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There Will Be Time by gabyvillanew
Chapter 21 : Cedric
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 7

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 Chapter 21: Cedric


Georgie. Georgie. Georgie.

My head is throbbing. I have about three seconds before the pain in my legs comes back. Oh no, wait. There it is. As is the pain in my ribs, my arms, my face, my neck – heck everywhere.

“Cedric,” a woman’s voice says, “Cedric, are you alright, son?”

I open my eyes and see Madam Pomfrey.

“Where is she?” I ask, not really answering her question.

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips in response. Something’s wrong.

“Madam Pomfrey, where is she?” I insist.

She runs a hand through my hair and I try unsuccessfully to shake her away. I have no strength, after all.

“Someone will come talk to you in a second, Cedric,” she says.

She leaves a little bottle with a golden potion by my bed and leaves. I know I’m supposed to take it but chances are it will just make me drowsy. I much rather be awake in case she comes. Or in case whomever is supposed to come does.

All I can think about is her. She is the only medicine that calms the pain. I don’t really care right now that my body feels like it’s being beaten over and over. All I want to know is where she is; where she has taken her hair, her face and her scent. I want her.

“Mr. Diggory?” someone asks. I look up from the golden bottle and see Professor Snape.

“What have you done to her?” I groan angrily trying to get up on my pillow. The pain makes me suffocate a scream.

“Let’s not be dramatic,” Snape says walking over to my bed and summoning a chair.

He waits until I calm down.

“Where is she?” I ask angrily, remembering suddenly what she said to me yesterday. You are the evidence. Dumbledore thinks that if you die then Voldemort coming back becomes more real.

They made her leave. Or…

“Is she alive?” I ask tentatively, noticing that my hands have started shaking.

“Professor Dumbledore sent her home, Mr. Diggory,” he informs me, “Though I know not where that may be.”

I close my eyes in pain and feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

“I never said goodbye,” I say to the ceiling.

When I look back at him I notice a frantic look in Snape’s eyes. Silently he hands me a crumpled piece of paper. Her handwriting.

I almost snatch it from his hands but, again, the pain stops me a little. The look of her handwriting hurts like a dagger.

Ced, the letter starts.

I haven’t much time. I’m sitting inside a girl’s bathroom somewhere in the castle, hoping that Dumbledore will not come in and tell me to hurry.

Cedric, I love you. Please remember that. Please remember that I have loved you since September the first, when you startled me in front of that damned Goblet. Please remember, if only for a little while, that there is a heart out there that beats for you and that loves you to the death.

Don’t blame Dumbledore for what he’s done to me. By the time you read this I will be back at home. I hope you will forgive me for all the lies I’ve told you this last year. Please forgive me for not telling you about Voldemort – about what would happen at the cemetery. Please forgive me for not trying harder and please, please forgive me for not being there right now.

Please know that I lied to protect you. This tiny piece of parchment won’t be enough to make up for months and months of lying, but please, please know that. You will surely think me a bitch and you will think that I used you or something. I didn’t. Ced, I fought against myself for as long as I could. I tried to keep myself from you and only ended up hurting us both. I tried to protect you by loving you and ended up hurting you more. I ended up loving you entirely for who you are and just hurt myself all the more. I hope that you, at some point, loved me for who I am – even if a great part of who I am turned out to be a lie. All I feel for you wasn’t a lie, Cedric. I hope that deep down you’ll know that.

Trust that wherever I am I am thinking about you and I am wishing I could be lying next to you, holding your hand and telling you that you are my reason for everything. I will probably be wishing that until the day I die. Ced, I won’t blame you for wanting to move on. If anything I will love you more. I will love you more with every ticking minute and every beating of our hearts.

Please remember that I love you now and that I always will.

You are the sole reason I came to this place – it just took me a little long to find out.

I love you Ced. If you find a way – if you decide that there is still a way in which you could… love me, I suppose… I will be waiting for you. I will be here, wanting you every day and loving you every day.

I love you.

Georgie. Your Georgie.

