False Hope *All Ages* Cedric/Hermione

[idea_of_sarcasm]

Title: False Hope
Author: idea_of_sarcasm
Characters/Pairing(s): Hermione/Cedric; Amos Diggory
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I am not her publisher, editor etc etc. I own nothing, I have no control, I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Summary: The Room of Requirement is limited by the exceptions to the laws of transfiguration – though sometimes it seems otherwise.
A/N: Written for silvernatasha in the sexy_brilliance exchange. A short little take-off on an idea by svyen. Original post here



"Give me a hand," Amos Diggory called out to Hermione, motioning her over from where she had been trying to end the jinx that was stopping anyone from entering the great hall of Hogwarts from the west entrance. It had been a side effect of one of the spells cast by Bellatrix Lestrange in defending herself – she hadn't exactly been limiting herself to expelliarmus despite the fact she had primarily dueling with Hogwarts students. One of her misplaced avada kedavra's had hit a deflected spell, and crossed into what was tantamount to a very effective ward in keeping people out.

She glanced around to make sure he was talking to her, but she was the only one in the vicinity. Everyone else helping with the clean-up of Hogwarts was in various locations throughout the castle, each assigned their own task. The battle which had taken place there only months before had caused a tremendous amount of damage. Sighing, wishing she had been able to have more success in the hours she had been trying every spell in her arsenal – which was vast, Hermione dropped her wand to her side and took after him with a wistful glance over her shoulder. It was hard to admit defeat, especially in the face of the fact she had been given a much more difficult task than most of the other younger witches and wizards. She knew Ron was currently relegated to levitating debris away from the Gryffindor common room.

"I've been working on a hallway that was collapsed in from an errant spell," Amos explained. He was one of the many Ministry – well, ex-Ministry in many respects – personnel who had come to help with the rebuilding. He had offered his assistance to Hagrid, given his former position, but the latter had rebuffed it, choosing instead to Madam Maxine who had arrived earlier the day before, "and there's a few knocked over and damaged statues and such that are impervious to my levitation charms – too heavy. And the featherweight spells simply aren't working since they're magically charmed objects themselves. I figure if we both cast the spells at exactly the same…."

It was easy to tune out as Amos talked, once she figured out exactly what the intent of her help was. Hermione walked beside him in silence as they climbed a staircase, nodding along. She was never quite comfortable around the senior Diggory, as the only thing she could think of in his presence was Cedric. The first student to pass, the boy who had died at Voldemort's hand – the boy who had essentially died because of Harry. Well, and the boy she had been rather fond of, but that had been only a passing fancy, based on his looks, his brains and of course – if Rita Skeeter was to be believed about her inclinations, and Hermione know she wasn't – his fame as a TriWizard champion. Still, though she really had played no role in his son's death, it felt like it hung between them all the same.

The stairs were steep, and they had to make a jump to the next staircase, as the enchantments which had caused them to move instinctively had been ended during the battle. Hermione gasped, her foot almost losing it's balance and sending her back over the edge as she landed on the final flight, but she had no reaction beyond that. Not when the elder man was carrying on as if he'd been able to levitate himself over, not stopping in conversation. She had some level of pride.

She blamed it on the fact she was bloody exhausted. In the essential destruction of the wizarding world there had been so much to do, so much to rebuild. And, while she loved Ron – she'd actually got up the courage to use those very words a few weeks ago – being in a relationship was a tremendous amount of work, something she wouldn't have realized before. Especially when said boyfriend came with a large extended family. And, especially when both parties in said relationship had enough baggage between them to fill an entire muggle airplane. It wasn't easy, but they were making it work. At least when they weren't fighting.

"I can't imagine this place will be ready for September," Amos was prattling on as they walked, surveying the destruction whose repair had nobody assigned to it yet, "but Minerva has been insistent. I would have voted that woman for Minister – Ministress? – of Magic, but she seems content to carry on in the Headmistress role here that Snape, uh, vacated..."

