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Amos Diggory
This will be the year, he vows. He will do his best – no, he will leave Cedric's memory where it belongs: the past. He owes it to the child he couldn't keep alive, to allow him to rest in peace. Amos knows that his son was braver than him. Stronger, too. Cedric would be able to do what his father had not succeeded in; he would have found it within himself to carry on.
Often, Amos had been accused of overplaying his hand in the paternal bragging stakes. But Cedric had always been a good boy – better than good, although it didn't do to harp on about it – and done the right thing with less prodding than most. Now, there was nobody who would disagree with him; Hadn't Cedric been a bright young lad? A powerful young wizard? Sure to make his father proud? Only, those words didn't do his boy justice. There was no way to describe his impulsive kindnesses, or the way he had routinely polished his broomstick after a match. And Amos would exchange every last one of them for a moment with Cedric.
His son would also have the heart to tell him that he was doing the right thing, and the compassion to tell him not to worry. However, if Cedric were in a position to say anything of the sort, Amos would not be facing his present dilemma: the bells would soon ring, as sure and as solemn as they had done at Cedric's funeral, declaring time's steady march.
He can spend the next year of his life, and the next, and the next focussing upon his son's death.
Or Amos can try, day by day, to treasure his son's memory by making the most of what little was left in his life; to move on, but never to forget. Never.
As the fireworks explode, propelling the world into a bright new beginning, Amos does not look away. Instead, he allows himself to look on, unblinking, at the future they represent. He is resolved to carry on. Voldemort is out there somewhere, and if Amos can do anything to honour Cedric it is to stand against his murderer.
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