would go meet them. They knew they had her ticket and that tickets had been sold out for ages, so the Diggorys could not have gotten her one.

And yet… they had left her alone, on the outside. Not even Harry or Ron had spoken up and asked to stay behind with her ticket and wait. And then she had had to lie to Cedric, out of embarrassment both for herself, at being so insignificant as to easily be forgotten by those she considered her own family, and for the Weasleys, for having forgotten her. She had not had much time to dwell on the situation earlier, when she had first fought with Cedric and then had found herself fearing for her life and that of all her friends, but now, at the dinner table, surrounded by conversations that did not include her… She missed home. She missed her own family, the way it had been before there had been any discoveries about her magic, and she had been able to share everything with her parents.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley was looking at her with a look of concern. Most of the table was cleared and empty; it appeared the meal had somehow finished without Hermione noticing. She blushed.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," she reassured her, immediately feeling guilty for her thoughts when here was Mrs. Weasley, checking up on her with all her motherly qualities on. "Just thinking too much, I suppose."

Mrs. Weasley smiled and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "There's no such thing, dear. You can never think too much," just as she said this, the sound of an explosion came from the upstairs, most likely the twins' room. "Trust me," she reiterated, a wry smile on her face, soon matched by Hermione's. "And would any of these thoughts have to do with a certain Hufflepuff neighbor of ours?" she asked, her tone too innocent to be normal.

"No!" Hermione cried, her face instantly flushing. "Well… they didn't until you mentioned him, I suppose," she admitted. Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at her.

"Dear, I may only have one daughter, but I lived through my own young romance in Hogwarts. I know your look well," she explained. Hermione smiled, feeling much more comfortable than she had been just five minutes earlier. Mrs. Weasley was the perfect mother, really, making everybody feel at home and loved with just her presence. "I just want you to know you can talk about it with me if you want. I may only be Ron's mother, but I see you and Harry as my own, too. And it does my heart good to have one more daughter in my flock," she confided, warming Hermione's heart. She was certain that if Mrs. Weasley had gone to the Quidditch World Cup she would not have been left alone at the gates.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. That means a lot to me."

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at her and squeezed her hand for a second before standing up and setting all the dishes in the kitchen to clean by themselves with a flick of her wand. Hermione remained in the kitchen for a short while still, watching the inanimate objects move by themselves around her. When they were all done, she finally made her way back upstairs, where she found Ron and Harry tossing a quaffle back and forth in Ron's room. They smiled up at her when she came back in, but Ron's expression soon turned serious.

"Harry, mate, Hermione's here now. What was it you had to tell us?" he asked. Hermione looked curiously at Harry, wondering what he might have to say that had to wait for her.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, Harry! Why didn't you tell us? You should have told us! I wonder what caused it… I read something about scars hurting before, of course, but it's not quite the same… That's usually about war veterans with phantom limbs, and this is something else altogether, isn't it? I mean, it's a magical scar. The pain is probably magical residue… We should ask Professor Dumbledore about it. Or Madame Pomfrey! She is sure to know about this!"

Instead of the reasonable reaction she had expected, in which she might have been told to be less loud and enthusiastic, but Harry would have agreed that she was right and that he should owl Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, he remained silent and grim. Ron spoke up, almost stuttering, obviously shocked by Harry's revelation and completely disregarding Hermione's words.

"But – he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean – last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she was reminded of that fact and she turned to stare at Harry expectantly, already tossing ideas around in her head about how to protect her friend while he was out in the muggle world. But it seemed they were not necessary, as Harry reassured them that Lord Voldemort had very much not gone to pay Little Whinging a visit and left Harry alive to tell the tale.

"But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter – you know, Wormtail," he explained. "I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone."

"It was only a dream," interrupted Ron adamantly. "Just a nightmare."

But Hermione did not look so sure, and neither did Harry. "Yeah, but was it, though? It's weird isn't it? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign is up in the sky again."

"Don't – say – his – name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

Hermione winced and hugged herself, the memories of the Death Eaters and the screams and explosions around her sending shivers down her spine. She got lost in the images of the terror that reminded her so much of what she had studied of the Holocaust, and completely missed the rest of the discussion until she heard Ron bring up his favorite topic: Quidditch.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry. Come on – three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… You can try out he Wronski Feint."

