Author’s notes: Hey, everyone! I hope you all enjoy this story. This chapter was great to write sometimes, but at parts (I admit it!) it was difficult to write, as I love some of these characters and it was awful to mess with their lives, but I’m looking for a good outcome in the end! I don’t own anything, course, it all goes to J.K. Rowling, and the song lyrics below are from a Broadway performance. Also, when I was writing this I noticed a fairly minute detail that kind of... Well, clicked in two of these P.O.V.'s, which is kind of funny, because I didn't mean to do it, and it's following where the plot is headed. (Hmm...) I’m waiting to see who can find it first! The quote that's starred in Theodore's P.O.V. was said by Lucius Annaeus Senca.
“Catch me I’m falling,
Catch me I’m falling,
Faster than anyone should.” —Aaron Tveit, Make up your mind/catch me I’m falling, Next to Normal
Cho Chang’s P.O.V.
My heart aches. I feel as if I have been broken into a thousand tiny pieces, scattered in the wind.
Cedric is still gone. He is gone for forever. He won’t ever come back. My eyes fill and my vision blurs. For a moment I let the tears overwhelm me as I walk up the path, letting the rain pour down on me. Who am I to wallow in such misery?
I am Cho Chang.
When I was in my fifth year, my boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, died. Almost a year later, a young boy who I found quite interesting asked me to date him.
We didn’t last long. It amazes me slightly that if I had played my cards right I could be Mrs. Potter right now. Or at least Harry Potter’s girlfriend.
No. He has little Miss perfect, Ginny Weasley.
Oh well. I don’t care about Harry.
All I want is Cedric. And I can’t have him.
Why do we always want what we can’t have?
Why can’t I, for once in my life, except something that I already have, instead of always wishing things could be different?
I sigh and unlock the door to my flat. I just got home from work. I had become an auror, wanting to protect people, wanting to prevent anyone from having to go through the misery I have, or wanting to save people like Cedric. It didn’t work. I hate my job and my life more than anything right now.
I set my bag down in the front hall and collapse on the couch.
I look at myself in the window, thinking about how pathetic I am. Who cares? No one is here to see me.
I wonder what would have happened if things had ended differently. If I still had Cedric beside me.
Suddenly, a horrible thought that I had never considered occurred to me. What if… What if Cedric found out about my mistake before he died?
I hadn’t meant for it to happen, and neither had the other person. It just… Did.
I can’t remember most of it, but I know it happened.
Cedric and I had been going through a little rough spot and… Oh, I don’t know. I was so confused.
But I stayed with Cedric, because I loved him.
And I lost.
I always loose.
Draco Malfoy’s P.O.V.
I sigh as I sit down at the table in the darkened mansion. Everything is so peaceful. So quiet. As I sit I wonder silently, why can’t I be happy?
I let out a cruel laugh. Happy? What a foreign concept. There’s no happiness in sight for me. I’m one of the only Death Eaters who’s not in Azkaban, my parents included. I’m a traitor as everyone else would say.
I don’t belong on this earth. This world.
None of them understand. None of them know.
How could anyone ever know? When would I ever be able to work up the nerve to tell anyone?
I’m Draco Malfoy. The greatest coward to ever walk this earth.
Or so they believe.
I promised myself I would never tell anyone. I had actually done good in my life. I had tried to fix my mistakes.
… Imagine that.
Crazy. I know.
And it worked. To an extent. Just… Nobody knows.
I growl slightly, pulling up my left sleeve and looking down at the one mark that everyone believe brands me as evil.
It is still there, the Dark Mark. It’s chilling presence on my arm reminds me, not that I’m evil, but of something else.
I didn’t have a choice!
Yeah, so much for the you’re an adult, you get to make your own choices crap.
I had one choice. One chance.
I didn’t mess it up.
… I don’t think I messed it up.