Again, Hermione had listened only for a moment before thinking of other matters. Like how she was going to choose what – Merlin knew – she was going to do with her life. There had been a period of grace up until this point. The powers that be had made a special exemption, based on strenuous circumstances, about writing the NEWTS – the board of examiners had moved them to July. There had been studying…writing the NEWTS….and then waiting for the results – though the latter part hadn't exactly been a vacation. But the owls had arrived the previous day, much to the delight of Mrs. Weasley. The multiple NEWTS she achieved hadn't surprised her – with top marks, even in DA this time given their experience – but she had felt a sense of dread all the same. She didn't know what to do with them. It was different for Harry and Ron. It sounded conceited, but it was harder when every option was still open, and all of them having potential. Well, except wizarding law. Or anything with animals. Or Quidditch. At least she'd eliminated a whole...three options.

It had been preying on her mind since the moment the owl had arrived – what to do next. Even here, with all the work to be done, it hadn't been enough to distract her. Looking at Amos, it had only reminded her of the multitude of options in the Ministry of Magic alone when it reopened at full strength.

"Is there a specific reason we're working on this hallway?" Hermione interjected, determined to think of anything else, "There are a multitude of others in the same condition. Those spells didn't exactly leave the school undamaged." She had repeated those words to others who were flocking now to help, condemnation in her tone for they didn't know, as they hadn't been there, their absence by choice. But, with Amos, her question was only one of curiousity – as she knew it was because he had taken his muggleborn wife into seclusion.

He shrugged, "To be frank, I'm following what I was assigned to do. Shacklebolt was helping me, in case any erroneous jinxes sprang up, but he had to go help Luna work on the Owlery. That girl believes...well, there are things best left unsaid. Suffice it to say, she thought she needed specialized help."

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling the frustration. One would think an experience such as she had would have changed Luna. And, it had – but not much. Still believing in the ridiculous, the impossible. While it frustrated her, she judged less now, knowing sometimes there was truth – no matter how inadvertent – in the Lovegood beliefs. She liked Luna, really, she did. She just didn't particularly understand her at times.

When Hermione looked at the hallway before them, blocked by large debris, with Amos still beside her, she knew why he had been tasked to it right away. There was no mistaking it, even before she noted the ratted and dusty mural on the left hand side of Barnabas the barmy. Even though he and the trolls were no longer attempting ballet, but sitting off to the undamaged side of the tapestry, looking annoyed. "The room of requirement," she said on a sigh, looking over at the wall blocked by debris. In her mind, it didn't make the hallway any more important in the short term because it had been destroyed by Crabbe and his errant Fiendfyre (though that had also destroyed the diadem, so she couldn't complain too strongly). But, it was the place where so much had happened for them, for the school, the place practically synonymous with Dumbledore's Army. She would do anything to keep it preserved rather than simply block off this hallway and mark it as useless.

Amos looked startled, following her eyes, "Oh, I didn't realize that the ajar door led to that area. I was under the impression that it didn't appear until it was needed."

He had a point. That had been the way the room had functioned in the past. But still, there was no mistaking the hallway for it was practically ingrained into her mind, and the room indeed had a door opened a fraction behind the pile of rubble, and fallen statues.

She shrugged, tightening the grip on her wand. "Let's tackle that large statue of Augustus Merken right in front of it first." Why that was there – the statue of the wizard who had invented the potion to cure cancer, she didn't know, as it had previously been situated near the Hufflepuff common room – but the magic coursing through the building that night had set things topsy turvy, and many of the statues themselves had entered the battle.

Dust flew as they cast simultaneous levitation charms, moving the statue out of the way, setting it upright against the wall. Hermione coughed violently, covering her mouth with the crux of her arm. Amos made a motion to help her, but she waved him off, chest heaving. She braced an arm against the wall as she hacked, determined to cast a few scourgify's before they went any further.

