NIGHT SKIES AND FLY-BY-THE-MOONS
Author: Queen Nightingale
Rating: M (For Safety.)
He taught her how to fly.
It started on another regular day with Cho getting up, sleepily unwrapping her long legs from her dark blue covers, and dragging herself to the washrooms, turning on the hot water with full force. Cedric was on the other side of the castle, doing practically the same thing, just with far more swearing and cursing when the hot water turned cold.
She had Charms first period with him, but they didn't really know each other. They were mere acquaintances, the type to smile occasionally at each other if they saw the other in the hallway, but nothing more than that.
(Secretly, though, she had always crushed just a little bit on his dirty blond hair and chiseled jaw.)
Cedric was one of the earlier risers to the breakfast table this day, surprisingly enough, and plopped himself down beside the young Finch-Fletchley, chugging down four cups of coffee and sleepily eying up a copy of the Daily Prophet that some younger Hufflepuff was holding in her hand. Cho had already been down at breakfast for a couple of minutes, and saw him walking in, with his mussed hair and bright blue eyes, heavily lidded with the remnants of dreams.
They made eye contact for a couple of seconds, but Cho dropped it quickly, turning across to a friend and starting up a meaningless conversation.
(She attributed the fact that her heart-beat jumped a bit to a loud noise made from the Gryffindor table.)
In Charms class, she sat one row across from him and one seat up, the perfect spot for him to absent-mindedly stare at her smooth black hair and porcelain skin, the bits that he could see when she turned to giggle and pass notes with friends behind her.
Cho was amazing at Charms, too, not in the way that Cedric ever was, with her natural affinity for grace and fluidity. He was clumsier and more earthy, downtrodden with the rest of the Hufflepuffs, who all managed to stoop disconsolately to the ground as the Ravenclaws won all the points for knowing the material.
But Cedric made up for it with his easy, crooked grin and smooth walk, his perfect pretty-boy face and comfortable tone. He was everything she had ever wanted to be – naturally good-looking, naturally popular. Where her spine curved straight from years of rigorous ballet and piano lessons, his spine gently leaned back against his hard chair, with a casual, practiced grandeur, making him truly look like the King of Amsterdam.
(He wished he had the courage to sit up straight.)
But he was so bad at Charms that Flitwick called him and her up to the front of the desk at the end of class, and told Cedric that unless he let Cho tutor him for extra-credit, he wouldn't even pass.
His face tinted a light pink at Flitwick's blunt words, and he avoided eye contact with Cho, who looked desperately at the floor, trying to ignore his apparent embarrassment. But he nodded brusquely, and swept out of the room, Cho lingering to listen to Flitwick.
They proposed the first meeting two hours before curfew, in the empty Charms classroom (Cedric hating anything to do with the library), and the two hours were spent with Cho growing more and more irritated at Cedric's apparent ineptness, and Cedric growing redder and redder with anger at her condescension.
They parted ways with delight.
The next week, they both returned to the classroom, Cedric glowing after a Quidditch victory (the first in Hufflepuff's history, against Slytherin) and Cho not-so-glowing after a botched Potions class where Snape hurled a cauldron at her desk in irritation with her talking during his teaching.
But for some reason, whether if it was Cho's delight at being able to prove herself as smart again, or Cedric's natural joy of victory, the meeting was a success, with Cedric successfully floating a pincushion across the room.
Cedric cracked a joke at his stupidity, and Cho's peals of giggles ricocheted around the room until the both were drunk with mutual tiredness and satisfaction.
(He winked at her as they left the room.)
Of course, walking down the hallways was always awkward, as neither knew what to make of this new-former-irritation-turned-back-to-friends-that-never-were. Cho would often keep her head down until she was passing right beside him, Cedric's eyes glazing over at the sight of her black hair, and then she would look up and smile, Cedric's insides warming and easily grinning back at her.
They fell into a mutual happiness after that second week, and scheduled meetings more and more often, right up until the Yule Ball came around (at which point they were sniggering together even in Hogwart's rusty hallways).
