A/N: Enjoy this one shot I wrote of Cedric, one of my favorite characters of Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cedric or any other character in the Harry Potter world, I merely play with them.
Enjoy and if you don't like Cedric then don't leave rude messages. Thanks and thanks to my beta for taking the time to edit this and give me the motivation to update this.
The trophy case was lit with dozens of lanterns, so that the cups, plaques, and statues each glistened brightly in the dim light. Cedric's ghostly form floated slowly along the length of the trophy case, looking through the glass at the team photos Quidditch teams of decades-past, their uniforms outdated, but their smiles and expressions of hearty invincibility eternally unchanged. There were gold and bronze trophies, antique Snitches, game Bludgers strapped down with leather belts, but still wiggling slightly in attempts to gain freedom as he passed.
Cedric stopped near the end and looked in at the Triwizard Tournament display. His eye had been caught by a picture in the trophy case. He leaned in with deliberate slowness. The picture was black and white, moving, as all wizard pictures did.
He saw Harry Potter, looking impossibly young, his black hair wild and unruly over the famous, characteristic scar. He was smiling uncomfortably at the camera, his eyes moving as if he were avoiding eye contact with somebody or something outside the camera's view. Cedric leaned closer and looked at the picture on the other side of the Triwizard Cup, the one of him. The boy in the picture was handsome, guileless, with the same expression on his face that he had seen in the old Quidditch team photos, that expression of perpetual youth and seamless confidence.
Cedric studied the photo. Some time had passed since that particular photo had been taken and he didn't quite remember what he had used to look like. As a ghost, he didn't exactly have a reflection; his ghostly form was indistinct in the bright sunlight and at nights he could barely make out the lines of his face anymore. He was only the barest suggestion of his old human shape.
He was barely an imprint of what had once been.
For what seemed like a long time, he felt like he was in a sort of dream, surrounded by nothingness. He moved through the castle, but it was empty. He never got hungry, or thirsty, or cold, or needed to rest. He knew he was dead, but that was all. Everything was dark and silent. He did not feel the passage of days nor the changing seasons, no passage of time at all.
Then slowly, he became more aware.
For periods of time, he started to feel more awake. He began to see people in the halls, but they were like smoke. He couldn't quite hear them. He came to realize that these periods of activity happened in the hours of the day right after his time of death. Each night, he'd feel himself awaken. He noticed the time, because that was the thing that meant the most, the sense of minutes and hours passing. He searched out a clock, the one just outside the Great Hall, and watched the time go by. He was most awake throughout the night, but by each morning he'd begin to fade.
Sometimes, he even thought he heard his name in the pitiful darkness that surrounded his being. But it had been like voices in a dream: distant and whispered, as if blown on smoke down a long, dark tunnel. They seemed to come out of the walls themselves, a faraway sound but still somehow right next to him, like a chorus of whispers saying his name. And then he knew that those were other ghosts speaking to him. One day he even thought he'd heard someone asking him to follow them, to leave the castle.
But he couldn't. Not yet anyway. He wasn't done yet. He had so much to live for, and it all had happened so fast, so suddenly. He just…wasn't done.
After some time, he had started to become stronger somehow. He seemed to be becoming, sort of, more of a ghost if that was possible, more corporeal in form, but still it was almost impossible for him to recognize himself in a mirror. And he knew that it wouldn't be possible at all. His features were blurred out, as if someone had misshapen them.
Cedric blinked out of his long reverie and focused on the photo once again.
The Cedric Diggory in the photograph was smiling genuinely and heartedly. He had almost forgotten what it was like to smile again, or feel something of any sort.
Next to the framed photo was a large trophy made of silver and a sort of blue crystal that glowed with a shifting, curling light. He read the plaque below the trophy.
The Triwizard Cup
Jointly Awarded to Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory,
Hogwarts students of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Houses, respectively,
For winning the Triwizard Tournament, which was held upon these grounds
with the cooperation of representatives from the
Durmstrang Institute and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
He looked out the stained glass window next to the trophy cases and saw that the rain had finally exhausted itself. He knew everyone must be in the Great Hall by now. He heaved a ghostly sigh. He hadn't been in there since the night he had died.
The last time he had been in the Great Hall, he had sat with his friends. He had been on his way out to what he had hoped would be a victory in the final challenge of the Triwizard Tournament. Everybody had toasted him with their pumpkin juice, he remembered clearly, and wished him good luck. He remembered having promised them that he'd tell them about his adventure the next day at dinner, with or without the victory cup.
Cho Chang had met him at the door on the way out of the hall. Her features were etched into his mind with such detail he could close his eyes and still see her. She had wished him good luck, had hoped he would succeed in the maze. He had wanted to kiss her, but he hadn't, not right there in the entrance to the Great Hall with everyone looking. He had promised himself he would kiss her afterwards. Cedric's ghostly eyes had gone thoughtful as he realized that he had cared even more about that one kiss than he had about winning the cup. Kissing Cho was going to be the real prize.
Cedric blinked, shaking himself.
That had never happened, of course. It was strange how fast time passed. It all still felt like it had been just yesterday. It felt as if he were to go down to dinner right at that moment, Cho would still be there, waiting for him. There would be Stebbins, and Cadwallader, and Muriel, all anxious for him to regale to them the details of his trip through the maze. That was how it always felt to him, but it wasn't true, wasn't reality. They wouldn't be down there, not really. They had all grown up and moved on while he was still here, trapped in a form he could not see for himself. He was just a distant memory, to them and to himself. Instead, his old table would be filled with people he didn't know. They'd not even recognize him.
Would they even know his name?
Twenty years had passed since his death and he still wasn't ready. Maybe someday he would be able to come down and all the memories that haunted his being would not chase him away as much as they did now.
Someday, he would be ready to affront everyone just like the other ghosts did, instead of hiding in the trophy room as he always did.
Someday, but not yet.
A/N: I really hope you liked this. Cedric is one of my favorite characters and I really cried when he died. Like seriously JK Rowling, was it that necessary to kill him? Please tell me what you think, don't be rude. I sent my beta the next chapter for Edge of Darkness but I don't know when it will be ready. In case I can't update soon, I truly wish you all a Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year, may all your wishes come true and thanks for always taking the time to read what I write. Goodbye for now.