When Dumbledore talked to me… Oh. I was so confused. I nearly killed the poor man later. Of course, I had been stalling. I was fairly certain Potter had been watching. I had been expecting that. Dumbledore probably prevented him from moving.
Then… Snape… And… Bellatrix… Death Eaters… Potter yelling… Greyback… injured Weasleys…
I have to say, that was one of the worst nights of my whole entire life.
It most definitely made the top ten.
I’m not saying what number one is. Nobody wants to hear that.
I don’t even want to.
I’ve been jumping around, not telling my secret straight out.
I do that often.
I won’t tell. I never will.
… I hope.
Blaise Zabini’s P.O.V.
I step outside, not bothered by the fact that it’s raining, not caring enough to pull up my hood.
I groan as I walk down the stone walkway, away from everything I ever knew.
Wondering why?
… I’m not answering that.
I turn on my heels, apparating to the only place I know I can find slight comfort in.
… And I say slight, because I don’t expect anything more. I mean, come on.
I stand outside Malfoy Manor as the rain begins to pour and raise an eyebrow.
I walk in the house, completely uninvited, and shut the door behind me. I look down, considering the fact that he might not be pleased with me for dripping water on his carpet. I shake my head. Whatever.
I hear a voice—his voice—exclaiming, “Who’s there?!?”
I turn and stare at Draco Malfoy. I haven’t seen him in a long while. I look him over. He’s the same as always, light, slick, blonde hair, silvery-gray eyes that seem slightly menacing, but are always hiding something.
… He looks pretty good for someone who just got out of Azkaban.
“What the fuck, Blaise?” He demands when he realizes it’s only me. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”
I grin. Ah, perfect. Draco always manages to distract me. “I believe I’ve heard mention of it… Once or twice. So what’s up?”
Draco curses more profanity under his breath that I wouldn’t care to go into. I roll my eyes at him, and he finally settles on snarling, “Damn you, Zabini.”
I smile brightly. “I love you too, Drakie!” I say in annoyingly high-pitched, bright, stupid sounding voice.
Draco immediately recognizes who I’m imitating.
For a moment he stills in anger, but then snorts. His pale hand flies up to cover his mouth as his shoulders begin to shake with laughter.
I laugh along with him, and glance slightly at him in amazement.
One, since when does Draco laugh like he’s actually enjoying himself?
Two, how can anybody who just got out of Azkaban still laugh?
… Just wondering.
“For your information,” he gasps to me. “I haven’t seen her since I got out, and I couldn’t be more glad.”
I smirk at him. “Why, Drakie, don’t you miss you’re wittle Pansy?”
He smirks the Malfoy smirk and rolls his eyes. “I think you might already know the answer to that, but just in case you’ve forgotten… no!”
I look at him, grinning, as he grabs my bags and we walk into the house.
Theodore Nott’s P.O.V.
I stand outside the tall, gothic gates for a moment, just staring. The rain starts to bother me, so I pull my hood up.
I read the title on the sign, seeing, Cemetery of the valiant.
A graveyard of people who died in the war.
I step inside, reading names off of headstones as I walk through, watching the rain splatter into little puddles on the ground.
Collin Creevey, Amelia Lockhart, Severus Snape, Jack Berlux, Nina Davey, Fred Weasley, Eloise Johnson, Samuel Northwood…
I stop before two graves in the very back, near the trees that begin the forest, just staring for a moment.
My vision blurs as I read the words on the slab to the right.
In memory of a fighter,
A mother, a wife,
“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.”**
Claudia Nott,
July 4th, 1966-May 2nd, 1998
My bottom lip trembles as I set the flowers I brought down on the grave. My tears drip down my cheeks and join the rain that has slowly trickled off my hood and onto my face.
I don’t care. I don’t care.
“I miss you, Mum,” I whisper, kneeling on the grass in front of the grave and tracing the words slowly, crying softly.
