Keogh

~***~



He had found her as he had come to send Madam Pomfrey to Moody’s office. How long she had been there in the hallway he did not know, but her skin was cold as ice to the touch. Needless to say those inside the hospital wing were quite shocked when Severus crashed through the door with Hermione in his arms.



There were three mediwitches from St. Mungo’s already present. They had been sent for to help deal with the Diggory boy who was finally succumbing to sedation and had quieted down. He would be moved to the spell damage ward as soon as they were convinced he was sufficiently stable and the aurors were satisfied they had a clear accounting of what had transpired. For the time being, however, three additional mediwitches meant that there was someone to examine Hermione as Madam Pomfrey hurried to answer the headmaster’s summons.



She seemed stable. Unlike the last time she had been found in this manner her pulse was strong and steady. Her body temperature, however, was barely above the danger point. Finding no evidence of physical or magical trauma, she was covered in thick blankets and left to rest as Severus answered questions. Yes, she had been under quite a bit of stress with two close friends in the tournament. No, he doubted that she had done much in the way of studying. There had been a shock to her system earlier this year because she had been the one to find the body of Barty Crouch Sr. when he had been murdered. The healers decided that her friends returning in such a battered and beleaguered state had finally overwhelmed her and she had simply collapsed. He felt that they completely missed their mark. He knew his daughter handled stress far better than this.



Pomfrey returned with the real Alastor Moody and placed the wizard on a bed away from the rest of the crowd. Moody had been on a hair trigger before. Severus did not want to think how jumpy the paranoid git would be now. He sat by Hermione’s bed, watching as the witch drew curtains around the grizzled form to shield him from prying eyes. A man in healers robes arrived to advise that the transport from St. Mungo’s was finally hear and they started to prepare Diggory to be moved. The boy’s parents looked pale and drawn, and at the moment he could sympathize with them.



The doors burst open and Molly Weasley came hurrying in, followed by her eldest and youngest sons. The matron’s shrewd eyes darted from bed to bed, freezing as she spied Hermione. “What happened?!” She bustled over, a hand moving to the sleeping girl’s forehead automatically. “She’s like ice! Ron said she left the stands before the boys returned, feeling ill, and never came back!”



Severus’ eyes narrowed. Had she been lying there in the hallway for that long? No, not possible. She would have been found when they had brought Diggory in. She must have made her way towards the hospital wing later, under what condition he could not fathom. She had not moved an inch since they had placed her on the narrow hospital bed, her slow breathing the only sign that she was still alive.



He knew when Mrs. Weasley pulled a chair to the other side of Hermione’s bed and sat down. He faintly heard the boys badgering Madam Pomfrey for Harry’s whereabouts but did not feel generous enough to tell them that the boy was still with the Headmaster. The youngest, at least, should be over here and hovering by his daughter’s bed in a state of panic. In complete friendship, of course. That he was not did not raise him up in Severus’ eyes in the slightest.



~***~



She woke up smothered in blankets as she had the previous year and realized that she must have passed out again when she had been ‘pulled in’. Bloody inconvenient, that. It tended to throw people into a panic. Though why they insisted on responding to that state of panic by trying to smother her with blankets she did not understand. Hot and finding breathing rather difficult she began to attempt to wriggle free. Thankfully someone nearby noticed and decided to help. Hands peeled back the layers and she found herself staring up into Severus’ eyes. Hermione blinked up in honest surprise before frowning. He arched a brow as he returned her gaze. “What is it?”



“Why couldn’t you pass on your eyes? Black is more interesting than brown.” The words came out with a bit of difficulty as her teeth were chattering. She was not cold any longer but it seemed to be taking her brain a bit of time to catch up to that fact. She managed to sit up after a couple of tries so she could look around. Ron, Bill and Mrs. Weasley were hovering around Harry’s bed. Mrs. Weasley was hugging him close and he was clinging to her for dear life, hungry for the comfort she offered. Bill noticed her movement and looked up, sending a smile her way before telling his mother that she was awake. All three Weasleys and Harry looked over towards her bed.



Harry frowned slightly. “You all right, Hermione? They said you had another collapse.”



