Hermione was surrounded by a torrent of noise. The screams propelled her forward. No. He couldn't be. She beat the crowd down and crouched next to him. He was pale, and far too still. He had won the cup, but at what cost? She felt the overwhelming keening low in her throat and could barely choke back the sobs. She'd told him to come home, but this wasn't what she'd meant. She fingered the badge she'd given him. It was singed black and faintly moved as she touched it. She gasped in surprise.

"Madame Pomfrey, come quick," she shouted, before letting out a startled eep as a desperate hand closed around hers.

"Hermione," Cedric wheezed, struggling to open his eyes.

"It's ok, you'll be ok," she spoke methodically, reassuringly.

"You know how I said I wasn't sure how much luck your badge would bring?" he whispered. "Well, never mind."

She started crying at that.

Later that night in the infirmary, she sat with him again. He'd broken most ribs and punctured a lung, but he was alive.

"Your badge saved my life," he said, gripping the crinkled mess. "I heard the Killing curse and I thought I was dead." He shuddered. "It struck the badge and blew me backward, but it didn't kill me."

"I thought I'd lost you," she said unsteadily. "You were so pale…"

"I'm not leaving," he said adamantly, pushing back tendrils of curl and grabbing her hand tightly. "I've got you; I'm not going anywhere."