Arighty guys…I haven't written in a LONG time…so please bear with me. It's not mine, the song belongs to Yellowcard...How I Go.
"Where are we?"
He shook his head, and rose to help Harry to his feet.
"Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?"
"No. Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
"I dunno. Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"yea."….
They looked around carefully, in the graveyard that smelled of death.
"Someone's coming." Harry announced.
Cedric's head swam. Seemingly random images from his past played in a silent montage before of his eyes.
I could tell you the wildest of tales
My friend the giant and traveling sales
Tell you the times that I failed
The years all behind me, the stories exhaled
Begging Hagrid for a bedtime story, when his parents left him with the gamekeeper, whom they often relied on to babysit. Hagrid and six year old Cedric had been all but inseparable, Cedric following his big friend all across Hogwarts' grounds on shaky legs.
And I'm drying out
Crying out
This isn't how I go
The worst part was the waiting. They went into the maze, and Hermione stared after them, into the dark foreboding hedges. After an hour, She drifted into an almost sleep. She dreamt fitfully, her head on Ron's shoulder. Random stills playing behind closed eyes, she dozed on.
I could tell you of a man not so tall
Who said life's a circus and so we are small
I could tell you of a girl that I saw,
Froze in the moment and she changed it all
Hermione on holiday with her parents, sitting on a beach somewhere in northern Germany. Hermione, all sunkissed skin and windblown hair, laughing at something he'd said. The wind carried the smell of the salty air…and no matter how many beaches or oceans Cedric had seen or would see…the scent of the ocean always triggered the memory of her.
And I'm drying out
Crying out
This isn't how I go
Hurry now
Lay me down
And let these waters flow
He could vaguely hear Harry screaming in pain, the sound dulled by the haze of memories.
Son I am not everything
You thought that I would be
But every story I have told is part of me
Hermione telling him to listen to it, it was good. Him jumping back when sound exploded from the "walkman", as she called it. Personally, it looked nothing like a man to Cedric. For that matter, he had no idea how it could walk.
You keep the air in my lungs
Floating along as a melody comes
And my heart beats like timpani drums
Keeping the time while a symphony strums
The look on Hermione's face when she found out he'd memorized the lyrics to their song. He always thought of it as their song, from the beginning. It wasn't all that romantic, but then, neither of them was exactly romantic either. Not conventionally, at least.
And I'm drying out
Crying out
This isn't how I go
Hurry now
Lay me down
And let these waters flow
She was biting a quill, trying to think of how to put yet another brilliant thought into words. The afternoon sun coming through the smeared glass was making patterns on their table, illuminating dust motes floating, disturbed by the constant motion of her fingers through her hair. She had an ink splotch on her nose and a wisp of hair in her eyes. Nice. Slowly, slowly as he watched her, the scene took on a green shade to it. The green got brighter and brighter, spreading He tried to reach out, like his human counterpart had done, once upon a time, to smooth her hair back. He knew how it annoyed her. But as his hand reached out, she looked up. They had a second of eye contact, a thousand words and promises and shattered dreams, and his mind faded to black.
Son I am not everything you thought that I would be
But every story I have told is part of me
Son I leave you now but you have so much more to do
And every story I have told I part of you
She was jolted awake by the feel of his cool fingers against her cheek. No, it had only been a part of her dream. What had happened? She had a horrible feeling of loss, it was crippling, but she didn't remember anything other than a hint of stormy grey eyes, filled with urgency, and an underlying sorrow. And light, strange light, distorted, as though underwater. Green light.
"Ron." She shook him, brushing his hair back from his face, smoothing his brow with her gentle touch. "Ron, you have to wake up."
He woke slowly, his eyes dazed at first, focusing slowly.
"Mione?" he slurred, sitting up, but still supporting her with his arm. He looked at her, alarmed.
"Ron, something's happened."
"What?"
"…I'm not sure…" He waited patiently, knowing it must be important. Just then, there were shouts. Harry had returned! With Cedric! Ron turned back to Hermione jubilantly.
"Mione, Mione it's all right. Harry—Harry's back, and Cedric. They're fine." Then…a scream, amidst the cheers. Ron's face moved through so many different emotions it might have looked comical, but morbidly so. She saw his face.
"He's dead." She gasped out.
"No! No, Mione, he's safe, he's fine, look, he's with Moody."
"Cedric." Her voice cracked, and she swayed in Ron's arms.
"I don't know, something's wrong with Diggory…" He frowned towards them. Hermione let out another choked sob.
"He's dead." She repeated. Ron's brow wrinkled.
"Nah, he can't be dead." And then the cry began…high and keening.
Somehow, Hermione eluded Ron's death grasp, and sank to the bleachers. She stared ahead, refusing to look down.
But she had to look sometime. They had to take care of Harry. She had to be there for him. She had to reassure Ron. She had to talk to the Weasleys. She had to, had to, had to. She had to let go. She couldn't. All she could do was sit. And remember. Only seconds before, she could feel him. See him. Communicate with him. If only she had understood the urgency in those eyes. His eyes. His beautiful, clear, laughing eyes. Eyes that seemed to be speaking to you when they sparkled in the light. His eyes that would never glint with amusement or understanding or confusion or anything else ever again. She couldn't look, couldn't. They walked past him and her head turned involuntarily. Every cell in her brain was screaming not to do it, but her nerves were singing with adrenaline, and she knew she had to. She looked. And ran. She ran towards him. Under pretense of checking Harry, whom she was hugging so tightly he probably couldn't breathe. She stared down at Cedric's body. His eyes stared lifelessly, and she tried to turn her head, to hide behind Harry's shoulder.
No. The worst part was the mind shattering numbness, the thought she couldn't avoid in sleep or waking.
He. Is. Not. Coming. Back.
The words imprinted themselves into her soul. She took no comfort in Dumbledore's words, though she knew that was how they were meant. She felt as though her nerve endings had dulled. Ron's hand around her seemed far away, as did his shoulder, solid under her cheek.
High above, Cedric watched. He felt like his heart was being ripped out, as cheesy as he knew that was. He had never had much patience for cheese. But maybe his heart was better off down here, with her. His last thought, as he drifted out of the mortal plane forever, was a vague wonderment muttered to himself.
"D'you think they have those CD things in heaven?"
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Love & Chocolate…
Me.