Once her coughs had quieted, she looked over to find the elder Diggory looking intently at the door they had uncovered. He didn't even look towards her. "Cedric mentioned this room to me himself," he said abruptly. "I'd heard about it through legend of course, and a few odd facts mentioned in Ministry books, but hadn't given it a second thought until he told me about it. He practiced for the third task here, you know. He'd been pacing the corridors, nervous about the tournament, thinking that he needed a way to prepare for the task ahead. And, here it was, the perfect room. It even shifted to a maze for him to practice with."

Amos gave a bitter laugh, "Not that it did him a lot of good in the end, did it?"

"I..." Hermione stopped short, helpless. She didn't know what to say. If there was anything really to say. She'd heard the rumours, of how he had nearly fallen apart after his son's death – but tried not to lend them credence. That didn't mean she had planned on bringing up the subject of Cedric with him anytime soon however.

He had closed his eyes, silent. She was about to say something, anything. Wanting to break the awkward moment between them, to maybe suggest they get to work before McGonagall came around and snapped at them for dawdling. Not that that would really happen, but she thought levity might help. But, as she opened her mouth for a second time, Amos began to speak – his voice almost inaudible. "I'd give anything to see him again."

The ineffectual words of comfort were about to come, but he seemed to shake himself out of it. A small forced smile graced his lips, as he looked at her sheepishly. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

Hermione nodded, grateful for being rescued. She might not have the emotional range of a teaspoon like some, but she didn't know the Diggory's, and she especially didn't know Amos. Comfort for a random stranger was not her forte. And his issues were such that a awkward pat on the back meant to comfort would not help.

Pondering, once his back was turned, she held out a hand to the knob on the door – but it didn't turn. There was work to be done yet, but she was curious. So much about this room had shaped her life, had made it what it was now. She hadn't been back in the room of requirement since the fiendfyre, but couldn't bear to think of it damaged beyond all repair. Wanting a quick glance, she tried to get in, but despite the appearance of a physical door, the knob wouldn't budge. Hermione didn't know if the reason was magical, or physical – many unspelled or damanged doors had been barricaded shut by other means.

The work went quickly between the two of them. Once or twice she caught Amos staring off into the distance, as if distracted – and one of those times almost caused a large pile of the former ceiling to land on her foot – but she studiously ignored that in the name of getting the debris cleared away as soon as possible. Both for the school's sake, and for the sake of her comfort. The level of awkwardness had ascended to new heights. She felt badly for thinking as such, as she knew he was hurting, but she had enough pain of her own to deal with. Enough pain of Ron's to deal with. She didn't have room to bear any more.

She banished the last pile of rubble on her own, sending it to wherever evanesco banished such things, and the hallway was clear. Well, save for the dust and the dirt, but that could wait. Though, she swore to tackle it on her own eventually, otherwise the house elves would be assigned to that task once they returned to the castle.

"You can let Prof...Headmistress McGonagall know we've succeeded," Hermione told Amos in satisfaction, even as she paralyzed a mouse that had been left homeless once they had cleaned things up. There was something to be said for actually accomplishing something. All her tasks thus far had been annoyingly unsuccessful.

Amos nodded, but hesitated, looking at the door ajar before them, that at least theoretically led to the room of requirement. He had seen her attempt to open the door, but still, looked thoughtful. "We shouldn't leave it there for anyone to find," he frowned, contemplating, "this room is much too important, if at all functional..." Breaking off, he walked over to it, "Maybe if I try and close it...perhaps if it's fully shut it will fade away properly..."

He grasped the handle, but before he could make a move to close the door, it twisted in his hand, the door coming easily open when he pulled back, a look of surprise on his face. There was no jubilation, only curiousity in his eyes as he looked down at his hand. Not so much curiousity as to the how it had happened, she thought, but a wondering as to what lay behind the door. Amos said nothing to her before pushing the door ajar, looking inside to see what lay beneath. Apparently the opportunity was too much to ignore.

