FicWad

Over the next six months, Cedric learned a number of things.

He seemed to have landed in Washington state in America, somewhere in what was called the Olympic Peninsula. It was undoubtedly the wettest place Cedric the day after he had died in the graveyard in England (and he really had died there, so far as he could discover). He was currently in a large, somewhat luxurious house which belonged to Daeron, whom he had seen on the first day of his new life. The house was in the country, miles away from anything.

The strange, beautiful people who seemed to be his hosts called themselves Eldar, Eldalie, Peredhil, Vanyar, Noldor, Eluwaith, Denwaith, People of the Stars, and all sorts of other confusing names. Julie, the girl who had first greeted him, simply called them all Elves, which further confounded Cedric, for these powerful creatures were nothing in the least like the house-elves he had had for servants back at home. Far from thinking themselves born to serve, most of these new Elves seemed rather to assume that the whole world was theirs by birthright, and Cedric was not inclined to tell them otherwise.

Besides their mere physical beauty, which in itself far surpassed that of the loveliest Veela, there was always an air of blended sorrow and joy about them, whatever their actual mood at the moment. They were immortal and ageless, and in many cases very wise and powerful, and seemed to have been alive for many thousands of years. They were immune to human illnesses, and had sharper senses and greater physical endurance than humans. They could be killed violently though, and they could apparently die of nothing more than a broken heart. Most importantly of all, they knew a great deal about Magic, both what was taught at Hogwarts and much that Cedric had never heard of before.

Julie Gaffney was a young American witch who was part of a group of two dozen teenage witches and wizards (twelve boys and twelve girls exactly) who were always in and out of the house, mainly on weekends. They all appeared to be in a special program at a wizarding school in Pennsylvania called Weston's, which was on the other side of the country. Over half of them (all twelve of the boys and one other girl besides Julie herself) called themselves the Mighty Ducks, and said they had all been on a sports team together before. The Elves seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the whole group, and they would not say why.

There were so many of them around to teach what they knew - Daeron was the one who owned the house, and in his knowledge of music, history, and languages he was almost unrivaled (almost - except for Maglor). He seemed to have a hundred guests coming and going at a time, and most of them were other Elves - Ingwe and Maedhros and Thingol and Denweg and Oropher and Elrond and Cirdan and Glorfindel and dozens of others.

They were in constant contact with the world of wizardry, and witches and wizards were almost always Apparating and Flooing in and out of the house. In fact, there were all sorts of visitors: not just other Elves, but also Dwarves (again somewhat different than the ones he had learned about int school) and Mortal Men (who once again could hardly be called Muggles) and even a few Hobbits. There were also some visitors that Cedric did not often see and that the Elves said very little about.

Cedric himself was generally kept out of sight when other people were around. This he did not much like, but he knew that it was for his own safety.

It took him much longer than it should have to suddenly realize something. "Er, Daeron," he said about a week after arriving. "How'd you get hold of my wand?" For his wand had been next to the bed when he had first awakened, and he had automatically picked it up without thinking about it.

"Eh? What?" said Daeron with a start and a very guilty look. Cedric congratulated himself on choosing Daeron - he might be a genius, but he was also terrible at keeping secrets.

"I said, how did you come by my wand? It's not like I carried it with me into the afterlife."

"I would rather you did not say 'afterlife,'" said Daeron, who was twisting his fingers. "It sounds like the Egyptians' excuse for burying their kings with a great deal of treasure - "

"My wand, Daeron," said Cedric.

"What about your wand? Is aught wrong with it?" Daeron made a pathetic attempt at looking anxious.

"I believe I asked where you got it."

Daeron looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. "It is possible that we might have stolen it out of your grave," he admitted.

Cedric blinked. "My - my grave?"

"Did you not know?" asked Daeron, looking up with wide eyes. "They buried you."

This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had in my life. "They did?"

"What did you think had happened to your body when Harry was Portkeyed back to Hogwarts? They buried your wand with you - or your corpse, I suppose - and Albus held a memorial to you in the Great Hall - "

"Headmaster Dumbledore held a memorial for me?! Why?"

"Because you were murdered by Voldemort, and he wanted people to know it."

"Why?"

"Because the British Ministry of Magic does not wish to acknowledge that Voldemort has indeed returned."