"Ron," Hermione spat, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now… He's worried, and he's tired. We all need to go to bed," she argued, despite the fact that the sun was still up in the sky and they really had just recently eaten lunch, even if it had been a late one. Personally, all she wanted to do at that point was to curl up in bed under her covers and sleep, anyway.

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione shook her head and left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys." She headed to the room she shared with Ginny and found her calmly sitting on her bed, flipping through one of her mother's issues of Witch Weekly uninterestedly. When she walked in, the redhead put the magazine down and sat up to look at her properly.

"Hi, there," she greeted. "Are you alright? You looked kind of peaky at lunch," she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine!" Hermione reassured her. "I was just thinking about things," she explained. Ginny wiggled her eyebrows comically.

"About a certain Hufflepuff sixth year?" she asked, and Hermione could not help but laugh. Ginny looked quite put out. "Well, it's not entirely a ridiculous conclusion!" she defended. "You looked quite chummy with him at the World Cup!"

"That's not it, Ginny," Hermione explained between laughs. "It's just that… you are just like your mother sometimes, you know?" Ginny looked like a strange mix of pride and horror at just that moment, causing Hermione to dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. "But no, I was not thinking of him. Though we are quite… chummy, as you call it," she appeased.

"Ah. Well. I did notice that you chose to sit with him and not us at the Cup, so I figured certain… chumminess was already in motion," Ginny explained, and suddenly Hermione found herself faced with a tough choice. She could just go with their interpretation of events and pretend that she had attended the game with the Diggorys, or she could tell them the truth and explain how they had accidentally left her behind. But just the thought of how horrid Mr. Weasley would feel if he realized what he had done was enough to convince her that the truth was better off untold.

"Well, he invited me. And he doesn't tease me when I don't know something about Quidditch," she said by means of explanation. She wasn't really saying that she had gone to the game with him, so it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Oh, I don't blame you. He is quite attractive. And a very good seeker himself, to boot. Just a tad old for you, isn't he?"

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned. "No, he's not! He is sixteen still, and I turn fifteen in about a month," she explained.

"And then he turns seventeen a month later, doesn't he? I remember the fifth year Hufflepuffs throwing him a birthday party on Hallowe'en last year," Ginny retaliated, obviously enjoying Hermione's distress over the age difference.

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione finally cried, red in the face. "What difference is his age to you? It's none of your business, really."

Ginny looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to upset you. You just look so taken by him, I just wanted to tease you a bit. But I'm sorry, alright? I don't think there's anything wrong with being attracted to an older guy," she appeased.

Hermione calmed down a bit and nodded, but was suddenly decidedly not in the mood to chit chat with Ginny. Instead, she grabbed her History of Magic book and made her excuses, making her way downstairs to sit in the kitchen and read while Mrs. Weasley prepared dinner. When the time came, she set the table ("Only nine of us tonight, dear!" Mrs. Weasley informed her as she supervised the soup stirring itself, "Arthur sent an owl ahead, saying he and Percy will be late tonight. Ministry business. You understand.") and ate her dinner quietly, content merely in listening to the others around her. Then, as soon as it was socially acceptable, she left to go shower and go to bed. All she could think about was visiting the Diggorys the next morning.

Indeed, shortly after the sun rose the next morning Hermione was up and about, preparing for her visit to the Diggorys' later that morning. She dressed quickly and quietly, not wanting to wake Ginny up, and made her way downstairs, where not even Mrs. Weasley was awake yet. She poured herself some milk and had some of the biscuits sitting in one of the cabinets, and then proceeded to sit and wait for it to be a decent time to visit the Diggorys. And wait. And wait. Goodness gracious, she had not expected it to take her so little time to get ready!

This, of course, brought up the worry of whether she had not gotten herself ready appropriately. She looked down at the capri jeans and tank top she was wearing, and she wondered if she should change. She had gone to the Diggorys' dressed like this before, but that had been before she had kissed Cedric and they had started… whatever it was that they had started. Was she supposed to dress up now? She did not know, but these thoughts occupied her for long enough that it was quite suddenly an acceptable time to pay the Diggorys a visit, so she simply decided to go as she was.

