Denial and Isolation.
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me, all characters etc belong to the talented JK Rowling.
He had heard about it, but it was not something that he believed applied to him. In all honesty it hadn't made sense to him, he knew it happened to people obviously, he'd just not ever met anyone who suffered with it personally, but his cousin used to watch shows on TV which dealt with topics like that all the time.
To him it was illogical. Until now. It was the day after it had all happened, and he had woken as if from a terrifying nightmare. It hadn't seemed real... then the silence had enveloped him. People didn't so much ignore him, but purposefully avoid him. You could tell they thought they were giving him space, not crowding him, but it just gave him more time to dwell on it. Or in his case not dwell on it.
He refused to accept that yesterday had happened; it must have just been another one of his bad dreams; since no one was talking about it that had to be the case...didn't it?
His dream had been very real, but dreams like that always tended to be. The actual events were blurry, in a way which made him think that he did not want to remember them, so instead he focused on the feelings he could recall.
There was a mixture of anticipation and worry; or that was what it seemed like on reflection. It reminded him of being in the midst of a quidditch match. Then there was confusion, which developed into fear. The recollection of pain which came so suddenly from the depths of his memory almost startles him into crying out. The memory of such pain makes him pause, and wonder if he really does want to view this 'dream' in the harsh light of day. He forges onward accepting that he needs to discover the truth of this memory.
His next few moments are spent reliving more pain, terror and despair than he believed to be possible. Dread begins to pool in the pit of his stomach, does this mean it wasn't a dream?
This leads to the terrible conclusion that this nightmare might actually have happened. He is still unwilling to accept that reality. Accepting that would mean that... that... it would mean... his very consciousness shies away from the words. He stops and collects himself.
He notices almost peripherally, that his friends are glancing at him with concern. It's not meant to be concern he realises; they are attempting nonchalance, but he has known them far too long now not to read the worry written across their faces.
He smiles to show he is fine, and then loses focus again. There is a disturbance in the entrance hall. People are muttering in hurried whispers to each other just out of earshot, leaving him clueless as to the source of this disquiet. All too soon the reason is made clear to him.
A wizard from the ministry is approaching his table with Professor McGonagall. The look in her eyes makes his heart freeze in terror. He violently shoves thoughts...memories which are trying to surface back into the blankness that is his mind, afraid to unleash what lurks beneath them. She quietly, almost gently he notes, requests his presence in the Headmaster's office.
He doesn't remember moving, but the next thing he is aware of is the fact he is no longer in the Great Hall. The journey from there to his new location went completely unnoticed.
The people standing before him are familiar all bar one. The headmaster and Professor McGonagall are standing together on one side of the room, they are studying him closely. The other couple in the room are standing in the shadows, the lady is the more visible of the two; she isn't recognisable on first sight, but there is something about her that seems familiar. Both she and the wizard standing next to her have visible signs of grief; it causes the feeling of unease he has been trying to contain to increase.
It is during the next few moments that he realises the Headmaster has been speaking to them all. Has probably been speaking to them all since he first entered the room, about what however, he has no clue. He attempts to focus, he hears the words '...champion...' and '...prize money...' it brings back moments from last night's dream. He begins to fear where this conversation is leading. A heavy bag is handed to him, a look of confusion crosses his face, he pauses and then the first words to pass his lips all day are uttered.
"...Ced, Cedric?"
The woman that seemed familiar for unknown reasons suddenly became known. The face was similar to that of his opponent in the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric Diggory. The woman's face had crumpled at the mention of her son's name, and tears had been streaming down her face silently since that moment.
She takes a deep breath, and seems to gather herself together. She looks him straight in the eyes, and causes everything he had been ignoring to come back to him in full focus.
"We...we don't want any money, Cedric would have wanted you to have it dear. We want you to have it, especially..." she pauses, tearful once more.
Her husband completes her sentence for her, his voice gruffer than he remembers it being; as if he too is fighting back a strong emotion.
"Especially after everything you did for him at the end. For that we will never be able to thank you enough."
He had hardly moved throughout this short dialogue, when it ends he looks to the Headmaster in desperation, willing this to be part of the same awful nightmare from the night before. To his dismay the headmaster merely looks at him sadly, and suggests he rejoin his friends in the Great Hall.
He had not gone far down the corridor before he found his friends. They had clearly been on their way to find him, looks of concern etched on their faces. He was glad it was just Ron and Hermione, anymore and he wouldn't have handled the scrutiny. He looked at them hopelessly, wishing vainly that last night's dream really had been just that and not harsh reality.
Mrs Diggory had put an end to that, unintentionally of course, but she had all the same. He looked to Hermione, knowing instinctively that she would know just what to say in response to his upcoming statement.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.
"It's ok, we know you hadn't accepted what had happened, that's why we were giving you space."
"Yeah, she read it in one of her books," Ron said grinning at him, and then looking at Hermione for a reaction.
She huffed half-heartedly at him.
"It was right though, wasn't it?" Hermione pointed out imperiously, the smile in her eyes softening the tone of her reply.
This was why he loved his friends, they always knew what to do, or in some instances what not to do. He smiled at them, took a deep breath and headed towards the Great Hall. His dream had been real. He wasn't sure how things would be now, or how he was going to cope, but he knew his friends would be there to help. Always.