In the Melancholy Moonlight, Part 5: Dark Matter

Chapter 245: Dear Cedric,

July 7, 1997

Dear Cedric,
   I miss you.
   I haven't slept tonight. It's around three in the morning now. I was playing Mario Kart to distract myself from missing you, but I realized writing you was likely the only way to make the world feel a little less dark. Distractions are nice, but they're no substitute for actually trying to heal, you know? Distractions are better than nothing — my world was falling apart two years ago when I had no distractions and no desire to try to heal — but they're just a temporary fix. So here I am, reaching for you in the one way I can.
   As far as grief is concerned, I have good days and bad days. As time has gone on, I've had more good days and fewer bad days, but today is looking like it will be a bad day because yesterday was a good day.
   Yesterday, I went to Winslow, Arizona, with Henry and Fred and George. It was fun. Lots of pictures were taken. Henry and I got cheesy matching t-shirts. We saw an osprey. Maybe it was you. Maybe it wasn't. You should have been there. You deserved to be there. It was such a good day but the hole where you should have been felt so gapingly large. It felt larger than it has in ages as soon as I got back to the flat and tried to sleep. In the stillness of the night, I was so overcome by missing you that I almost couldn't bear it. I wrote Harry and he was awake so we were able to write back and forth in the diary until the ache of you felt less like an actively bleeding wound and more like a still-healing scar. We're okay, by the way, the two of us. We're going to run away to save the world together, someday soon. Ron and Hermione are coming too. I wonder if you would have come with us, if you were still here. I wonder if I would actually want you to come with us, or if I'd want you to stay behind where it's safer. I suppose wondering that is futile. You're not here. You can't come with us. I wish you at least had the choice. The fact that you don't is horrible.
   I'm going to miss talking to your portrait. I truly have half a mind to break into school and steal it from the Hufflepuff common room and bring it with us, but I know I shouldn't. Merlin only knows what Hogwarts will be like next year. I'm sure you'll be needed there.
   The world is falling apart, Ced. Dumbledore's dead. I saw Greyback again. I'm going to leave almost everyone behind for a reason I cannot explain in the hopes that the four of us can somehow save the world.
   Hope. Hope and love. That's all I really have left, now.
   I do still want to work in the shop tomorrow, so I reckon I should try to sleep now. I miss you so much. I love you so much. I'm sorry you weren't in Arizona with us today. You should have been.
   Love, Lucy
P.S. Are you and Tuck taking care of each other? I miss you both so much.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

July 7, 1997

Dear Cedric,
   It's incredibly late, so late it's nearly morning, so this won't be a terribly long letter, but I wanted to tell you I'll keep the promise I made to you. I'll keep Lucy safe. She's determined to follow me into danger, but I promise that I will always do whatever it takes to keep her safe. If I have to die to keep her safe, I will, without hesitation. The world is terrifying and ever-changing and there are so many unexpected dangers appearing every day now, but if it is at all within my power to keep her safe, keep her alive, I will.
   I love her so much. I love her more than I've ever loved anything or anyone else. She means the world to me. I'd die for her. If a time comes where I must prove that, I will.
   Your sister will be safe, no matter where we go or what we do. It's going to be dangerous, I know that and she knows that, but I'm going to do everything I can to keep her safe. I made you a promise that I intend to keep. It's more important now than it ever has been before. We're going to save the world, and I'm going to make sure she's alive to see it. I promise.
   I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe. I won't fail her the way I failed you.
   Sincerely, Harry

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

July 7, 1997

Dear Cedric,
   I visited Winslow, Arizona. I brought Lucy and George and Fred along, too, but I was missing you. I'd always wanted to take you there. I'm sorry I never got the chance. We saw an osprey while we were there, though, so maybe you did get to tag along. I don't know what I believe about the afterlife, but there's something comforting about the thought that maybe you're still here with us, in a small way.
   Well, actually, you ARE still here with us, in a lot of ways both big and small. There's the portrait, of course, which is as close to you as a portrait can be. I talked to it on the day of Dumbledore's funeral, and I was struck by how similar it was to the real you. Apparently Lucy's been visiting it weekly, so I'm sure she's the reason it's even more true-to-life now than it was before, but whatever the reason, it felt like you. As close to you as something two-dimensional can be, at any rate. There's the portrait, and there's Lucy. She may not be your biological sister, but there are certain traits that you learned from each other anyway. You make the same facial expressions a lot of the time. I think it's fair to say you both have a default state of "concerned," so even her resting face looks like yours. Her loyalty is like yours too. You were unfailingly loyal to everyone in different ways. You'd sooner die than lose Lucy's trust at all by breathing a word about her lycanthropy (or about her birthday, I've heard stories about that too). Similarly, Lucy's been very cagey about something regarding Harry and Dumbledore. I don't know who else knows what those secrets are, if anyone, but I know she'd sooner die than say or do anything to put Harry in any danger even with us, who I know she loves and trusts. Loyalty has a lot of different shapes and definitions, but yours are the same. You're still here. You're truly still here.
In other news, as it turns out, George Weasley did, and does, in fact fancy me. We've been together for just about four months now. He's not you and never will be, but that's okay. I can and do love you both, in your own ways. I'd like to think you're happy for me. Maybe even proud of me. I don't know what would have happened with you and me if you were still here, but, well... you're not. You're not coming back. And it hurts and I hate that, but once I realized that no amount of wishing or pining would bring you back, I realized that meant I could start trying to move on, and that moving on wasn't an evil. I wasn't betraying you by loving someone else too. You always believed the world would be better with more love in it. And as scary as the world is right now, there IS more love in it. I'm happy with George and he's happy with me. He makes my days better. He doesn't even have to try, truly, but he tries anyway, always there with a smile and a hug whenever I need one. I think he enjoys having someone to love. He doesn't care that we're both men. He's only out to a few people, Fred and Lucy and Archie and Bill and Charlie and Remus and Tonks, but he told me he wants to tell the rest of his family and friends about us this summer while everyone's home. He needed a little time to learn more about himself and figure out how he wanted to navigate the whole "coming out" process, but I think he's just about ready. I didn't mind waiting for him. I would be happy to love him even if it was only ever in secret. Loving George Weasley is as easy as breathing. Being loved by George Weasley is even easier.
   Anyway, I reckon I should go to sleep now, I have Quidditch practice in just a couple of hours, but I wanted you to know that I love you and I miss you and we're doing okay for ourselves down here. A little worse for wear — Archie unfortunately acquired a rather impressive scar a couple months ago during an attack on one of my Quidditch matches — but we have each other and we have hope and we had you and we have ourselves and we have love, so I know we're going to be okay.
   I hope you're happy wherever you are, Ced. You're loved and missed down here every minute of every day.
   Love, Henry