There was some hesitancy, but she followed of her own accord, wanting to see what destruction the fiendfyre had wrought now that the dust had settled. What was left. And, if it worked at all anymore.

The smell of ash and soot filled her nostrils as she followed Amos in, the stench so strong her eyes began to water. One wall was nearly unrecognizable, damaged beyond all repair – through a large hole she could see the lake in the distance. But despite the fact the rest were still standing they were obscured by damage, debris, and soot. It looked exactly like every time they had been in here for the DA however. Large and open space, with nothing obscuring view. There were random items strewn about, more than before, but nothing of significance. Hermione sighed sadly, thinking exactly of what had been lost. But at the same time, it was probably for the best, something like this shouldn't be in the hands of students.

At least when it wasn't her, Harry and Ron.

A movement in the corner caught her eye, and her wand was at the ready instantaneously, ready to utter whatever curse was needed to forestall whatever danger awaited. Hermione cursed herself. She had been so stupid, following Amos in here without checking first. For all she knew Vincent Crabbe had found a way to escape death by magical fire, and was waiting around in here until he could escape. Maybe one of the Lestranges were hiding out, having envisioned a safe place. But then it wouldn't have let the two of them in, the room of requirement, if someone else had already been using it....

Hermione's speculation was cut off as she saw the figure standing up from where it had been sitting on a dilapidated old chair in the corner behind them. Amos had given a start of surprise, but hadn't bothered to raise his wand, the instinct for danger not the same in his mind. The boy – and there was no doubt it was a boy despite the fact he would tower above her – was dressed in the colours of Hufflepuff. When his head rose up to look at the pair of them, Hermione gasped loudly in surprise, her wand trembling in her hand. Amos simply looked dumbfounded, but there was no way he had missed who it was who now stood before him. He couldn't have. That pale face was ingrained in her memory, and she hadn't the same excuse, though he seemed to be having an oddly tame reaction to the boy standing there.

His son, Cedric.

Moisture filled the older man's eyes as he looked at the boy in the corner – but he said nothing, he couldn't seem to. He looked at him wide-eyed, taking a step forward, and then stopping, as if unsure what to do.

"Dad?" Cedric's – if that's who it really was – voice was hesitant, breaking off awkwardly as he looked at Amos. He had been contemplating his own body before than, as if he couldn't believe it really existed. His eyes had swept over his dirt stained clothes, his wand, the blast that seemed to have penetrated the material right over his heart. Cedric had looked at those incredulously, before raising his eyes to his father's who stood there before him, Hermione partially obscured behind.

It was as if the quiet word prompted Amos into action. He was across the room in the blink of an eye, gathering Cedric to him. It was as if it never occurred to him that this might be a trick. That it might not be his son standing there in front of him. Polyjuice at the least. Maybe a ghoul. Maybe a trick of the imagination, the room itself….there were a million explanations, not all favourable. She tended to be more suspicious than most, experience had taught her to be, but she couldn't believe Amos was accepting this without hesitation. Well, perhaps she could – if Ron and his family were ever given the chance to catch a glimpse of Fred again, they wouldn't question it, she knew that. And Ron had seen the wizarding world at it's most devious.

"My boy," Amos was saying the words quietly, choked up with emotion. It was a far cry from the anguished wailing of the same words when he had seen his son dead for the first time. She could see Cedric's face over his father's shoulder – he wasn't taking solace in the embrace, he simply looked flabbergasted still. His arms didn't move at first, then they slowly began to creep up to encircle his father, burying his face in the older man's neck as he held him close. They rocked for a moment, holding tightly to one another, saying nothing outside of Amos' constant refrain.

"Homenum revelio," Hermione said the spell quietly with a flick of her wand as she watched the two men stand intertwined. As Cedric had been temporarily hidden from her view by his father's bulk the spell should have either made Amos transparent, or moved him aside, to make Cedric visible to her. As it was, the spell had no effect. That cut down a few options, the most notable of which being that it actually was Cedric – the other being that it also wasn't polyjuice. But, he was a solid physical form, corporeal, not a ghost. Her brain began to flick through every story she had ever read or heard to try and figure out what was going on.