“There’s not much time,” Snape snaps me out of my letter. Until now I hadn’t noticed the tears running freely down my cheeks.

“I need to find her,” I mumble and attempt feebly to stand up.

“Don’t be stupid, Mr. Diggory,” Snape snaps making me lie back down, “You haven’t the strength; we haven’t the time; and Professor Dumbledore will not allow it.”

“Don’t you get it, Professor?” I snap, “I don’t care.”

“MR. DIGGORY!” he finally roars. “Please, open your mind the tiniest bit and try to understand what I am saying!”

The frenzy I had noticed in his eyes has practically turned into hysteria. He keeps glancing at his watch.

“In less than five minutes Professor Dumbledore will burst through those doors and will erase your memory,” he says. My mouth, I think, is hanging wide open. “He will erase her from your memories.”

I can’t think of a thing to say to that. Her? Georgie?

“Mr. Diggory, I am doing this for both you and her,” Snape says, “are you listening?”

I nod. He produces a large amount of empty flasks from his robe.

“What do you know about memories, Mr. Diggory?” he asks.

“The basics,” I say. I have seen my father take his memories a number of times, “I don’t know the words, though.”

“Think of her, Mr. Diggory,” Snape says, “Think of every moment with her and I will say the words.”

The day I met her, the day she mentions in her letter, is the first memory that pops into my mind. Snape presses his wand against my temple. I see it all: the way her wet hair gleamed in the blue flames of the goblet; her old pyjamas; her pale skin; the touch of her hand in mine when we introduced each other; I even remember the feeling of emptiness when we parted ways at the top of the staircase.

Memory by memory Snape copies my thoughts and empties them into the flasks, until at least twenty of them are full with a dense, silver liquid. There we are, contained in crystal; each time I played with her hair; our kiss inside the tent; our almost kiss in the library and all the real ones that followed; the Prefect’s bathroom and my bed; all our dancing at the Yule Ball; her hand in mine, her skin against mine, her lips pressed to mine; and then there’s yesterday. The entire horror of it, accompanied and blended together with the night before.

“How do you feel?” Snape asks me when we’re done. What’s with the kindness, anyway?

I answer in the only way I can think of.

“Empty,” I say.

Snape nods once and then looks down at the crumpled letter in my lap. Right.

“Here,” I say as I hand it over, “Keep it safe.”

He nods.

“When you’re ready, Mr. Diggory, it will all be waiting for you.”

Will she be waiting for me still, though?

“Professor Snape?” a voice at the door calls.

“I was asking whether he saw anything else in the cemetery, Professor,” Snape tells Dumbledore. All the flasks are long gone, as is her handwriting in the piece of parchment.

“Ah,” says Dumbledore nodding, “Well, may I have a word with the boy now, Professor?”

Snape nods and looks at me one last time before leaving the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore sits down in the now empty chair and gives me one of his hearty looks. Though my feelings for him revolve mostly around hate, I can’t help but to understand the man.

“I’m sure you know why I am here,” he says.

I nod.

“I wish I didn’t have to, Cedric,” he says.

“I know,” I agree.

He gives me a sad little smile and says,

“She loves you,”

Then he only thinks the spell and erases her from my memory forever.


It’s funny, but I swear my dad has been giving me the strangest looks all week. I know I still look like a pulp, and I know that I keep waking up in the middle of the night screaming, but still, I don’t think that’s enough reason to shut your son out.

“How was the office, Dad?” I ask him looking up from the bowl of peas. “Anything interesting?”

My dad shoots a really quick glance at me and turns back to the gravy.

“No,” he says quickly.

“Nothing?” I insist, “No one used a hot tub as a cauldron this week?”

I smile while I say this, remembering a case he told me about last week. Instead of the response I was hoping for he slams his fork against the table. My mum jumps in her chair and I stare blankly at his face.

“HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?” he roars at me.

“Amos,” my mother whispers warningly.

My dad puts his face on his palms and starts shaking his legs compulsively.

“I remember everything,” I say fiercely looking him straight in the face.

He looks up from his palms and stares at me as though I just said the stupidest thing in the world.

