Cedric Diggory

I was Cedric Diggory, one of the first few people to die at the hands of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort in his quest to return to his corporeal body. He ordered me killed without a second thought, because I interrupted his plans by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Seconds before my death I'd been participating alongside Harry Potter and two other students in the first Tri-Wizard tournament to be held in hundreds of years. Harry and I had reached the end of the final maze at the same time, each deciding to share the victory, since we'd already helped each other to get to that point anyway. It seemed the fairest thing to do.

Even now, I'm not totally sure what happened next, I just know that as soon as we touched the cup, things started to happen very fast. Suddenly we had no longer been in the maze on Hogwarts grounds, we'd been in a graveyard. All I'd been able to think about was my dad. He was going to be so worried when they found out Harry and I were gone.

I can remember that Harry had been panicking badly, but I didn't understand why. I thought that, of course it was odd, but it must have been part of the tournament. We'd been told to expect the unexpected. Finding the cup through the maze must have just been one part of the challenge. I expected that we were supposed to find our way back to the castle to truly claim the prize.

Suddenly a figure had emerged from the mist and the last thing I remember hearing was a high cold voice, "Kill the spare."

There was a flash of green light and then for awhile there was just darkness. I'm not sure how long the darkness lasted, but after some time my eyes started to see again, but things felt different. When I looked at my hands, I could see right through them. There had been others like me, whom I could see right through as well. Lying some distance away, I could see my body, and slowly realized that I was dead. Right away, I'd thought of my dad again and how crushed he would be.

I saw Harry, still alive, and more scared than ever, fleeing from spells that were being cast by someone who could only be He Who Must Not Be Named. I asked Harry to bring my body back to my dad that night, it was all that could be done. After that, the other spirits and I flung ourselves at Lord Voldemort, giving Harry time to escape.

Harry brought my body back to my father because it was the right thing to do.

Now I'm here, in a place that looks something like King's Cross station. There are no conductors here to tell you when the trains will arrive, or where they go, but something is telling me that it's my time and the next one is my train. More people arrive every day. Some of them, I know and they tell me that the people who are still alive call me a hero. I'm not sure why. I'm no hero, I was just doing what was right, and I'd do it again.