Eventually Amos pushed his son back slightly – though unable to let go of him, as if proving Cedric was indeed there. "How?" was all he said incredulously, resting one hand on his son's shoulders. "You're here. How...?"

Cedric looked at him, around the room, eyes flickering over Hermione standing there as well, before his gaze settled back on his father. "I...I...I don't know," he said helplessly, grasping tightly on his father's arms. "I really don't know."

Amos didn't seem to care that this alone should have proved this wasn't his son come back to life, but a watery smile had crossed his face – tears swimming in his eyes. "You're home," his words of happiness were simple, cupping Cedric's face in his hands before dropping them to his sides. "I've missed you son. Oh, Merlin, you don't know what it was like without you. One time I almost..." His voice trailed off, looking downtrodden and abashed, before he concentrated on the exaltation of his son being alive. "You're back," he repeated, resting his forehead against his son's, "You're back." It was like a constant refrain, as if he couldn't believe it was real.

There was a clatter as the door that had been hanging off a cabinet fell off entirely, breaking the moment. At least so much as one could break the incredulousness of the moment of someone coming back from the dead. Their three heads swiveled in turn to look at it, before returning to the task at hand.

"Mom," Cedric said the title like a lifeline, "is she...?"

"Your mother!" His father responded as if he had just remembered the other woman existed. "She's working on the Ravenclaw common room. She'll be so thrilled..." He broke off, clasping his son's face in his hands, looking into his eyes, "You'll wait right here?" It was a question as much as it was a statement. He didn't let go until Cedric nodded, hesitantly at first, then firmly.

"Watch him," Amos told Hermione firmly, the joy on his face making him look almost boyish. He cast Cedric another glance, taking a moment to stalk back over and pressing a kiss to his forehead, before turning to go, head looking over his shoulder as he went, not closing the door behind him as they could then hear his heavy footsteps moving quickly away from the room of requirement.

Cedric watched his father go. He said nothing for a good portion of time, a pained expression on his face, before turning to Hermione. "Where am I?" he asked quietly, looking at the damaged room around him. "I...I've got no idea how I'm here. I shouldn't be here."

"The room of requirement," she responded, gesturing around, "in Hogwarts. It was damaged when the fiendfyre..." she broke off, realizing he had no idea regarding anything that had happened in the preceding years. There was no way to start and keep it all simple. "We thought it was damaged beyond all repair during the last fight against Voldemort."

His head snapped up at that, "He-who-shall...Voldemort's dead?"

Nodding, Hermione took a few steps forward, as if to examine him closer, but stopped – embarrassed. Still, she kept a firm grip on her wand, not quite ready to trust that there wasn't some level of evil in his reappearance. Somehow the notion he wasn't quite real reassured her in it's own way – odd, but to her the dead should remain dead. "Yes," she answered his question – finally remembering he had asked it, "he is. For good this time. It's…well, it's a longer story than we have time for before your parents return."

"Good, I'm glad," Cedric replied, a quiet sense of satisfaction in his tone. It was an understatement that summarized everyone's feelings on the matter. But his face looked vengeful, understandable in that he had died at the monster's hands.

She twirled her wand in her fingers, finally blurting out, "What's the last thing you remember?"

A frown crossed his face as he thought. "That's…not a simple answer. The last concrete thing I remember happening to me was the Triwizard Tournament – Harry and I had taken the cup, and it had turned out to be a portkey, and then I...well, then I died. I couldn't defend myself. I couldn't defend Harry, despite the fact he was so much younger than me, mine to protect…" He broke off, looking at her. "Did he make it?"