“Who are you?” my father asks before leaving the table.

I turn to stare at my mum who looks disturbingly peaceful, still staring at my father’s empty place. She stands up from the table and clears all the plates. I remain sitting, wondering what it was that my father meant.

“Cedric,” my mother says.

I close my eyes.

“Do you really hate her this much?” she asks.

I turn to stare blankly at her.

“Mum,” I say, “What are you talking about?”

My mother drops the plate she was holding loudly and it breaks against the sink.

“Go to your room,” she snaps.

I stand up quickly making the chair squeal. I’m bloody seventeen now. Do they even realize? Fucking best way to spend the last summer I will live with them.


I don’t know who was it that said ‘the mirror doesn’t lie’, but fuck me he was right. I am pretty much used to doing this everyday. After dinner I come up here to my room, take off my shirt and stare at the scars. The ones that most catch my eye are the ones in my chest. It’s like I’ve been butchered. They run every way. Diagonally, vertically, horizontally, you name it. My face still looks all mashed up. There is a large diagonal cut that runs across my cheek. Plus, it doesn’t matter what my friends say, I hardly think that black eye will work as a chick-magnet.

And then there’s this one, the one I’m touching right now. A much smaller one that has been there since the start, straight over my heart. It’s not a scar really, but a bruise. I don’t know where this one came from, but by Merlin, I wish I did. It’s not the work of a Death Eater, of that I’m sure. Any scar or bruise to the heart would have meant death, and still there it is, small and now less purple than when the summer began, perfectly oval-shaped. I remember staring blankly at it back at the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts, wondering how it came to be there and marvelling at its shape. It doesn’t look much like it right now, but at the beginning, when it was almost violet, I swear it looked like a kiss.

Sometimes I still wake up in the morning, on the rare occasions I don’t wake up screaming, and discover that my hand is placed over this one scar. The only one that has really been puzzling me since the beginning. The ones in my knees have almost healed and I can manage to walk longer distances every passing day. My hands have healed too, as have my legs and ribs. At the beginning I could hardly breathe without wanting to scream. These days I only scream with the nightmares. 

Though they all come from the same place, each scar reminds me of something different. The ones in the chest remind me of a clearing and of Snape whispering things over my body. The ones in the face are the torture. The deep claw marks in my legs are me trying to escape holding on to the portkey and holding on to Harry. The broken ribs are my betraying him. This one, the little tiny one, however, is the one that haunts me. Because I honestly don’t know where it came from. The only thing that comes to me whenever I try to remember how I got it is this huge sense of emptiness. It overwhelms me for a second, and then, even that sense of emptiness abandons me.


Tonight it was different. I’m still covered in sweat and panting lying in bed, but I swear it was different. My hand is placed on my heart, and I feel it beating harder than with all those other dreams. Like it’s remembering something. Probably nothing, though. I’m nervous is all. Tomorrow is September the first, after all, and I have to go with my father (who is not talking to me) and my mother (who looks at me as though she does not recognize me) all the way to King’s Cross… where I will then have to encounter hundreds of wondering eyes. Nice things to look forward to, then.

But I swear that tonight was different. I was in a room in Hogwarts that wasn’t my own and somewhere in my mind I knew it was the Room of Requirement. I was panting, pretty much as I am now, though I remember that I knew it was for a completely different reason. Then I saw her. I was not alone but was lying in bed, staring at the candlelight-illuminated naked back of a girl. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and as I watched she reached up and undid her ponytail, allowing a great mass of curls to cascade down her back. And there I was, staring like a total perv at this girl’s back, feeling this strange love and longing. Like I couldn’t wait for her to look back at me and jump back into my arms.

Then, suddenly, she began to turn her head and I managed to look just at the tip of her nose, before my heart began to beat faster than it’s beating now and made me wake up.

I swear it was different. My body felt different looking at her or dreaming of her or whatever it was. Like it was aware that she was a missing piece. I felt whole again.

Anyway, it’s just a dream. And tomorrow is September the first. And it was just a dream.


