My favourite part of the day is the morning, when I'm first waking up and my consciousness hasn't caught up with the rest of me and that's when everything was as it used to be. That's when the sunlight is but a bright blur in my eyes and there's a relaxed and content smile on my face. It's when I'm stretching my arms over my head and my toes are now just poking out of the blankets that I'm the happiest because in those few moments of pure bliss and happiness I forget what clouds my once happy heart. It never comes all at once, no that would be too simple. It's while I stare at the ceiling and think of what the things I have to do that day. While I think of things I can't forget to do, like to tell Cedrick about- and there it is the smile falls from my face and the joy leaves me like an ocean on low tide. I feel my heart break all over again and I feel the pain start at the pit of my stomach and fill me up slowly but surely. My favourite part of the days is also the part of the days I hate more than any other part of the day. I'm waiting for the day that I can wake up and just be myself, and feel like myself. I long for the day that I feel whole again. I also fear with all of my bones the day that I feel whole again without him. The day this world makes sense without his laugh is a day I don't want to see, but I also need a world where I'm no longer feeling my every nerve on fire. I can't look at Harry Potter without thinking thoughts that I don't actually wish. I know he would be disappointed in me for wanting the things I did. However much anger and resentment I'm feeling towards the potter boy is that much more anger I feel towards the one I miss most in the world. A head full of empty promises and a casket filled with my love.
Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry stood at a stand still as the news washed over us all. Cedric had been killed. The cheers died down to light whispers and a few startled gasps. All of us with our house colours on and faces painted waiting for a celebration. Had been met with the news of a tragedy. I sometimes dream of that day and by sometimes I mean most of the time. Except I wish for it to be different so badly and so deeply that when I dream and I see him and my body clashes with his, and our lips touch, and our hands grip onto one another it's so vivid it's so real that when I wake up in the morning and the sun is nothing but a bright blur and I have completely forgotten about the black ink that plagues my heart I can hear his laugh echoing off the walls around me. I can hear him saying my names and I can feel his breath as if it were magic.
Hermione finds me a few weeks later and sits next to me. She doesn't say anything like everyone else does. She doesn't ask me if I'm sad or if I'm angry. She doesn't ask me stupid questions because Hermione is not stupid. She sits next to me and says nothing for a while and I am thankful for it, I'm thankful for the silent company. I look to the brunette and our eyes meet for a moment before she nods her head.
" All is not well"