Crush
Minisinoo

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.