I’ve never been a stranger to people staring at me. I’ve never been a fan of it either, but the intensity of their stares is honestly beginning to get to me. My mother hardly kissed me on the cheek when we arrived by the train and my father shook my hand in a completely nonchalant way – like he is repulsed by me almost. Somewhere in my mind I remember a conversation (or discussion, rather) that I had with him last year, at the end of the Second Task. I know that I kind of insulted his precious position in the Ministry but, again, I hardly think that’s a reason for treating your son like the plague.

“Father,” I began to ask as I shook his hand. I wanted to say that I was sorry for whatever it was that I did to him, but he never let me finish.

“Take care, son,” he said and turned away from me.

“Mum?” I asked her in turn.

She gave me a sad little smile and turned away from me too. I knew that sad little smile well enough by now. It always seemed to say ‘Cedric, how can you manage to live with yourself?’ In all honesty, I do find myself wondering that same thing sometimes.

Once they were gone I simply stood in the same spot staring at the place that my parents had just left empty. Left, right and centre people are staring at me. I think they expect me to break into a fit of screaming or crying like I did when Harry and I apparated in the clearing last summer. Trust me, I’ve had enough of that crying by now and am not about to start again – and much less standing in the middle of the bloody platform. I just keep hoping that I won’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night or something. See, that would be embarrassing enough for me not wanting to look anyone else in the face these days.

Not like I’m not having trouble doing that already. No one knows, of course, and I hardly think that Harry remembers every passing second of that day, but it still is embarrassing to know that I tried to run. I can’t even remember properly why I did that. I would never, ever, for the life of me do that. I should have died in that cemetery. I should have – then Harry and I wouldn’t be called liars every single day in the Prophet. Why did I run? What was I so desperate to come back to? What, my dad, his scowls and his sucky job at the Ministry? My mom and her disappointment? Bloody Hogwarts and all the people staring at me (boys with hatred/admiration, girls with lust)? I mean, what was the point? Even that job I wanted so desperately as an Auror, how can I still want that when I’m terrified by the sole memory of that monster? I’m a coward – a coward that runs away and wakes up screaming bloody murder every night.

“Cedric?” someone calls me. I look all around me and eventually find a tiny blonde staring at me.

“Luna,” I say, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says and remains in silence.

I appreciate someone actually coming and talking to me, but her silence is making me a bit queasy.

“Is everything alright, Luna?” I ask her and immediately hate myself. See, that is the sort of question I will have to be asking every passing day of this monstrous last year. Head Boy. Bloody Head Boy. As if that will make me feel better, Dumbledore! Only good bloody thing about bloody being bloody Head Boy is that I will have a bloody room to bloody myself. And even that is not quite the bloody best, because a bloody girl will be living bloody across from my bloody room, bloody won’t she?

“Um, no,” she says and stares down at her feet. She is holding a large stack of that magazine her father produces in her arms. I offer to take them from her but she only holds tighter.

“Is she not coming back?” she says suddenly looking up at me. Her enormous eyes are filled to the brim with tears.

“Who?” I ask a little more despondently than I meant to.

“Don’t do that to me, Cedric,” Luna says letting the tears fall, “You know who I’m talking about.”

“No, Luna,” I say harshly, remembering my mother’s words in the kitchen last week, “I bloody don’t and for all I care neither do you.”

I turn away from her and board the train. What is with all these people, anyway?


Looking for a face in Hogwarts has never been a problem for me. Then why can’t I find her? The girl in my dream, you know. I mean, I was at Hogwarts and I was with a girl. And my mind isn’t so imaginative to make up such a perfect image. Therefore she must be somewhere around here. Still, it is bloody hard. In the dream I only got to see the tip of her nose and the naked back covered in curls. And I can’t bloody ask every girl in this school (I mean, like, from fourth year on), to let her hair down and let me look at her naked back. Not that they wouldn’t. Plus I would earn a brand new reputation that would have nothing to do with last summer and all to do with my amazing Casanova skills, but still, I bloody can’t.