I sniffle, and wipe my cheeks, turning to the grave on the left. All it reads is,
David Nott,
September 8th, 1964-May 2nd, 1998
I growl slightly and kick away the flowers that lay on his grave. My father. My bloody father.
The man I hate more than anything.
The man who practically destroyed my life.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s gone.
For forever.
Somehow, that still doesn’t help.
Neville Longbottom’s P.O.V.
The café is warm and protects me and my girlfriend from the cold rain outside. We managed to rush in here just before we would’ve gotten soaked. The girl next to me, my girlfriend for two years, is beautiful, with long silvery blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes. However, she happens to be just as confusing as she is pretty.
Sometimes I wonder how anyone knows what she’s talking about.
She chatters happily, not realizing that I’m barely listening to her. I tune in slightly to hear, “… And after all that, Daddy found the Wrackspurts in the Amazons! Isn’t that amazing, Neville?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say with a forced smile, having only just heard the very ending of her story, and not understanding a single bit of it. “That’s great.”
“He still can’t find any Nargles though. It’s so sad.”
I nod slightly, not listening to her anymore. This is getting out of hand. I barely listen to her half the time anymore, and even if I do listen to her it would be a miracle for me to understand what she’s talking about.
Then why…?
“Luna,” I say, interrupting whatever she was just about to say about Nargles or Wrackspurts or whatever. “We—we need to talk.”
Luna blinks up at me. “Hmm?”
“We need to talk Luna,” I whisper.
“U—um, okay,” she mumbles, slightly confused by my urgent manner. I can’t help it. I can’t let this go on any longer.
“I’m really sorry,” I start out, biting my lip. “You must believe me, Luna.”
Her eyes fly wide, and her mouth drops open slightly as she stares at me, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Sorry for what, Neville?”
“I don’t want to do this…” My voice trails off and I try to start again. “Believe me, I really don’t…” I am failing miserably at this. Seriously, how do I get this out right? “But I think I have to…”
“Have to what?” Luna demands, looking slightly alarmed.
“I…”
“Neville?”
“Luna,” I say again, “I’m so sorry…”
“What’s wrong Neville?” she asks again.
“It’s… It’s just…”
“You can tell me, Neville,” Luna says softly.
“I—I think—” I take a deep breath and say, “I think we should break up, Luna.”
There is a very long, uncomfortable silence, and then she jerks back slightly as if I slapped her across the face.
Luna Lovegood’s P.O.V.
“I—I—I—Alright,” I stammer, completely shocked. I hadn’t been sure what to expect when Neville seemed so nervous. For a moment I questioned if he was proposing, but that made no sense.
I actually wondered if he was going to tell me he had seen a Nargle, but that made no sense either.
I wondered for a moment if he was going to say that he thought Harry’s mind was full of Wrackspurts, just like I did, but I quickly ruled that one out too.
So, that left me wondering, what exactly Neville was going to tell me. He had seemed so nervous.
I had only seen him like this when he asked me out.
He was so adorably nervous it was cute, and of course I had agreed right away. I couldn’t think of any reason not to.
I force a smile. “Of course I believe you. It’s fine Neville. Really, it is. I—I—I’ll see you later.”
And with that I rush out of the café, tears threating to spill over, Neville calling, “Luna! Wait!” after me.
I don’t care. I don’t care.
I rush down the street, barely noticing the rain that splatters on my face and across the ground as I begin to cry.
What did I do wrong? Did I mention Nargles to many times? No, of course not! He always agreed with me that it was upsetting nobody could find them anywhere.
Was it the Wrackspurts?
Did Neville not understand about those?
I thought I had explained them…
I bite my lip and sit down on a bench in the park, ignoring the rain.
How could he do this to me?
How could I not have seen this coming?
Luna Lovegood, I chide myself, how can you be so daft as to miss that? How could you not have seen it, and it came right up and smacked you in the face?
Well, now I have to be brave.
I have to go on with my life.
I bite my lip.