She pushed a stubborn lock of hair out of her face after three tries. How was she supposed to explain this one away? “I’m fine. I just, got so caught up in helping you get ready for the task that I guess I didn’t take care of myself.” She ignored the glower coming from her birth father as she looked around. Her stomach clenched. “Where… where’s Cedric?”



Severus answered her as Madam Promfrey bustled over with a restorative potion. “Mr. Diggory has been taken to St. Mungo’s for further care.”



She accepted the goblet of potion but did not drink right away. “Is he going to be all right?” Please let him be all right! She turned her questioning gaze to the mediwitch who put her hand to the base of the goblet and urged it towards her lips so she would start drinking.



“Mr. Diggory will likely be fine, Miss Granger. However, the healers need a bit of time to drain the dark magic out of his body. He should be fully recovered long before classes resume in the fall, but he will miss the last bit of this year.” She smiled as Hermione drained the last drop and took the goblet back. “But you need not be bothered with that at the moment. You and Mr. Potter both are to stay put until you have recovered.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest but at that moment she glanced over to see Severus glowering at her and decided it might be wise to keep quiet just now. Instead she nodded to the mediwitch and reclined back against her pillows.



Harry was exhausted, she could tell, and he kept drifting in and out of sleep. She did, too, for that matter, but loud voices drawing closer to the ward refused to give her peace. She heard Molly Weasley fussing about the noise and could not agree with the woman more, even as the doors were thrown open to the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall came in, apparently furious with the Minister of Magic. Hermione listened to the conversation, her eyes staring at the ceiling as her fists tightened under the sheet. They had let one of them into the school! They had let a Dementor get to Barty Crouch! The idiots!



Fudge was demanding to know where the Headmaster was about the time Dumbledore sailed into the room, upset that the patients were being disturbed. His displeasure upon learning of what had happened to Crouch was almost palpable. Hermione tried to sit up to watch the conversation, but Severus put a firm hand on her shoulder and held her down, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. She gave a huff and resumed starting at the ceiling, the voices ringing in her ears.



If Cornelius Fudge was the leader of the magical world, they were all doomed. The man was a complete and utter idiot. Harry was there! He saw the Death Eaters. He saw Voldemort. He saw Peter Pettigrew send a killing curse against Cedric and the man still refused to even believe that Pettigrew was alive and Sirius was innocent!



“Actually, Minister, I recall Mr. Pettigrew from when he was at school here.” Albus’ voice cut off that of Fudge. “I do not like to be unkind, but he never was very skilled, whereas Black was quite adept. Sirius Black would not have failed to cast a proper unforgiveable, but Pettigrew… well… it would not surprise me if he failed to have the power necessary to actually pull it off. The healers do agree that nearly every part of Mr. Diggory’s body was suffused with dark magic, but somehow it failed to kill him as intended.”



“Now see here, Dumbledore! This is preposterous! Clearly Potter does not do well under stress! Last year he tries to convince us that Sirius Black is innocent and now he claims that he saw You-Know-Who return?” Fudge did not even spare a glance for Padfoot who was growling from his place by Harry’s bed. “It is beyond belief! He cannot be back!”



She heard Severus’ snarl as he got up from his seat next to her bed and stalked over to the Minister of Magic. Hermione struggled into a semi-seated position, watching to see what he was up to when he yanked up his left sleeve and bared his arm to Fudge. “See there, Minister? The Dark Mark. It is somewhat faded from an hour ago when it burned black. Every Death Eater had the mark burned into his skin. The Dark Lord had only to touch the mark on any one of us and we were to apparate to his side at once. It has been growing clearer all year. That is why Karkaroff fled tonight! We both felt the summons. He ran because he betrayed too many of his fellows to remain.”



Fudge recoiled from Severus, his complexion waxy from discomfort. Still he refused to accept what was right in front of his face. Hermione made to say something, to tell him that she had seen it all as well, when a strong, masculine voice spoke up inside her head. “You couldn’t have been there, remember? You don’t want to have the Ministry poking around into your unique gifts.” She swallowed and held her tongue, angry that she could not defend Harry and Dumbledore, but knowing that Salazar was correct.