Who are you thinking about?” Tom asks me from across the table and gives me a meaningful stare.

“Tom,” Russell whispers warningly.

I stare at all my friends in turn.

“Who are you talking about?” I ask them.

“No one, Cedric,” Chris says.

“Yeah,” agrees Ed, before adding in a whisper “We know you don’t want us talking about, well, her.

“Who the hell is this ‘her’ that everybody keeps talking about?” I snap angrily. The little kids that have just been sorted into Hufflepuff and who are proudly sitting next to the Head Boy stare at me in horror.

“Sorry,” I mumble to them and shoot them a reassuring smile.

“Ced,” Tom starts, “You can’t just bloody pretend that G – ”

“Tom!” Russell warns him again.

Tom looks down at the table like a little boy that’s been told off. The food disappears from the table and I know what’s coming. Dumbledore is going to give one of his little speeches and then I will have to escort the little ones to their different houses. Ah, the joys of being Head Boy. Once Dumbledore’s speech is over and people all around us start getting up I remain sitting with my friends and stare at each of their faces in turn. Tom is still looking down.

Just as I begin to get up he mumbles:

“He can’t just bloody pretend she doesn’t exist,”

All the others’ eyes close in exasperation and I choose to pretend that I heard nothing. I put an arm around a first year’s tiny shoulders and guide them all out of the Hall. Who the hell is she?


Things just get worse when I arrive at the Head’s room. The girl, whoever she is, is not here yet, and I decide to just sit down in a comfy chair in front of the fire to wait for her. After a few minutes, and when I am beginning to doze off, the door creaks open. In walks a black-haired Slytherin. She’s pretty, I suppose, and has disappointingly straight hair. She isn’t nearly as pale as the girl in my dream and is wearing an excessive amount of make-up. I am reminded of a line in this Jane Austen book my mother forced me to read and I actually mentally kick myself: ‘Pretty, but not enough to tempt me.’

“Hi Cedric,” she says while walking over to the chair opposite mine. Strutting, actually, moving her hips like I’ve seen models do. Great, she’s going to be one of those. I roll my eyes a little and go back to staring at the fire.

She sits down and we remain quiet for a few minutes, while I start to trace the healing scar on my cheek with a finger. Suddenly she starts to giggle.

“What?” I ask in an exasperated tone.

“You do know that everyone is expecting us to fall in love, don’t you?” she says.

I turn in shock to her and look straight into her eyes, trying not to, um, notice the rest of her. Her blouse is practically unbuttoned showing an emerald green bra; her legs are slightly parted and she is biting her lip almost obsessively. Oh shit.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“I think you know,” she whispers seductively, “Head Boy.”

For crying out loud! It is my first bloody day back and I have a semi-naked girl wanting to get it on with me! Is she the one that everybody’s talking to me about? Did I, like, have a concussion or something after the Third Task and I completely forgot about some girl? This girl? But I would never date this girl. For crying out loud, she’s throwing herself at me!


She stands up from the chair and proceeds to unbutton her blouse completely, tossing it down on the floor. Once she is close enough to me she opens her legs and sits down on my lap.

“I think,” she says leaning forward, “that you need a little pick-me-up.”

Her lips find my throat and start to kiss it.

“Don’t you?”

Her hand guides mine slowly to her bum. The other one forces my free hand to her right breast. This doesn’t feel right.

Her lips travel to my lips and she pushes her tongue inside my mouth. I moan for the slightest second and she takes it as an agreement. Suddenly she is unbuttoning my shirt.

What is the matter with me? I am making out with a pretty girl in a room entirely to ourselves; I should probably be grabbing her by the waist and making her mine in this very chair or up in my room. I should try to relieve all the stress I’ve been accumulating for the past two months, all the pain and misery, all my dad’s stares and my mum’s disappointment. I should let it all out – I should let it all out on her until she screams or moans or groans or anything.

Were it not for that single haunting image. I don’t feel the same way. I don’t feel the pressure or the love or the longing that I felt in that dream. Heck, I don’t think I’m even aroused by the semi-naked girl forcing me to touch her breast. All I can think of are those curls and that pale white back. She is all that occupies my mind. And she is not the ‘she’ that I am holding right now.