She knew that the Weasleys did not like to use their Floo too much, since the magical powder was expensive, and so she decided to walk to the Diggory house; it was a nice morning, after all. She left a note for Mrs. Weasley and grabbed an apple from the kitchen before heading out the back door in the direction she knew Cedric to live. She was thankful for her choice of clothing straight away; it was a hot day, and she even had to stop halfway there to plait her hair, because it was growing much too hot around her neck and shoulders. By the time she arrived at her destination, the sun was high overhead and her face was flushed in a mixture of the exertion and the sun. When Cedric, who was sitting on the porch, caught sight of her, he instantly jumped to his feet, a worried expression on his face.

"Hermione!" he cried, running over to her. "Are you alright? Did you seriously walk all the way here, you foolish girl? It's the hottest day on record for years, what were you thinking?" But Hermione was not thinking much of anything anymore, enjoying the feeling of being cradled in Cedric's arms, which were blessedly cool around her. She sighed contently.

"Cedric? What's going on?" It was Cedric's mother, Mrs. Diggory, poking her head out the open window of the lounge after having heard her son's agitated voice. When she caught sight of Hermione, all surrounded by Cedric's arms, she smiled tenderly. "I'll be right down," she called, more quietly this time.

Meanwhile, Cedric led Hermione inside and instantly forced a glass of water onto her hands, watching over her to make sure she drank it all down, then immediately refilling it and handing it back to her. "You silly girl. What were you thinking?" He repeated, shaking his head at her in amused despair.

"I wanted to come visit you, and it was a lovely day," Hermione justified as the overwhelming sense of heat left her. "And I didn't want to use the Weasleys' Floo powder up when I could just walk here."

Cedric rolled his eyes, brushing a few loose, sweaty strands of hair away from Hermione's equally sweaty forehead. He leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead, taking the opportunity to check her temperature at the same time. It was within a normal enough range, and he relaxed slightly, allowing his gaze to drift down to the rest of her body before he blushed and quickly looked away.

"Hermione, dear!" came his mother's voice echoing down the staircase, just as he sat down next to Hermione and moved to pull her closer. He sighed and let his arms fall by his sides, instead of going around her as he had intended. Hermione beamed somewhat dazedly up at his mother, who was making her way towards them in a flurry of excitement. "It's been too long!" she continued, having finally arrived at the sitting room and sitting on the armchair across from the teenage pair. "How are you?"

"Well…" Hermione started. "Just at the moment, a bit lightheaded, I must admit," she said sheepishly, looking at Cedric out the corner of her eye. "I'm afraid your oaf of a son might have been right, and it was not a good idea to go for a walk in this sun."

"Oh, dear me!" Mrs. Diggory exclaimed as she took in the full picture of Hermione's flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead, dazed eyes, and heavy breathing. She cast a surreptitious glance at Cedric, looking like she was enjoying the situation much more than any mother should ever be and causing him to blush even more and shift awkwardly on his seat by Hermione. "Hermione, would you like me to fix you up a bit? Looks like you might have a bit of heat exhaustion," she said worriedly, taking out her wand.

"Um… that… might be a good idea," Hermione agreed awkwardly, feeling quite young and foolish. She fought the oncoming tears at her embarrassment, which caused her even more embarrassment and, consequently, caused her eyes to burn with the piling up of more tears. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, reminding herself that she was a very mature young woman, and that the influx of emotion was entirely due to her stupidly having gotten some heat exhaustion, not to her being a silly girl in the presence of the bloke she fancied. Not at all.

Mrs. Diggory had her fixed up in no time, and Hermione felt away right away. She even performed a bit of a cleansing charm on her, and the sweat was all gone, leaving Hermione feeling fresh as a rose once more. She beamed up at Mrs. Diggory. "Thank you! I feel so much better already!" she assured her. "And how have you been, now that I can properly ask? You were in… Istanbul?" she asked curiously.