Cedric decided to leave this alone for the moment. "So you dug up my casket, broke into it, and stole my wand?" he asked. "How did you know I would need it?"

"I did none of those things!" protested Daeron, flushing to the roots of his hair. "It was Celeborn and Galadriel's doing!"

Now Cedric understood. "Well, if she knew I was coming, that makes sense," he said. "Is there anything that goes on in the world that at least one of those two doesn't get involved in?"

"Not really," said Daeron, peering at Cedric. "Are you angry, then, about - "

"No, no, no," said Cedric hastily. "I'm just glad I have it. Most people would consider it grave-digging, but it's my grave and my wand. Don't be anxious, Daeron." And there was an end of the matter.

But Cedric did not forget what Daeron had said about the Ministry. He could not imagine what reason the Ministry could possibly have to deny the return of Voldemort, and the next day he returned to the subject.

"So what is going on with the Ministry in the UK?" he asked Daeron.

Daeron sighed. "I have heard that your Minister, Cornelius, fears for his position, and so will not believe that Voldemort has returned. It seems that most of wizard society does not believe that Voldemort has returned either."

Cedric thought of his father, who was himself a Ministry employee. "But how do they think I died, then?" he asked.

"I believe the story now is that you ran across a very nasty Acromantula in the last task of the Triwizard Tournament."

"D'you mean," asked Cedric in dismay. "that nobody's doing anything about - about - " He still could not bring himself to say the name.

"About Voldemort?" Daeron shook his head. "No one wants to believe it, and so they will not tolerate so much as a mention of him."

"But he's there!"

"Of course."

"Then what's he doing?"

"We think he is in hiding, working through his followers to achieve some aim or other of his. But we do not know yet what it is."

Cedric's heart was sinking lower and lower by the moment. "What about Headmaster Dumbledore?" he asked rather desperately. "He believes Voldemort's back, there has to be something that he can do."

"Ah." Daeron paused and looked at him intensely, obviously considering his answer. "He is doing something now, though I cannot tell you yet what it is. But you will know before long, I am sure."

"Well, if - " Cedric gritted his teeth. " - if Voldemort has an army, then Dumbledore ought to have one, that's all I can say!"

But he did not have many idle moments in which to ponder such things, for the Elves seemed quite anxious to train him up to be a fully competent wizard in as short a time as they could manage. They taught him wandless and non-verbal magic, themselves very difficult arts, as well as two disciplines they called "Thought-Speech" and "Shielding."

"Thought-Speech" was not exactly magic, though it came more naturally to those who regularly practiced magic. It was, more or less, communication without speaking aloud. It could be nothing more than two minds in conversation like spoken words; it could also be incredibly powerful, allowing the sharing of one's complete incorporeal self (The Elves called it one's fea). This could obviously be very dangerous if used wrongly, for it was possible to, for example, seize possession of another person's body in this manner.

That was where the "Shielding" came in. Elrond, who was really the one teaching Cedric both Thought-Speech and Shielding, said that every living soul had a natural set of defenses which could be raised or lowered as needed, and that this would block a Legilimens quite as effectively as (and much more naturally than) Occlumency. It also blocked all forms of Thought-Speech.

Cedric found both Though-Speech and Shielding difficult, but rewarding and well worth the effort.

Upon learning that his strengths lay in Charms, Transfiguration, and spells taught in Defense against the Dark Arts, the Elves began training him relentlessly in exactly those areas too (Honestly, it's just like being back at school without all the books, thought Cedric. Isn't it summer break?). He kept his mouth shut, though, and toiled away. But the fact remained that he had never had such and enormous workload in his life, and he nearly buckled under it before asking Daeron for a day off.

"Ai, forgive us, Cedric!" cried Daeron, looking distressed. "We forget so easily that you are only mortal - "

"Nice for you," said Cedric rather crossly. "Not to have to be frail and delicate and human like me."

But Daeron paid this no heed. "Why did you not speak sooner?" he fussed. "And why did we not notice sooner? You look exhausted. . . You are going back to bed, and we will not bother you about your studies for a solid week. After that we will be reasonable, I promise you. Not a word!" as Cedric opened his mouth. "So help me if I do not see that you get rested - go!"

Hardly daring to believe his good luck, Cedric went.