It was their last meeting before the ball, and Cho was lamenting her lack of date-ness to Cedric, who was listening to her quietly, as he normally did, chuckling every so often at her dramatics and swinging black hair as she paced down the hallways. She moaned about the boys at Hogwarts (Cedric hid a snort at his obvious testosterone-filled presence), the lack of dateable partners (as everyone in her year had paired up), and when her eyes had started to glisten, Cedric took a deep sigh and offered her his hand, to which she stared up at in confusion.
Somehow, she had moved to sitting against the floor, and as he extended his hand closer to hers, he whispered:
"Just go with me."
And her heart swelled just a bit right there, at the generosity of this popular boy who she somehow was lucky enough to befriend, and maybe just might be able to keep. And she smiled widely up at him and slipped her hand into his rougher one, so he pulled her up right underneath his chin.
But then she snorted and giggled, effectively ruining the moment, when she spotted that Cedric's pincushion (that they had been trying to keep suspended in the air for over 2 minutes) had exploded feathers all over the back of the classroom.
And life went on.
It was the night of the Yule Ball, with Cedric being a champion and Cho dangling off his arm in a black sparkling cocktail dress and five-inch high heels, dripping with cubic zirconia that she magicked to look like diamonds.
(They were stunning, but they always were.)
It was as if in that moment, two pieces of a puzzle fit, and they spent the beginning of the night twirling around on the dance floor, wrapped up in each other's conversation and laughter. They weren't exactly perfect, or ostentatious, but they were beautiful, and that was enough.
By the latter part of the night, Cho had managed to get tipsy off of firewhiskey that Cedric's friends had managed to smuggle in (boys will be boys), and dragged him outside, where she took off her shoes and walked beside him, clutching onto his hand.
A couple of Slytherins slunk past them, but they took no notice, and kept walking down to the lake, where they leaned against a tree, side-by-side.
(He wasn't sure if he should put his arm around her, so he didn't. But he desperately wanted to.)
She started telling him all about herself, the alcohol loosening her tongue, all her pent-up worries and emotions, interspersed with tiny hiccups. He just sat back and watched her, exploding before him, entranced by her comet-like trails and long words, fiery passions.
Eventually she burnt out, sighing and leaning into him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let his hand slowly creep over her shoulders, snuggling her towards him.
She glanced over at him, and when she saw his eyes darkened with lust and desire,she cupped his face in her hands, and slowly pressed her lips into his.
And then it was the tango, or the salsa, or the meringue, or whatever sort of fiery dance that shouldn't be attempted by the unwise. Their lips were punctuated with moans, their feelings mere fragments of what they used to be, and all they could think of was more, more, more.
It got to the point where his mouth trailed hot kisses down her shoulder, and she swore that she flew.
So she arched into him, and he burst into passions, riotous joys right before her eyes, coloured with zeal and craze and delight, normal colours fading before his brilliance. And they made love, true love, without the actual physical part of it, in that moment.
And a small tear trickled down his debonair face after they kissed, and she encircled it with her finger, drawing it up and suckling on it like a child, her sparkling jems making her more beautiful than the night sky.
He whispered into her ear that he loved her in that moment, that he truly did, and sparks went through her soul and filled her up with euphoria, better than any sort of heroin or crack but the sort that only really comes when you find your soul-mate.
But moments unfortunately can't be bottled up like drugs and sold at the pharmacy for ten Galleons, and the night had to proceed, like a blurred film, with them deciding to go swimming in the lake and then parting ways, as they always eventually did, dog-tired and too happy for conversation.
Their relationship grew and blossomed until a full flower, and so she was the one with him the night before his death. She comforted his worries and told him all would be well with a beatific smile and a long, drawn-out hug.
Later that night, she lay in his bed and traced the outline of his face with her fingers, as he nestled into her body, holding her close.
The next day, when his body came back with Harry, she ran to it, screaming, yelling, clutching it, and they had to pry her off of it, but she wept and wept and sobbed and SCREAMED for him to come back because there was no WAY HER Cedric was gone. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
And she lay alone in an empty bed that night, with only a pillow for comfort, and clung to her memories and went partially mad with all her tears.
And maybe she did go mad, she thinks to herself when she stares at Harry Potter's eager face, a year later, after that one year of insanity and exuberance and joy and explosions and contact and colours and brightness but goddamit, at least she had the chance to.
Because there was nothing, NOTHING in the world, that could compare to flying.