"Cyprus," Mrs. Diggory corrected. "You wouldn't believe how backwards they can be, for a culture that once was allegedly the cradle of our civilization," she complained.

Mrs. Diggory worked with an international magical legislation group, focusing on human rights infractions in magical communities. She traveled often to visit problematic communities and to try and fix the situation or, at least, better understand it so as to be able to fix it in the long run. She had recently been called away to Cyprus because of a spike in the magical domestic abuse statistics.

"Well, all you have to do is look at the Welsh," said Cedric in a serious tone. "Isn't that where Merlin was from? Just think about that; every single British wizard, descended from the Welsh!" Hermione and Mrs. Diggory could not help but laugh at Cedric's affected horrified expression.

"Don't let your Grams hear you saying that, boy!" interrupted Mr. Diggory from the doorway, his tone stern. But Mrs. Diggory and Cedric only laughed harder, and Hermione figured there had to be a hidden joke in there somewhere. Mr. Diggory walked over and winked at her. "My mother's family is Welsh," he explained. "And my mother seems to be under the impression that Wales really is the cradle of all civilization and will inform anyone she meets of it. Loudly and repeatedly. She does not go a single day without informing everyone around her of how much she misses Wales."

Hermione smiled, now understanding. "That's rather like my mum's parents, then. We're French on that side, you see, and my Papa can't believe his descendants are English, of all things. And, of course, my dad's parents try to never let it be known that their son married a frog, as they so kindly put it. I don't think they've quite forgiven my mother for giving birth to me in France yet."

Cedric stared at her, his eyes wide as cauldrons. "You're French?" he cried, sounding as outraged as if she had just said she was a leprechaun in disguise, or immortal, or… the secret lovechild of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Hermione looked up at him, her face showing all the surprise she was feeling at his outrage and, hidden underneath it, a fair amount of hurt at his negative reaction.

"Well, yes. I have British citizenship, too, but I was born in France and spend the winter holidays there, with my mum's family. Or I did before Hogwarts, at least. Is that a problem?" Her defiant tone did not quite hide the tremor in her voice, and both Mr. and Mrs. Diggory looked at her with sympathetic looks, and then at their son with outraged, uncomprehending ones.

"What? No! I mean… no, no. It's just… you're French. And I had no idea! Do you speak French? Why do you go to Hogwarts if you're French? And why didn't you tell me?" He sounded calmer now. Or, at least, he no longer sounded like Hermione's nationality might cause him to have an aneurysm.

"Well, you never asked, did you?" Hermione replied tersely, though feeling slightly more comfortable now than she had thirty seconds earlier. "And I do speak French. But I told you; I'm a British citizen, too! I was invited to both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons."

"I'm sorry," Cedric apologized, finally taking note of Hermione's hostility. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was just… surprised. I promise I don't think there's anything wrong with the French or France. I… I think the French must be lovely people, since you are one," he finally muttered, blushing fiercely. His parents relaxed and smiled before standing up and excusing themselves, leaving the two teens alone. "I really didn't mean to sound upset," he assured her one last time.

"It's alright," Hermione comforted him. "I overreacted a bit, too, I suppose. You just looked and sounded so outraged, and I couldn't understand…" she drifted off, staring down at her hands, crossed over her lap.

Cedric placed his hands on hers and squeezed comfortingly for a second, before putting his arms around her and pulling her towards him and onto his lap, as he had wanted to do before his mother had arrived. "I'm sorry. I was an ass," he whispered into her hair, tickling her ear with his breath and causing her to squirm within his grasp. "Now I get to show off to everyone about my French girlfriend," he said lightly. Hermione stiffened in his arms.

"Girlfriend?" she asked, unsure of herself.

"Well…" he met her eyes shyly. "I mean… I thought so, after…" he drifted off, and each of them knew that the other was thinking about their kisses in the forest before the Quidditch World Cup. "But if you don't want to it's ok. I'm sorry. I just thought—" Hermione cut him off, throwing her arms around him and, much to her own surprise, kissing him full on the mouth. He smiled into the kiss, tightening his arms around her and pulling her closer. "Girlfriend it is, then," he wheezed out when Hermione finally pulled away for air. Hermione just nodded, her face flushed once again.