Out of everyone who died it's Cedric who stands out in Harry's nightmares. It bothers him that it's a boy he barely knew: friendly but never a friend, never family.
And really, that's all Cedric had been when he'd died. Three years older than Harry at the time but a boy all the same.
Perhaps it was that Cedric was the first person he had really seen die with such stark finality. Perhaps it was the shock of Voldemorts true resurrection or the casual disrespect he and his minions showed the corpse.
But it is probably Cedric's youth that stands out so starkly. The sheer wasted potential of him. Another year or two or five might have made the difference, made him just another face accusing Harry of not doing enough, of not fighting hard enough, not taking the fight to Voldemort when he was still weak enough to need somebody's help.
On good nights, Cedric continuously turns empty eyes on Harry, impact with the ground pushing one last gasp from between barely parted lips. His hand falls limply down beside him, his wand falling to lie forgotten in the graveyard when Harry drags his corpse home.
On the bad ones Cedric is grown, with a partner that Harry can never clearly see, and he is happy. Happy until that hideous green spell hits him again and steals away all his potential years, his potential happiness. Until he's just a boy again: with graveyard dirt on his face and empty, empty eyes.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Fill
Date: 2015-05-19 08:35 am (UTC)And really, that's all Cedric had been when he'd died. Three years older than Harry at the time but a boy all the same.
Perhaps it was that Cedric was the first person he had really seen die with such stark finality. Perhaps it was the shock of Voldemorts true resurrection or the casual disrespect he and his minions showed the corpse.
But it is probably Cedric's youth that stands out so starkly. The sheer wasted potential of him. Another year or two or five might have made the difference, made him just another face accusing Harry of not doing enough, of not fighting hard enough, not taking the fight to Voldemort when he was still weak enough to need somebody's help.
On good nights, Cedric continuously turns empty eyes on Harry, impact with the ground pushing one last gasp from between barely parted lips. His hand falls limply down beside him, his wand falling to lie forgotten in the graveyard when Harry drags his corpse home.
On the bad ones Cedric is grown, with a partner that Harry can never clearly see, and he is happy. Happy until that hideous green spell hits him again and steals away all his potential years, his potential happiness. Until he's just a boy again: with graveyard dirt on his face and empty, empty eyes.