“I’m sorry,” I say pushing her a little away from me, “I’m sorry, you’re not –”

“I’m not what, Cedric?” she asks looking down at me.

“You’re not her,” I say though I know that she will not understand me. She’s not the girl in my dreams.

“Oh, Cedric,” she says crossing her legs on my lap and tracing a finger down my scar, “She really broke you, didn’t she?”

My eyes widen, but before I can ask her anything she stands up, picks up her discarded blouse and walks up the stairs to her room.

“You can expect a serious beating from Marcus, by the way,” she says.

I laugh.

“I was expecting that,” I say.

“Not that it would make any difference on your once pretty face,” she ads before closing her door.

You know, not only your body can get broken.


“Hey Cedric,” a guy says beside me. I turn and stare at Harry in the eye. I think my face just totally blanched.

“Harry,” I mumble, “Hi.”

“How have you been?” Harry asks.

Ha. Good question.

“Great,” I say sarcastically and turn to instruct a tiny girl as to how to get to the dungeons. Poor girl on her way to discovering Snape. Relish this moment, little girl, before you lose all your happiness.

I turn to look at Harry, whose gaze is lost somewhere in the distance. We are standing in the middle of a crowded corridor in front of some bathrooms and across a courtyard.

“I’m healing,” I tell Harry in all honesty.

“Good to know,” he says while nodding. “Not the easiest thing to do these days.”

“I think you know what healing I’m talking about, Harry” I say with a little smile. When he turns to look at me with confusion I just run a finger down my scar.

“Right,” he says, and then smiles, “Well, at least yours is not permanent.”

I laugh.

“I guess,” I say. “The ones in the chest are, though.”

Harry nods, then smirks.

“Good thing she was there, though. Otherwise you wouldn’t have to worry about scars.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him.

“What?” I whisper, but I think he doesn’t hear me through all the noise.

“She asked me to bring you back,” he says suddenly, his gaze lost again. I am about to ask whom he is talking about but change my mind. Instead I say:

“I’m sorry I was such a coward, Harry. I’m sorry I ran.”

Harry looks up at me and smiles.

“You had your reasons,” he says before turning his back on me. He walks a few steps away from me before turning back, “Besides, what matters is that you went back for me.”

I smile at Harry’s retreating figure and as the crowds clear I see an enormous Slytherin coming my way. I’ve played against Marcus Flint many times before and I know just how cruel he can be. All I’m saying is go ahead, bro.


“Broken nose, Cedric?” Madam Pomfrey asks.

“Yup,” I say clutching my nose with my fingers.

“You know fighting is not allowed in school, Cedric,” Madam Pomfrey says slipping a golden potion into my mouth.

“Good thing I didn’t fight back, then,” I say.

Madam Pomfrey stares at me, then all around her and then makes me focus hard on her eyes.

“Look, Cedric, I shouldn’t tell you this, but” she starts, “If someone tries to hurt you, you have to protect yourself.”

I feel a terrible pang on my chest and am forced to actually clutch it. For a second Madam Pomfrey thinks that I am having a heart attack or something because she forces me to lie down and goes away to get another potion.

I shut my eyes very tight and see her. She is tiny. Somewhere in my mind I know that if I want to hold her in my arms and kiss her I will actually have to stoop. Sure enough there are the curls and the pale skin. The curls aren’t as, well, curly as they seemed in my last dream. Then again, if we had been in bed I suppose her hair had to be messy. I try to take everything in: her caramel coloured hair and soft brown eyes. The pale, pale skin. I see through my eyes, which right now seem to be somebody else’s’ as I reach out and try to put my arms around her. She escapes my grasp.

“You hurt them! Or kill them! But you do something!” she yells, “You do whatever it takes to –”

She doesn’t go on.

“To what?” I ask softly.

She cleans her tears with her sleeve and looks down at the floor. She regains her voice and looks at me through defeated eyes.

“You have to come back to me,” she says.