The Minister of Magic tried to give Harry the cup and the prize money, but he stubbornly refused it. “I don’t want it! Give it to Cedric. We both took the cup, and he’s the one who came closest to being murdered. He should get it.” Fudge sputtered, but Harry’s mulish expression said he was not going to budge. Seeing that it was a losing battle, the man dropped the bag with the prize money into the cup and carried both out of the hospital wing, his nose in the air.



Hermione sat up fully in her bed, giving Severus her own mulish expression when he glared at her. He looked as though he were going to take her to task for her stubbornness when Dumbledore had Sirius transform into himself. Mrs. Weasley let out a horrified scream but Ron and Harry assured her it was all right. The Headmaster was right in that they had to start moving now. He called for old allies to be contacted and for Severus and Sirius to at least call an end to the open hostilities between them for the moment. The adults had to go their ways and prepare. They had to make ready for the oppressive weight that seemed to be settling down onto everything since Harry and Cedric had come back from the maze.



~***~



It was a few weeks before the healers felt confident enough to stop feeding him the pain relieving potions. Before then it had been all he could do to think, let along talk. All the better, really, because it gave his throat time to heal from all the screaming he had done in the beginning. The pain was nearly gone now. He still got the occasional twinge, but it had faded to nothing more than a sharp, hot stabbing that would last a few seconds before fading away. Nothing like the sensation in the beginning, of his skin being turned inside out while his bones burned and his insides were torn apart by steel hooks.



Many different healers had visited him, mostly because he was something of a medical oddity. A person who had survived the killing curse and was old enough to talk about it. They questioned him about how he felt and what he could recall of that night. Cedric had kept his answers as generic and benign as he could because he was not sure just how much he should divulge.



Cold, black emptiness that was somehow filled with whispering voices, only to be broken by a warm, brilliant light that had made him want to curl up inside of it and never leave. Icy whispers parting for Hermione’s voice which had washed over him like sunshine on a late spring morning. Knowing he was dead and hearing the dead around him telling Hermione that he could come back if she wished it. Hermione’s voice telling them to send him back and the first new breath drawn into empty lungs, white hot and agonizing.



Had it been real? Had she been there? It had to have been her! He had been half mad from the pain, but he had seen the rapid-fire spells shooting from the darkness, but they had been too fast for even Hermione, had they not? Or had she been apparating from point to point? Did she know how to apparate? It would not surprise him given how advanced she was, but certainly the trace would have gone off with her being underage, or did they bother to monitor underage wizards during term?



The Minister of Magic had come to see him. His father did not care for Fudge very much, and Cedric could certainly understand why. He had brought him the cup and the prize money, all of it. When Cedric had inquired as to why Harry had not been given his half the Minister had said that Potter declined the winnings citing that he felt they belonged to Cedric. He did not really care to keep them, either. He did not want any part of the pretty trap that had been set to try and kill the fourth year. It felt like accepting blood money. When he had tried to decline, however, the Minster had become sharp with him and slammed the cup down, leaving it there. His mother had taken it away when she had his father had gone home for the evening.



He was supposed to go home soon. That is what the healers told his parents at any rate. They would send him home with a mild pain potion for the occasional flare ups but had every confidence that the last of the dark magic would have worked its way out of his system in plenty of time for the new school year. He would be able to resume his normal life soon enough. They had professional smiles and somewhat vacant eyes. None of them realized that life would not be ‘normal’ any time soon.



The door to his room opened and he glanced up. It was only eight o’clock, so it was not time for his visit from the therapist. His parents were already here, squeezing in that last bit of time before his father had to hurry off to work. His confusion as to who it might was cleared, however, as Professor Dumbledore came into the room.



“No, Mr. Diggory, please don’t get up. There’s no need under these circumstances.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he greeted his parents, his father getting a chair for the wizened man. “Thank you, Amos.”



Cedric did manage to shift into a more comfortable position against his pillows. “It’s nice that you came to visit, Headmaster.”



“Of course I did, Cedric. I would have come sooner, however I was informed that you were not in a fit state for visitors until a couple of days ago.” The headmaster peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. “How are you feeling, Mr. Diggory?”