How? I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to live.
Nobody to help me.
Ronald Weasley’s P.O.V.
I stand up from the table, pacing nervously, waiting for Hermione to get home from work.
I decided I would finally do it. I would finally tell her what I had been meaning to say for a long while now.
But how do I tell her this?
The door opens and in walks Hermione, a bright smile on her face. She takes off her raincoat, setting her bag from work on the floor, shaking her head as she lets her hair out of its ponytail, and says, “Ron!”
I force a smile, step up to her, and hug her.
She looks up at me in surprise as I move away before kissing her. I’ve never done that before.
Her brow furrows in surprise and finally she asks, “Ronald, is something wrong?”
I swallow slightly. “Hermione—” I start, but my voice chokes off and I can’t finish. How can I tell her? She’s so dear to me that I can’t bear to hurt her… But… How can I let this go on any longer?
She stops to look at me, her honey brown eyes flying over me, trying to see what’s wrong from my expression.
I am fairly easy to read.
“Look, Hermione,” I say, “You can’t believe how sorry I am, but…” My voice trails off and I take a deep breath. “But I think that we should… Break up.”
Her mouth drops open slightly in astonishment and finally she stumbles, “B—but why? What did I do?”
I sigh, “It’s not you, Hermione, it’s me,” I tell her honestly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just stopped loving her that way.
Her eyes flash and snap into a glare. “That is the oldest line in the book, Ronald!”
“I know,” I say, “But it’s true, Hermione!”
She lets out her breath in an angry, frustrated sigh, her bottom lip trembling, and finally says to me, “Fine. I’ll go pack my bags.”
“Hermione!” I protest as I follow her to our… Uh, the bedroom.
“What did you expect me to do?” She demands. “Stay here? It’s your flat, Ronald. Not mine.”
“You could stay,” I offer quietly, and she snorts.
“Why would I do that?” She screeches slightly. “You just broke up with me!”
“Hermione—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Ronald.”
So, I watch her pack her bags and leave, not sure what to say, not sure what to do, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
She is Hermione after all.
Harry Potter’s P.O.V.
I step through the door quietly, taking my raincoat off and shaking my slightly wet hair. I take my glasses off and rub them against my shirt to get rid of any water droplets on them.
I set my bag down and start upstairs. I wonder if Ginny’s home from work yet. I glance at the clock, thinking, probably.
I open the door to the bedroom Ginny and I share, and freeze, completely shocked still for a moment.
There’s Ginny… And some man I don’t recognize… And…
Suddenly, I am absolutely furious.
Ginny looks up and gasps, nearly choking as she spots me in the doorway. “Harry!” She cries, looking alarmed. “Y—you’re home early!”
The man looks up and jumps about three feet in the air, quickly puts his clothes on, and rushes past me.
I let him go. I don’t care about him.
I stare at Ginny in disbelief as she slips quickly into her clothes and then turns to look at me.
“Well?” She asks in a voice I have never heard coming from her before.
“‘Well'?” I cry. “Well?”
She stares at me, not saying anything.
“You—you, cheated on me!” I yell, completely losing it. “How could you do that?!?”
She sighs slightly, and says, “Harry, let me explain.”
“No!” I say. “Why should I?!?”
“Harry—”
“I don’t give a damn, Ginny! Why didn’t you just break up with me? No, of course not! You had to go bloody cheat on me behind my back!”
“Harry—”
“You can’t make me listen to you!” I cry. I realize that I sound slightly like a two year old throwing a tantrum, but I don’t care.
“Harry, just—”
I’m sick of this. No more yelling. So, in a quiet, but authoritative voice I say to her, “Get out.”
She looks surprised by my quick change of mood. “Harry—”
“No,” I say. “I don’t care what you have to say. You cheated on me. So go. We’re over.”
“Wait, Harry, please—”
“Get out,” I say forcefully. She stares at me, not moving, and I add, “Now.”