My eyes snap wide open and I feel like throwing up. Madam Pomfrey is hurrying towards me carrying a new flask of potion. I stand up in bed and look everywhere in confusion, as if expecting to find her in the room.

“Cedric?” Madam Pomfrey asks, “Are you alright, son?”

I honestly don’t know.


The dreams keep coming for one week straight. Every night is something different, though much smaller than the dream I had in the Hospital Wing. I, for instance, will dream of a tree and connect it to her. Or a certain window in the library. I don’t really see her but sense her, inside my dreams, in all those places. Then, as quickly as they came, they stop.

My friends, fortunately, have learnt to live with me. They put up with my not unusual changes of mood and brooding. I guess I’ve also sort of learnt to live with myself. I’m trying this new thing where I only allow myself to get my spirits down when I am sure I am completely alone. It’s not like I cry anymore. Also, all the nightmares are getting a lot better. They usually interrupt themselves now before the torture begins, for which I am glad. It’s the presence of those other dreams that I find myself missing.

Huh, an empty classroom. Snape’s empty classroom. See, I knew it was a good idea just telling my friends to go ahead to lunch without me. I’ll just lean my head on the table for a couple of minutes and allow myself to get depressed. Great plan.

“Mr. Diggory?” Snape asks coming behind me.


“Yes, Professor?” I ask incorporating in my seat.

“Might I ask why you’re still here?”

Well, why are you still here, Professor? Huh? Huh?

“I was leaving,” I mumble and move towards the door.

“Sit down, Mr. Diggory,” he roars.

“Professor, I wasn’t trying to do anything,” I say, “I was just looking forward to a little space.”

“Sit – down.

I do.

“Talk,” he says suddenly, still standing.

“There’s nothing to say,” I say.

“Mr. Diggory,” Snape says, “just because you are an evident idiot does not mean that everybody else is. Now, you can choose to tell me whatever the hell is clouding your already tiny brain or you can scrub the cauldrons until you decide to do as I say.”

I stare at him a little open-mouthed. To prove my lack of a brain, I suppose.

“Talk,” he repeats.

I look down at my lap.

“I’ve been having dreams,” I say.

“Nightmares?” he says.

“No,” I answer looking up at him, “I mean, I still have the nightmares but there are these other dreams too.”

“What are the dreams about, Mr. Diggory?” Snape asks standing up and opening a drawer. Out of the corner of my eye I see him retrieve a crumpled piece of parchment.

“A girl,” I whisper. “She isn’t in all the dreams – just in a couple of them. But they are all about her, I can tell.”

“Have you seen her?” he asks. What does Snape care, anyway? Perv. I should probably excuse myself and leave.

“Twice,” I answer nevertheless, “Once we were fighting, and once –”

Oh. I don’t want Snape to know that.

“Once we… were not,” I conclude.

Snape turns to look at me with hard eyes.

“Come here, Mr. Diggory,” he says.

I obey and find myself standing between him and a crystal cabinet with many flasks containing a dense silver potion.

He summons something silently and a rustic Pensieve comes forward.

“Mr. Diggory,” he says, “What do you know about memories?”

And then he tells me. 


Well, hello, everybody! I decided to upload this as soon as I saw the waiting time for the queue. Sigh. I don't know when this'll get to you, but I'm really hoping you enjoyed it. I tried to keep it a secret that this chapter would be told from Cedric's point of view, so hopefully that worked? This, I must tell you, was one of the chapters I enjoyed writing the most, simply because I got to see into the mind of another one of my characters. So I really, really hope you liked it too. 

And, as usual, my disclaimer - I don't own anything, except for my original characters and situations. Thank you. 

Now, again I really need to thank you for showing so much support for the story in the comments. I really, really love to read what you guys have to say about it, so please keep reviewing, okay? Hehe, thanks. 

And I think that's all I have to say - so I'll see you next time. Oh, and just so you know, we only have... two chapters and an epilogue left. No! I'm already dreading it!

Love, X.

And I just realized this chapter is ENORMOUS... sorry 'bout that...

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