“Much better, Sir, thank you.” He swallowed. “Headmaster, I… Dad’s been bringing me the paper and I’ve read what they’re saying.”



Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, it does appear that the Ministry has quite lost its affection for me.” He did not appear overly concerned.



His father patted his hand. “Now, Cedric, don’t get yourself worked up.”



Cedric frowned. “But I am worked up. Harry isn’t lying, Dad. I was there. I saw what he saw.” He looked back to the headmaster. “Harry’s telling the truth!”



“I believe you, Cedric,” the Headmaster assured him. “I believe that you and Harry were taken to the graveyard in Little Hangleton that night and that you saw Voldemort and his followers. Just as I believe Harry when he says that Peter Pettigrew was the one who cast the killing curse at you.”



Amos frowned. “But the papers said that Sirius Black was believed to be the one behind their kidnapping and the attack on Cedric.”



Dumbledore sighed. “As I have told the Ministry, Sirius Black was a talented wizard and would have been unlikely to bungle the curse. Harry has tried to testify in the past to Peter Pettigrew still being alive but they refused to listen. And he swears it was Pettigrew who was in the graveyard.”



Cedric blinked. “But, Sir, if Peter Pettigrew is alive, doesn’t that mean that Sirius Black is innocent? I mean, he was convicted of murdering Pettigrew, wasn’t he?”



The wizard nodded. Cedric heard his father give an indignant sputter. “You mean they’re looking for the wrong man? That they kept an innocent man in Azkaban for twelve years? It’s unconscionable!”



“I agree, Amos, but the Minister will not honor my request for an inquiry. As Cedric pointed out, I am not in favor with the Ministry at this moment.”



Cedric saw his father’s chin lift a bit. “We’ll just see about that.” He glanced at the clock and rose up from his chair. “It’s time I was off at any rate. Work to be done and all that. If you will excuse me, Albus.”



Dumbledore smiled. “Of course, Amos. Don’t let me keep you. I just wanted to check on Cedric and make certain that our Head Boy will be present next term.”



Cedric blinked. His father gave a start and his mother covered a gasp. “Head Boy, Sir?”



The headmaster chuckled. “But of course, Mr. Diggory. Who did you think I was going to choose? You are the most qualified candidate for the position this year.”



Head Boy! He had dreamed of it, of course, but he had not dared to get his hopes up. The Ravenclaw prefect was very clever and there was a Gryffindor seventh year who had managed to not get a single detention his entire scholastic career. “Thank you, Sir. And I’ll be at school. They’re letting me go home soon.”



He knew his father was near bursting with pride and it made his cheeks flush. Thankfully, for once, Amos controlled his impulse to brag and settled instead for giving him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. “Well done, Cedric. Just wait until I tell Arthur! He’s had two Head Boys in his family, you know, though those twins of his… well… I’ll see you tonight after I get off.” Amos leaned down to hug him before giving his wife a kiss and the headmaster another farewell.



After Amos had gone, Cedric looked back to Professor Dumbledore. He, however, was looking up at his mother. “Mrs. Diggory, I hope I would not be too presumptuous to ask if you would be so kind as to get me a cup of tea from the café on the fifth floor? These old bones of mine…”



“No trouble at all, Professor. I’ll be right back.” She gave Cedric a proud smile, her eyes shining with tears of joy, before heading out. The door closed softly behind her and Cedric turned his gaze back towards the headmaster. He had a feeling that Dumbledore really was not all that concerned with tea.



“Now, Mr. Diggory, I wanted to speak with you about that night in the graveyard and how much you recall.” Cedric swallowed, hard, and lowered his gaze. He saw the headmaster’s long beard give a moment as though the wizard had nodded. “I thought as much. I assure you, Mr. Diggory, anything you tell me will not leave this room unless it is between you, me and Miss Granger.”



Cedric’s head shot up, his jaw dropping open in shock. Dumbledore nodded where he could see it this time. “Yes, Mr. Diggory, I am aware that Miss Granger was in the graveyard that night. And I am very impressed with your efforts not to divulge that fact to anyone else. Would you care to explain your reasoning to me?”



