I still do dream.
This year, in Dumbledore's Army, I kissed Harry. The mistletoe seemed to seek us out, magical like the mirrors surrounding us. There was a certain surrealism to it. He smelled like parchment and boy, though the hand that brushed my cheek brought owl treats to mind.
I will always feel guilty when I do that.
It was less than a year ago that those events inspired my dreams. Sometimes I see dragon's flames and sometimes I feel myself deep underwater.
Mostly I feel myself drowning, despite the oxygen, in the noises around me. There is a brass band, a cheering crowd. People start chanting at the red figure that just landed on the dirt before us with a thud and quiet sound of agony, "Potter! Potter! Potter!" Their chants grow faster and thunderous.
Potter. Potter. Potter.
PotterPotterPotter.
potterpotterpotter.
Until Fleur's scream tears through the sounds like a Banshee. They finally see what I see.
Their noises turn to shock, turn to horror.
Their noises turn foul and petrifying.
Because they, too, see the still yellow boy with his eyes that stare right at me, without seeing me. Dumbledore can quiet the crowd, though only so much. It is hushed enough to hear the racking howling noise Harry makes. Amos Diggory pushes through the crowd, screaming his son's name, his own sobs not blending with Harry's. They sang out different tunes of grief.
"He's back," Harry choked at Dumbledore. "He's back!"
Everything goes silent.
Not one person has a face anymore. I've even lost my own.
Cedric's remains intact, smiling, as if he was telling me an especially funny secret.
These dreams have haunted me since before it truly did happen. My own tears were hindered by my fingers, pressing my tear ducts. "Quibbler, Cho?" a sweet voice asked from in front of me. "There's an article about the newest discoveries regarding the Rotfang conspiracy," she nodded as if this was fascinatingly urgent.
"Thank you, Luna," I squinted at the shining Quibbler logo, my flooded eyes leaing just a little. Disregarding my own tears, I smiled at Luna in politeness.
"Are you okay?" Luna's expression didn't change, nor did she even blink.
"I was just, um," I shook my head trying to decide what to say. Outside of D.A., we hadn't ever spoken. "I was thinking of Cedric."
"Oh," Luna said thoughtfully. "It isn't as if you won't see him again, though, I suppose." I started to say something, correcting her, but thought better of it.
"Um, sorry?" I enquired, hoping she might explain.
"My mum died when I was nine. She liked to experiment with magic and one day it went badly. I do miss her terribly, though I still have dad," she casually answered, as if I asked about the weather. "You do still have friends, Cho," she nodded. "Friends are treasure; they will help you."
Luna skipped away after her last statement, passing the Quibbler to more people along the table.
Sometimes I wish could be like her. She lived in a world that other's didn't understand, certainly, but being able to escape to my own world didn't seem so bad sometimes. Her kindness shocked me sometimes. Even I have been truly cruel to her. I took things from her trunk and hid them. She knew I did. Why did she concern herself with my tears?