Finally, Ginny nods, packs her bags, and leaves. I sit downstairs on the couch, watching her leave, and feel my heart slowly break.
What the hell just happened?
Ginny Weasley’s P.O.V.
I step out into the rain, completely unsure of where I’m going, having no idea what to do now. I can’t go to the burrow, or Charlie, or Percy, or George, or Bill and Fleur, or Ron and Hermione, because I know the first thing they would all ask is, “where’s Harry, Ginny? What happened? Why do you have your bags?”
I can’t deal with that right now. If only Harry had let me explain…
Oh well. I do know, however, where I want to go right now.
I step inside the floral shop on my right and quickly buy a small bouquet of flowers, mainly Roses and Lilacs.
I turn in a circle, apparating off the street, to the only place I know that I can be alone. I sigh as I stop in front of the gates, my backpack soaked, my long red hair hanging out from under the hood of my coat, the flowers collecting dew droplets. I read the sign above the gate slowly.
Cemetery of the Valiant.
I step through the gates, and walk around the graves, looking sadly at the name written on them.
The names of people who should never have died.
Collin Creevey, Amelia Lockhart, Severus Snape, Jack Berlux, Nina Davey…
I stop before the next grave, staring at the words carved on it. George had written Fred’s farewell.
To the best brother anyone could ever have,
We’ll never forget you.
Love you.
In memory of the brilliant Messer,
Fred Weasley,
April 1st, 1978- May 2nd, 1998
Fred. I set the flowers down on his grave, staring sadly at the words. Poor George. He’s still not recovered; I know he isn’t, even though he tries to act like he is.
I’m not daft.
The rain pours down harder and I hug my coat closer to me, feeling cold and very afraid.
What do I do now?
I sigh and look at Fred’s grave again, as if he’ll give me the answer to my problems. Of course, he won’t. He’s dead.
Suddenly, a voice from behind me asks, “Do you need some help?”
I turn in surprise.
I can’t believe that actually worked.
Hermione Granger’s P.O.V.
“I bloody hate you, Ronald,” I grumble to myself.
I hold my small purple bag closer, wondering where on earth to go now.
I can’t go to the burrow. Molly would just ask questions about Ron, and I don’t want to talk about him. My Mum would do the same thing if I went to my old house. I have absolutely nowhere to go…
Wait. Harry and Ginny. It’s brilliant.
Granted, Ginny might want to beat her brother if she finds out what happened, but Harry will let me stay there.
I whirl around and apparate to number twelve, Grimmuald place.
I walk up the stone walkway and try the doorknob.
It’s locked.
I knock on the door.
No one answers.
I ring the doorbell and groan in frustration as no one answers yet again.
Harry and Ginny must be out somewhere right now. Or preoccupied. I wouldn’t put it past them.
Finally, I remember that a few months ago, Harry had given me a key to the house that he had found lying around.
I unlock the door and step inside quietly, hoping Harry and Ginny won’t mind finding me here in the morning. I really hope it won’t bother them.
I set my bag down and walk into the main sitting room, stopping in surprise when I see a stooped over figure sitting on the couch.
He has raven-black hair.
“Harry?” I ask in astonishment.
He whirls, sees me, lifts his glasses up to quickly wipe away his tears and gasps, “Hermione? What are you doing here?”
I, however, do not want to answer that and demand, “What’s wrong?”
He looks away, biting his lip.
Obviously, he doesn’t want to answer my question either.
There is a long silence and finally I say, “Ronald broke up with me,” at the same time he mutters, “Ginny cheated on me.”
I gasp and his jaw drops slightly as we both swiftly process what the other person has just said.
“Oh, Harry,” I say, “I’m so sorry!”
I glide to the couch and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He buries his head in my hair and says, “I’m sorry too, Hermione.”
I nod, and we cry, me on his shoulder, him into my hair, as we hold each other tightly, not willing to let go.
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