He swallowed, gain not certain how much he should say. “I… didn’t want her to get into trouble, Sir. She wasn’t supposed to be there, and there were already so many accusations about… about cheating.” He could not hold the headmaster’s gaze. His eyes looked back at the cover of his bed. Dumbledore did not say anything for a long moment.



“I see. A very plausible reason. However, might not a better reason be that you are clever enough to understand that what truly happened that night might not be well received by the Ministry or the magical community at large?” Cedric still did not look up. “It’s all right, Mr. Diggory. I have already spoken to Miss Granger. I know that Pettigrew’s curse did not fail.”



He shuddered, remembering his death. “No, Sir, it didn’t fail.” He swallowed again. “She… spoke to you, Sir?”



Dumbledore sighed and relaxed in his seat. “Yes, Mr. Diggory, she did. The circle of people who are aware of Miss Granger’s peculiar talents is… quite small. She trusted you enough to let you know about her physical training, though I dare say you probably do not know how far it has progressed. She has other abilities that I have known were coming since before she started school, and which I suspect you now have an inkling of after the events of the tournament. She understands that, were her talents to be learned of, she would likely find herself enclosed within the Department of Mysteries for the rest of her natural life, and because of that she keeps her secrets tightly guarded. She was, perhaps, taking a big risk by asking you be returned among the living that night.”



Yes, he had figured that much out on his own. Cedric shook his head. “Sir, I haven’t said a word about it. They think the curse failed and I haven’t told them otherwise.”



“I know that, Mr. Diggory. If you had, the Ministry would have already sent someone to the Grangers’ residence to talk with Miss Granger. And I would request that you continue to keep her confidence. I dare not go into any further details myself, because they are not my secrets to tell, but keeping her confidence is your surest way to allow for her to one day share more of herself with you.”



“I would never betray her trust, Sir. Never.” He sighed and leaned back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “Professor, that night after… after I was murdered, everything was so cold and dark. It was like I had been encased in black ice, with nothing but strange whispers buzzing around me. I think… I know it was the people in the graveyard. The ones buried there.”



“Yes, Mr. Diggory, it is most likely that they were.”



“Then Hermione was there, Sir. One of the voices, a woman, said that she knew where she was and would bring her back, and then Hermione was there. Everything wasn’t cold any longer. It was as if she brought warmth with her. I’ve never felt anything like it.” He knew his voice sounded awestruck and he did not care. “It was wonderful.”



He heard the headmaster make a contemplative sound. “Yes, I suspected that she might have some noticeable affect. I would suggest that if you discuss that night with Miss Granger that you are very delicate when relating that part of things, Mr. Diggory. She has mentioned to me that she finds the unquestioning affection she sometimes encounters to be a bit disquieting. But beyond that, is there anything else you remember? Anything that seems important?”



He was going to say ‘no’, but then something did cross his mind. “He knows about her, Sir. You-Know-Who that is. At least, I think he does.”



“Oh?” There was a note of surprise in Dumbledore’s voice, tinged with a bit of worry. “How do you figure that, Mr. Diggory?”



“When the voices were talking, after the one went to get Hermione, I asked the others who she was going for. They told me she was going after someone called ‘Keogh’. Then, when Hermione was attacking and pulling the Death Eaters’ attention away from me and Harry, You-Know-Who yelled out for a Keogh and then demanded ‘show yourself, witch’.”



“I see. Yes, I suppose he would have an idea of what was happening, though I daresay he will be looking for someone entirely different from the young woman we know.” Just then Cedric’s mother returned with the tea and their conversation stopped. “Ah, Mrs. Diggory, thank you so much.” His mother gave Dumbledore his tea before moving over to the bed and making certain that Cedric’s pillows were properly fluffed. It did not take the wizard to finish his drink. “I should be going. In spite of what people believe, there is a lot of preparation that goes into getting a school ready for term. I rarely get a three-month vacation. It was lovely seeing you again, Mrs. Diggory. And I look forward to seeing you at start of term, Cedric.”



The headmaster gave them both a pleasant smile before heading out. Cedric rested back against his pillows and longed for the day when he could go home.



~***~