A/N: Hello, it's me!! I know—I probably should be working on other stuff. But this story kinda 'called' to me when I was out for a walk. Honestly, I want to hear what you think—too saccharine, too corny, too weird, too angsty? I want to know. I feel that this is sort of a bittersweet story; but in the end, it's more sweet than bitter. And, to my sister, if she ends up reading this—which she most likely will—I want to know what you think, but please don't totally bash it.

"How do you know that he's a good man, mom? I mean, sure, he got rid of Voldemort, but how do you know he was a good person? That he actually cared??"

"Trust me, I know. He really cared."

She walked slowly towards the graveyard; her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She stared at the gate, and, with a monumental effort, she walked through into the actual graveyard.

Walking slowly past numerous graves, she wondered: how many? How many of these were wizards? How many were other people's lovers? How many other caskets held boys and girls that had died too soon?

She hadn't even been able to come to the actual funeral—or the first year anniversary of his death. It had been four years, to the day. Maybe it was because it had been in their fourth year, maybe just because she had made herself so busy the last few years so she didn't have to remember; it had never helped.

Her unshed tears bubbled over and she fell to her knees, sobbing without realizing it as time froze and she read the cold, stony words:

Cedric Diggory

A Hero Who Died Too Soon

She wanted to scream at the balmy weather, the bright flowers. It wasn't right—that it seemed everyone else had gotten over it, and yet…she had nightmares every night. She was tinier than she had ever been; sometimes she sat at the table in her flat for almost a whole day, only to be woken from her reverie by the telephone's ring or a knock on the door.

Yes, she had clung to Harry, but only because she had been too weak to stand on her own. He had been something to help her forget, if only for a few fleeting moments. Yes, she had loved him, but it wasn't the same. Cedric had been her true love—they had even imagined a time after Hogwarts, when they could travel the world together before settling down. And to have him so brutally taken from her—she didn't want to relive that summer ever again.

Staring at the headstone, she realized that there were four unusually colored flowers left at his grave. There were the white flowers left by Cedric's father every year—sometimes they talked, and it was clear that he, like herself, had never quite recovered—but it was the bright flowers that caught her eye.

They formed two bundles. One bundle was made of a black rose and a yellow rose; the small sheet of paper attached to the ribbon that held them together said simply,

"To Cedric Diggory, A True Hufflepuff And Even Truer Friend"

The second bundle, containing a blue rose and a silver rose, had a note with similar handwriting that said,

"To Cho Chang, The Girl That Loved Him"

It was impossible to tell who had put them there, but as Cho looked up, she could see someone in a black cloak heading down the path. And in that moment, she knew, without proof and without a doubt, who had put them there.

It was almost like he had realized what so many of her friends hadn't, that a part of her had died that day. And, with someone acknowledging exactly how deep her grief was, something like peace anchored itself in her heart. Quietly, she placed her own flowers by the grave, talked quietly to Cedric (although she knew he wasn't there), and left. Tears still streamed down her face, but she knew that it would get better—and that was a feeling that she hadn't had in a long time.

Cho smiled at her teenage daughter, home for the summer from Hogwarts. It had been years since that day, and still it was clear in her mind. That had been the day that she had begun to heal—it had been a long process, and part of her would always mourn for her lost love, but she was stronger now, able to live beyond her grief. She had never loved another man, it was true, but she had a daughter, and she loved her more than anything.

Maylin was in many ways different from the child Cho had imagined having with Cedric, and the result of a fling trying to love—it hadn't worked—but she was a talented, strong teenager who knew that authority wasn't always right. Of course, she was hot-tempered and impetuous, but mother and daughter shared a deep love.

Cho smiled again, remembering that day and the days after. Every year, she found the same roses. And every year, she caught a glimpse of a man in black robes walking away.

"He really cared."

A blue rose and a silver rose were in the vase in the center of the table, magically preserved—until next year.

A/N: So…yeah. Love it? Hate it? Don't really give a bathtub's plug either way? I want to know. Please just let me know that I'm not writing to thin air—and if you can, please give constructive criticism instead of a complete bashing.