They say you shouldn't feel guilty, and you think maybe you shouldn't, but they don't know everything. Maybe they'd be less sympathetic if they did.
It started out innocently enough. Let's study. Oh, I have a newer copy of that book than the library's. Come to my room. Oh it's so late, why don't you just stay the night? I promise I won't snore. Just a friendly hug… a goodnight kiss…I can make you forget.
Forget his eyes his touch his tears. He used to cry when he told you he loved you and you never said anything back. Just your sad silent black eyes, tearless, as he came inside you (up to the hilt), breathing hard in the rapture with drying tears on his cheeks.
But she couldn't make you forget all of it. This time it was your eyes desperate to hold back tears as you betrayed him. She touched you in paths his fingers could never follow. Her tongue branded you and suddenly you understood what the other girls meant when they said "I had to put a sound proofing charm on the room he was so good" because this was phenomenal. This was hand-biting sheet-gripping sweat-drenching scream-inducing ecstasy.
And then it was still. She was asleep, and you were alone again with your thoughts, her back warm against you. The thought: this confirms everything, all his accusations all your fears everything. Here it was, in black and white. Now you had a name for your disease, your affliction.
les·bi·an (l z b - n) [noun] A woman whose sexual orientation is to women.
The other thought: here in her bed not his. Enjoying her lips not his. Crying tears for her not him. That night for the first time you understood those tears.
And then he died. He never knew. No one knows. You know that if they knew why you cried, they'd hate you. Because you don't cry that he's gone, you cry because you're glad you never had to end it. You're glad he went off to death never knowing for certain, only suspecting. You're glad because you never have to listen to him crying anymore.
And you remember the only time it happened as though it happened every night. The details so scarred on you that at times you have to remind yourself that you're still alive, that mundane life went on after that perfection. You remember the last words she said to you (2 months 19 days and 4 hours ago)
"Cho, don't tell Cedric?" she whispered to you as you left her room.
"Don't worry Hermione, I won't." you whispered back.
