For Quidditch leaugue, round 7 and the unheard of pairing challenge (cedric/astoria)
He used to think there was no difference between perfect and flawless. He was wrong. Everywhere he looks he sees the difference now. Flawless is a mask that you put up over hatred and pain and darkness that can never be fully chased away. Flawless is the ceiling with its one hundred and forty four tiles, each an exact replica of the next. It's the hospital corners on the bed-sheets and the cold grey letters on top of his prison, concise and unfeeling.
"Depression, Long Term Mental Illnesses and Attempted Suicides."
Flawless is not perfect.
Dear Stranger,
I don't know who I'm writing to. I may be writing to the stark white wall of my new prison, or maybe I'm writing to the bars on the window that imprison me now. Either way, you don't want to listen. It is not that I have nothing to say, rather I have too much and you don't want to hear any of it. No one wants to hear me. I am a failure. Yesterday I was supposed to die. This morning I tried to die. I am still alive, through some fluke of nature. There's not even enough breathing space to live in here, so I doubt I'm dying again anytime soon. The first time I almost died, you-know-who came back. I still cannot figure out whether this was a hallucination or not, but he haunts my nightmares, and soon I think he will haunt all of our waking hours. I watched him rise from a cauldron, his high, blood-chilling voice and green light echoing in my head. I don't want to talk about my second almost death, yet.
-Cedric Diggory
Dear Cedric,
I found this letter crumpled up on the stairway on my way to breakfast. I don't know if I was supposed to read it but I'm going to answer anyway. My first reaction would be to get some pills into your system, pronto, but I guess six years in a mental ward makes that a default reaction to everything. Is there anyone you can sort out reality and hallucinations with? And if you don't mind me asking, why were you in this situation in the first place? Should I be worried about you-know-who, starting a new reign of terror? More likely you're just messing with me.
Sincerely,
Astoria Greengrass
Dear Astoria,
It's a long story, but if you want it, I'll spill. It's about a tournament and a teacher who was really a death eater, an opponent who was a friend, a castle, quiddtich and me. You know what, it may be easier if you just ask 'cause lately I seem to be having trouble forming coherent thoughts. If you don't mind me being rude, why have you been in an institution for six years, isn't it horrid? You-Know-Who is not a joke. I'm becoming more convinced by the day that I saw him rise to power. It doesn't mean anything good.
Cedric
Dear Cedric,
My parents pay for me to be here. Every month they "donate" to the healers and the healers fail to notice that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. My sister Daphne is the one they always loved best. They couldn't deal with me when I began getting into trouble at school. I turned to drugs, they to bribery, and I live here now. It is horrid, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm too spent to write questions right now, it's my reality but it still makes me cry a little bit (I hope you're still able to read the letter.)
Astoria xx
The crumpled sheets of parchment made their way to the hallway with increasing frequency. She was a good listener, and he was a good storyteller. Both lived in upside down worlds with no one to turn them right-side-up again. Slowly, though, through tears and ink and questions and caring, they tilted their worlds back to normal, a few more inches each day.
When Astoria first singed her letter with "love", he felt butterflies that definitely didn't belong in his strong, quidditch player stomach. It felt like betraying Cho and it hurt, at first. Then days grew into weeks and months, and it the four letters felt natural, binding them together through faded papers. The felt true.
Dear Astoria,
There's a girl in the bed two down and a row across from mine. She has blond hair and green eyes that I can barely ever see. I can't see them because she's always bending over a piece of parchment. The scratching of her quill is a comforting background noise to the shouts and the fed up healers and the beeping of monitors. She looks up and smiles sometimes, even though she never has any visitors. Once a month, a woman with a pale drawn face and fashionable clothing drags in a man and puts a bag of galleons on the desk. The healers' fingers slide through the gold and they nod at the girl. Sometimes I think she's drowning. I hope I can help her. I can't believe that you were in my ward this whole time and I never even realized. Maybe we should meet one day?
Love,
Cedric
Dear Cedric,
I can't believe you didn't know that we were in the same ward the whole time. I always thought this was a sort of game because it was so obvious who you were. You were the only bed with a constant stream of visitors; the broken one who I guess is your father, the black haired one who cries and the one with the scar, who must be Harry Potter. You were always surrounded by letters, parcels and flowers. A couple of times a prophet reporter came. You remember Robbie, the little boy with the autism in the bed next to mine? He was so happy when he saw "the fancy lady with the camera from the newspaper." The reporters didn't come again after you left two months ago clutching your tri-wizard winnings in your fist. Robbie cried when he knew they wouldn't be coming back and neither would you. I can't blame you, I guess. I'm not remarkable and I've never had a real friend before. There was no reason I should expect to now. You could have said good-bye, though.
Sincerely,
Astoria
P.S. I just realized that you'll never see this, so there's no point in putting it out. You're too far gone to come retrieve letters.
Dear Astoria,
I know that I disappeared without a word three years ago. I'm an asshole and a jerk, and I don't deserve you. But I'm asking for you anyway. I doubt you check this old stairwell for letters anymore. I wouldn't blame you if you found this and tore this up into shreds and burned it. I'm still leaving this here, though.
I'm going to walk into the lobby, in a week from now. I'll be holding a leather bag, with a lot of spare change rattling around in it. I'm going to slam it down on the desk and this whole fucked up cycle will be over. It will be the last time that a sack of galleons decides your fate and restricts your freedom.
I'll understand if you don't want to come with me. I'm not asking for that. But every time I tried to buy a new broom with my tri-wrizard earnings, I saw your face and your letters and the cold grey ward and I just couldn't bring myself to spend the money. Then my father died and it still hurts like hell, every single day. Cho was a faker, too busy with emotions to face the world. I'm all alone now, so I'm going to come back on my knees. You weren't last choice, though. You were the first choice that I was just too dumb to see.
No one has ever told me how to hug a girl who I've never talked to in real life but I like and maybe even love. I've revealed more of myself to you then I ever did to anyone else and no matter what happens, we share some sort of connection. So I'll be there, Thursday morning, with my arms wide open for you, Tori, if you'll take me.
love,
Cedric
Dear Cedric,
I'll be there. We'll work through it. I've missed you too and maybe I was too harsh to judge when you left. I'm sorry for your loss.
Astoria xx
Some things are infinite and some things are perfect. Few are either and nothing is both. Because perfect doesn't mean being flawless. Perfect is the million little flaws and the people who are willing to look past them. Perfect isn't smiling through pain; it's having a shoulder to cry on. Infinity is when you look at the sun and you know that you're real. Infinity is a million little moments stretching out into forever, sticking out your hand and knowing that you can almost reach it.
They are snapshots and if you look away you'll miss them.
When the door opens and he closes his eyes because he's too afraid she won't be there.
When she sees him through the window and knows that this time is real.
The clanking of freedom and chains and corruption.
Running to her.
Meeting her halfway through because she runs out to meet him too.
Throwing his arms around her.
"Tori?"
"Ced."
Walking out into the sunshine.
Struggling with the door because he can't let go now that he has her.
The look on Astoria's face when the door opens.
Sunbeams illuminating her hair.
They are not flawless, they are perfection.
Some infinities are bigger then others.
-John Green
It's five in the morning, I'm honestly surprised I can still type, so sorry for any spag mistakes :)
in case you couldn't tell, this was an au where cedric lives after leaving the maze, attempts suicide, and ends up in saint mungos
leave a review when you're done?
-nina