King of Hufflepuff
By: Hannah
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I didn't cry when Cedric came out of the maze, dead. It was too much of a shock, I suppose, and part of me kept hoping, praying, that he was only unconsciousÉ he would be fine once the spell wore off, he had to be fine. I didn't cry at the toast, I wanted to, but something held me back, keeping the tears inside of my eyes, stopping me. It's still here--I'm not crying now.
Cedric was in my year at Hogwarts, and I had a crush on him from the moment I laid eyes on him. Lots of girls did, I know, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't his looks, although they weren't anything to be sorry about, nor his ability to play Quidditch. It was him, the way he looked so genuine when he laughed, the way he always held the door, even if it was for someone as revolting as Draco Malfoy. He held the door every single time, and at his memorial feast Malfoy laughed. If grief hadn't frozen me to my seat I would have walked over and wrung his neck with my bear hands. Never in my life had I felt such hate, such raw, twisting hate that ached inside of me and burned to get out, burned to let me do what I wanted with all my heart.
But I didn't. Cheryl McCumb is always in control of her emotions, always sweet, always polite. Ha! They think they know me, they think that all I am that quiet girl nobody notices. They would think differently if they knew the emotions that are writhing inside of me. They feel like a three-headed snake, each having a form of their own until they connect their jumbled masses to make a whole. One head is hate, one is sadness, and the other is regret.
I guess part of the reason I liked, no loved, Cedric was the admiration I had for him. Everyone thinks Hufflepuff is only for those who have nowhere else to go, even the Sorting Hat thinks so, but they're all wrong. Hufflepuff is for those who have too much inside of them; we're loyal and smart, brave and cunning, loving and caring. We don't have nowhere else to go, we have too many places. We can't be split down the middle and put in a house just because we have one thing, so we go to Hufflepuff. Cedric showed that to everyone, proved we're not worthless, proved we're as important as everyone else.
And now he's gone.
I should have told him, should have let him know how much I cared about him. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have this guilty itch inside of my stomach, this horrible feeling that he died without knowing. I was too scared, too weak to tell him. I knew he wouldn't have hurt my feelings if he didn't feel the same way, yet I couldn't do it. If I could do things all over again, it would have been different.
I glance at my watch, and realize how long I've been staring at the ceiling in my four-poster. Something tells me I need to get up, so I stand. I head towards the door, but I can't make myself go. I don't want to face the world. My leaden feet won't move, and I almost scream in frustration but stop myself. Then I wonder why, and suddenly I don't care. I scream. I pick up clothes and books and throw things across the room, I stomp and flail my fists until I make contact with the wall. A trickle of blood seeps from under two of my fingernails, and I watch the scarlet liquid running down, shocking against the white of my hand. I can feel something inside of me breaking, and I slump to the floor, wondering vaguely if it's my heart.
A door creaks open, and Annie steps inside, looking scared. She was my only close friend I ever made at Hogwarts, and the only one that knew how I felt about Cedric. I suddenly realize what I must look like, my hair out of my usual ponytail, my pale body trembling with the force of what I'd just done, blood smeared on my hand, and the little bit of makeup that transforms me from slightly ugly to just plain is absent from my still-dry face.
"Oh, Cheryl." Annie says, trying to hug me. I pull away, not wanting the contact. She looks hurt and more than a little surprised; little shy Cheryl from before would have accepted the hug. Little shy Cheryl would be crying. Annie tries to look like she doesn't care about ir, and sits by me instead.
"Will you come down? We're talking, and it'll help you. They all think you need to be left alone, but I'm afraid that if we do that you'll kill yourself with the way you've been acting. Come, please?" She tries to sound brave, but her quavering voice gives her away. I don't want to make her cry, so I stand up numbly. She leads me downstairs by the arm, and heads turn as they see the mess I've made of myself. Then they turn back; right now what I look like is unimportant. They are in a circle, all of Hufflepuff, and their faces are solemn, as though made of stone. Red rims eyes line their eyes, and I wonder again why I have none. Tom was one of Cedric's closest mates, and he has the only eyes besides mine that aren't full of tears. He is pouring a small amount of red wine into glasses as he passes them around, until everyone has some, even the first years. He pours mine last, and his eyes bore into mine, silent understanding.
"I think we all know why we're here; Cedric. We had a toast in the Great Hall, but he needs one from us, from the people who knew him best. Before we toast, I think everyone should say something about him that you remember, something that he said or did that meant something." His voice is rough and dull, as though it is being scraped with sandpaper before let into the air. There is something commanding about the voice, and people start doing what he says.
There are times when grown-ups ask you to tell something about yourself, and the words come out awkward and forced. This isn't one of those times. The words flow effortlessly, and I'm lost inside the beauty of the memories. I realize suddenly that it's my turn, and I wonder briefly whether to say what I'm feeling or make something up. As soon as the question enters my mind, it is gone. I know what to do.
"Cedric wasÉ everything a Hufflepuff should be. I loved him, and probably not the same way all of you did. I loved him, and I never told him. I should have, I should haveÉ I'm not brave though, I was too scared to do it." My voice cracks, but my mouth keeps moving. "I probably only had one conversation with him in my whole life, and I'll always remember it. I was so upset, because I was in Herbology with the Slytherins and they were making fun of me again, because of the way I look. And I made all through the day, I made it until late at night. Then I couldn't help it, and I started crying, and he was there. He talked to me for an hour at least, and by the time we were done I had forgotten why I was sad in the first place. That was the time when I wanted to tell him most how I felt, but I didn't. I didn't and I wish I had." The tears are finally flowing, and the words taste funny in my mouth, like bittersweet chocolate melting on my tongue. I try to wipe my nose and eyes, but my face is so much of a mess anyways I finally give up and make myself look around. Will they be laughing at me? Whispering about what a fool I'm making of myself?
They aren't. Everyone is quietly crying, their faces blotchy and contorted through the candlelight. I look at Tom, and he is crying silently, too. He looks at me and points to his glass of wine.
"Will you?" he whispers. I look down at the wine, dark and rich in the dimness, and think of Cedric, think of everything he stood for.
"To Cedric Diggory, King of Hufflepuff.
A/N: There are probably a few errors in here, but I wanted you to know that I'm trying out .html and it's not completely my fault, I proofread this before posting. Thanks.