At her nod which covered up a whole lot of details in the meantime, Cedric looked relieved, and continued, "And then things are rather vague. I don't remember anything specific, but at the same time I know time passed. I feel like I was somewhere, doing something, but I don't know what it was." He frowned, "How long? I mean, how long has it been since...I died." His voice stumbled over the last word."

"Over three years," Hermione responded quietly. "It's the summer of '98 now."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his face, "No wonder you look older than me now – you and that Weasley girl used to look like children – no offense of course. It's...Granger, right? Hermione? I'm afraid death hasn't done much for my memory."

The ability to maintain some sense of levity in the face of one's own mortality was rather commendable. She didn't think she could have managed it.

"So, Room of Requirement, huh?" Cedric glanced around, curious. "It was always a fascination of mine, even before I found it that first time. Transfiguration was always a favourite subject. I was going to ask McGonagall for an apprenticeship. Well, I suppose theoretically if I'm back I still might, once I get my NEWTS of course. But this room was the ultimate in transfiguration theory. Providing exactly what you needed simply by responding to verbal cues, or thought – well, save that which is an exemption to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, though I had wished it could provide me with a steak dinner...."

He stopped then, whatever hope that had begun to cross his face as he spoke about the room and his possible future extinguished. He looked like he had just swallowed a whole bucket of slugs. She had grasped the same idea as he had rambled, but had bit her tongue as he worked it out on his own.

"The third exemption to Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration – you can't create a living being from nothing, " Cedric sounded like he was reciting from a textbook, and she was reciting right along with him for it had been written in the fourth chapter of her third year textbook. It was occurring to him then, she could see, exactly what that meant.

"I’m not really here, am I Granger?" He asked, sounding strangled as it came out. "I'm...Merlin knows what, but I'm not me. I'm not going to be walking out of this room, greeting friends and family, I'm not going to bloody exist!" His tone had risen towards the end of the sentence.

Hermione thought of the results of her spell, "No, I don't think that you..."

"Give me your wand," Cedric said insistently, all of a sudden, cutting her off and holding out his hand.

"No," she was resolute. "For all I know you're..."

"What?" He gave a hollow laugh, "A Death Eater?"

She conceded, "Well, no – but..."

Cedric held out his hand again, his expression darker than she had ever seen it in life, though to be fair her experience wasn't varied. But, he had always seemed to mild mannered in comparison to the buffoonery that characterized a good deal of her housemates "Wand. Now. You will get it back."

Caving, she handed the thin piece of wood over to him. He grabbed it quickly, as if scared she would change her mind. Waving it smoothly, he pointed at a torn piece of cloth on the floor, giving a textbook perfect flick, saying clearly, "Wingardium leviosa."

There was no response.

He pointed it at a pile of dust. "Scourgify!" Again, nothing occurred. He tried it again, time after time, the simple cleaning spell, but the wand didn't so much as twitch in his hand. It was hers, but there should be some reaction if he had magical powers, even if it was just to backfire. She had acquired enough knowledge about wands to last a lifetime during the preceeding months. "Scourgify." Cedric said again, defeatedly. When there was still nothing from the wand, he tossed it aside in frustration, glowering at her.

Hermione wanted to offer words of comfort, that he was just out of practice, that in time...but she knew the properties of transfiguration as well as he did, and she knew what her spell had revealed. There was simply no way he was real. It was like a cruel joke to be brought back like this – cognizant, but yet not a factual person. And, he seemed capable of pain, of emotion, of…everything. But yet he was just a façade, what his father had brought back out of a desperate need to see him again. He wouldn't be facing the dilemma like hers – of what to do with a multitude of NEWTS. He wouldn't be fumbling his way through the angst and drama of relationships.

"I have to be real," he said, desperately, as if he was trying to convince both of them. "I remember everything. I feel everything." He walked over, punching the wall hard - nearly breaking his hand in the process and gasping in pain. "Death, if that's what state I'm in, shouldn't hurt. But I can't be a ghost either – I'm solid, I can do everything any person can do." Save magic, for that would have been reserved for the real Cedric Diggory.

