The Confessions of Petunia Dursley

Cho

Dear Harry,

This is, as you must have guessed, a breakup letter.

I think I will start with Cedric dying.

On the 24th June, 1995, Cedric returned from the Maze, dead, you holding onto his body.

Suddenly, the phrase he loves me no longer applies.

No. I don't think I have ever fallen in love with you. Why did I date you in the first place? I don't know. Maybe because after that therapy session, after the Healer said, well, it's best if she could have something new. A change.

A change in boyfriends, I interpreted it.

You are, in many ways, similar to Cedric. You love Quidditch, and are impossibly good at it. You embrace challenges, enthusiastically, as if the word adventure is pumped right in your arteries. Yet, you never brag about it. You are brave, and quietly so. And good looking, not dashingly handsome, but cute. As if stuck, somewhere in the middle between a man and a boy. Those maddeningly black, messy hair of yours, Harry. You have no idea how many times I wanted to run my fingers through your hair. So is Cedric. Was.

So I like you, maybe. Then I got the idea that you fancied me back (I couldn't help but notice your dazzled, almost madman-like expression, it's too obvious, and oh, the stutters). I believed for a moment that we could actually be happy, together. Even though it's not wise and I am in fact not an idiot in defensive magic, I joined the DA, hoping you might read the signs and take the second move.

My mother always says I read too much romance. I'm not afraid to admit I'm obsessed about love for happily ever after, either. Therefore I believed that if there actually is love between us, then nothing cannot be solved, that we can always make it somehow, that I wouldn't think of Cedric anymore in my every spare moment, that when I cry, I wouldn't look like a complete fool to my classmates who forget too easily, that my mother would be pleased that I've moved on, and stop taking me to a man in a white suit who keeps saying, try not to think about your unhappiness, breathe it out. All is well, darling, that when I look at you, I wouldn't be forever reminded that it was you who brought his corpse back, that it was you who were wanted, not him. That Cedric, could have lived.

So what was I doing, when I kissed you under the mistletoe, before the Christmas holidays? Crying. And thinking of, not you, but Cedric.

It have taken me this long to realise that I have you imagined as Ced. A living, breathing Ced, who kisses me and flies on brooms and asks me out on Valentine's Day. Oh, I was so happy then. I thought we might actually work out, with you as my Cedric. I thought I have found the right one, after all. I thought even though the look was different the voice was different, you were the one thing that life returned to me, after what it had taken away.

I shouldn't have done any of these, I know. I just miss him terribly. I couldn't help it, Harry.

Then there's another question you might want to ask: why did I keep asking about Cedric Diggory? Why did I have to ruin our moments that should otherwise, be pleasant and romantic?

I want to know how he died.

That's just normal, isn't it? When someone you love died, you just need to know. I just need to know. I thought you knew that above everyone else, because of your parents.

Dumbledore had not spoken to me, because he does not know me as he knows you. I do have poor old Flitwick who made cupcakes dance -- oh, for the sake of Rowena Ravenclaw! Don't you realise it, Harry? You are the only one who can provide me with answers I have every right to know.

You ought think it natural when I became angry consequently. Angrier still when you said you were leaving our date to meet Hermione Granger, for reasons you wouldn't tell me. Of course you'd say you two were just friends. And of course, why should I believe you?

I hate your honesty. You could have at least made a better excuse than admitting to me adamantly, that you were into somebody else. You could have suggested breakup, even. You could have not waited for me to infer that myself.

That moment, I found out what made you different from Cedric: Ced would never do those things.

It should have been the end of this letter. We just technically fell apart after the Hogsmeade Day. We should not have spoken to each other again. It should have been end of story.

Damn that DA.

Marietta joined the DA because I did, not because she wanted to- although I think you can tell already, can't you? But you cannot tell that Marie's mother, an ordinary worker in the Ministry, is pressured by the mad Cornelius Fudge. You cannot tell that Marie's dad, a muggle whose cancer cannot be healed by magic, is needing expensive treatments more and more than ever. You cannot tell that Marie's mother simply must not lose her job. You cannot tell that Marie simply must not defy Umbridge. You cannot tell that Marie is just scared when Umbridge called her into her office. Between your parents and a bunch of schoolmates you barely know，who would you choose, Harry? She is not in Gryffindor for a reason. She is in Ravenclaw because she knows what is the wisest to do, who she wants to protect most, and that Umbridge would have used Veritaserum to get what she wanted.

She made the correct choice. I say.

Have some sense, Potter. Read until the end of the letter. I hope it will do you some good, if you do.

What I want to say is there are many forms of loyalty. Marie betrayed the trust of the DA members, but by doing so, she remained loyal to her parents. Then tell me, which side is more right? Do you think you are noble then, when Hermione Granger's clever spell jinxed her face so bad she will have to bear the scars forever? Are you happy to hear that? Are you?

Harry Potter, how can you?

Just how can you be so cruel, wrapped up in your own idealistic, twisted sense of justice- well I tell you, life is imperfect. Cedric Diggory get murdered for no reason, I lost my boyfriend, you lied to by your first crush.

Have some compassion, Potter. No human is flawless. Cedric did understand.

I tell you with pride that I have not shed a single tear when I was writing this letter. Do not think you will be seeing me cry anymore.

Sincerely,
Cho Chang.
Sometime after we last saw each other.