A/N: Hello, and Happy New Year, everyone! :D Thought I'd start 2018 with a oneshot - there's a bit of a saga behind this one. Basically, I always thought that some of the reaction to Cho in OotP was pretty unfair - especially the complaints about (or implicit resentment of) the fact she was always crying. Not only was this a bit harsh (given she'd just lost her boyfriend - reasonable to cry!) it also seemed a little hypocritical, since it was in this book that Harry was going through his angsty phase and screaming at his friends every two minutes (also understandable! But still...) Anyway, I thought it might be interesting to write something from Cho's perspective, since we only see Cedric's death through Harry's eyes, and try to impress why she was so upset, so prone to tears and so loyal to Marietta in OotP. Thanks a lot to my good friend StoryBookGhoolies for helping with the idea and sorry for this super long AN, I'll shut up now. Hope you enjoy! :)

I know what they think.

'She can't stop crying', 'she's always so bloody miserable'; in the second-floor bathroom yesterday I even heard some slightly more creative gossiper giggle that 'her tear ducts would make a great replacement for the Aguamenti Charm'. Since I was crying in a cubicle when she said it, I didn't think it was really the best time to challenge it.

The truth is, they're right. I am a mess, a sorry sight, a dripping tap that won't shut off, no matter how many times I try. I understand the comments.

But what I don't get is how no one seems to grasp why.

I know that it hadn't been long, that we'd only been together for a few months. I hadn't lost a long-term partner or a lifelong friend. But somehow the brevity of the time Cedric and I had together makes it worse. All the time I wasted with a quiet crush...and worse, far worse, is the realisation that all the while we were so clueless… so blissfully unaware that he had less than a month, then a week, then a day to live… So little time before I - before everyone - was snatched of his kindness and loyalty.

I haven't just lost Cedric - I've lost a lot of myself as well. Before, I found it easy to talk to people, I had a big crowd of friends. Most of them steer clear now - probably put off by my perpetual misery. Only Marietta has really stuck around, and that's something that I'll always be immeasurably grateful for.

I used to be calm, confident - the last person you'd expect to find crying in the loos. I could keep my mind in the moment long enough to actually catch a Snitch once in a while, but now all I want to do is think about the past.

The Yule Ball was beautiful, perfect. I'd agonised over my dress robes and my hair, finally settling on a simple silver-grey gown, sweeping up my blue-black sheet and letting a few tendrils drift around my face. My almond eyes were alight with happiness, cheekbones darkened by the slight flush that could only mean I was young and excited and attending my first ball - and possibly, just possibly, in love.

Thinking back to it now, I can hardly believe that it was less than a year ago - or that it was actually me. When I catch sight of my reflection in the water-stained mirror I am virtually unrecognisable. My eyes are puffy, bloodshot, darkened by purple shadows, and my long dark hair hangs loose, nothing but a curtain for me to hide behind.

Last year feels like an eternity ago. The excitement of the Tournament, the implicit trust we all had in the Ministry, the knowledge that everything was safe - and Cedric. Cedric changed everything.

And I can't distract myself, take myself away from the pain, because he is everywhere I turn. In the library I see the table by the window where we used to study together, trying my hardest to keep my concentration on my textbooks and rarely succeeding. Quidditch used to be my outlet, but now all I can think think about are the times we trained together, slightly guiltily, swapping tips in a way that I don't think my team Captain would've really approved of. And outside on the grounds I see the great black lake where he pulled me out the water during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Funnily enough, I've found myself thinking a lot about that lake, recently. The way I feel at the moment seems eerily like being stuck at the bottom of it. My vision is darkened and distorted, my lungs burn - even simple movements seem to require intense effort. Things are slow, surreal, and every time I try to swim upwards, weeds tangle around my ankles and drag me back towards the murky floor.

I wonder if I'm going to live the rest of my life at the bottom of the lake, if I'm ever going to see the sun again. There's no Cedric to pull me out anymore.

You should be able to get out on your own, I tell myself sternly, over and over again. You should be stronger than this, Cho.

Everyone thinks I'm weak, I know they do, and there's a little part of me that wonders if they're right. That I've been made brittle by sadness, liable to snap at any moment.

But I'm not just sad, I reason. I'm angry as well - angry at the Ministry's pathetic denial of reality, incensed that they maintain that Cedric's death was an unfortunate but nevertheless innocent accident. As if he was somehow careless, as if it was in any way his fault.

I'm furious - but my fury never seems to last. There are brief and bright moments where I feel something other than the dull crush of hopelessness, where I feel sparks of anger flare in my stomach. The burning desire to do something, anything. Join Dumbledore's Army...train under the nose of Umbridge and the Ministry… learn to defend myself… make Cedric proud… I'm not happy, but I'm here, I'm trying. I'm above water.

But those moments don't last long. I'm determined, resolute, for all of five minutes, and then it comes creeping back, the dull, dragging numbness that makes me feel unable to do anything but sit and cry. The truth is, it's easier to live in the memories of last year that to try and make a life out of what I have now. To drift through my lessons and Quidditch practises and conversations with my head stuck in the hazy golden glow of last year...of lunchtimes by the lake with Cedric...of the weeks after Christmas when everything was shiny and exciting and possible...

But I can't do that. If I live in the past I'll get lost in it. I'll sink to the bottom of the lake voluntarily, seduced by the sirens' song. And I'm not blind - I know what's happening to the world, even if almost everyone seems desperate to deny it. I know what - who - killed Cedric.

So I'm going to keep trying, keep fighting my way up to the surface. And when every now and then I feel the familiar spark of interest for someone who isn't Cedric I'm going to try not to hammer myself with guilt.

All I can do is keep trying, and hope that eventually someone will understand.