He strode over towards her, eyes wild, stopping only a foot in front. "I can make others feel too," he muttered, seconds before he bent his head down to hers, devouring her mouth. His tongue swept over her lips, urging them to open. For a moment Hermione did nothing but stand there limply, then her arms were wrapping around him, returning his kiss – fingers digging into his shoulders, the material of his old Quidditch uniform he had worn for the third task threadbare beneath her hands. She could feel his erection pressing against her as he put himself flush against her body – another cruel sign that he should be alive in technicality, though they both knew he wasn't.

It seemed like an eternity, but was probably only moments, before they pulled apart, Cedric ripping his mouth from hers and stepping back. They both stared at each other, wordless – breathing heavily.

"I'm here," he said, eyes focused on hers. "I'm real. I…you can't respond like that to a dead person."

The philosophical debate of exactly what Cedric was, was not something she was going to get into. She could only theorize, based on literature, but at the same time she knew what he was not. Despite what she wanted him to be, very badly, and despite what he wanted to be – he wasn't a fully functional human. Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but he could see in her eyes another denial coming. He stalked past her, hand purposefully grazing her arm as he passed, and she closed her eyes momentarily.

"I'm going to find my parents," he told her resolutely, but paused at the threshold of the door, as if he couldn't bear to cross it. He looked at it warily, like it might be jinxed, or perhaps warded with a few nasty booby traps.

"You'll likely...disappear," Hermione's voice hitched, "if you do. It's the magic of the room that's brought you here, and beyond it's limits, you'll cease to exist. Only things that are created – which we know is impossible with a human being – can leave the confines of..."

He cut off her words, turning and stepping over the threshold. It happened instantaneously, with little fanfare – even as Cedric cast her a glance over his shoulder, he began to fade the moment his foot stepped outside the room, the rest following. In the span of seconds, he had gone from a corporeal being...to nothing. A shimmering pile of dust in the air, as if he had exploded from the inside, filled the doorway, but it vanished. For a moment she could have sworn she saw a faint outline of him in the hallway, but it disappeared into obscurity, and Hermione clenched her hands by her side.

The prat. If only he could have waited, maybe there was something they could have done. She'd just had a year of seeing the impossible be possible, she no longer discounted anything. Maybe there really were no exceptions to the laws of transfiguration, maybe there had just been safeguards in place in the room of requirement in the past. Maybe now that some of the magic had been destroyed bringing a person back was possible, if someone needed them enough. She thought it unlikely, but she had also thought the Deathly Hallows a child's tale. Hermione would have been willing to try and make it so that Cedric could indeed stick around, and not living a half life in this confining room.

The thought confused her, for the idea of bringing the dead back to life was something that disconcerted her, that she disapproved of, but he…it was Cedric. And he had already been here. The boy who died too soon. The death that weighed heaviest on Harry's conscience. The shining boy who had been the light of his parent's life...

Her thoughts stopped short at that. His parents. For his father at least, it would be like losing Cedric all over again – his mother likely simply thinking Amos had gone mad. But at the same time, she thought it was Amos who felt the loss most acutely, who would feel the same again. Who might not survive the death of his son again. She hoped with all her heart he could bring Cedric back when he returned, but she doubted it. It had only been his intense longing at that point in time – an honest need – that had brought his son back the first time. And, once the Headmistress heard about this, the room really would be destroyed, or shut up. The logical part of Hermione, which dominated, knew that if there was any chance a person could be brought back to life with the room of requirement, it would have to be destroyed – for what was to stop renegade Death Eaters from trying to resurrect Voldemort? Or an army of those who had lost people in the war trying to bring their lost love ones back from the dead?

The latter was almost as bad as the first – if not quite. The dead should stay dead. Nobody should have the power to change it, enviable though it might be. But, as she began to make her way out of the room to take care of the unenviable task of enlightening the Diggory's as to what had happened, Hermione wished that, just this once, there could have been an exception.





The End





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