The Fallen Hero [HEDRIC]

Chapter III - Inevitable

CHAPTER III

INEVITABLE

After a long sleepless night, the daylight finally seamed to appear; the morning rain gradually gave way to a sky covered with a thin layer of gray clouds, the birdsong echoing through the forest as they left their nests.

As Cedric opened the door, he felt an inevitable sense of relief as he inhaled a breath of fresh air that filled his lungs, enjoying the dewy and green scent of nature instead of the moldy air mixed with his own body odor in which was impregnated in almost overwhelming way in the hut. Instinctively, he looked around to see if there was any sign of an invader, but he soon discarded it - he had put the most powerful protective spells that made the hut undetectable, both for Muggles and for wizards.

Taking his hand to his pocket, he pulled out a cereal bar, nibbling on that tasteless food in the hope that it would be enough to appease his stomach in which insistently complained for food, a remnant of the times when his appetite was fully satiated.

"I don't think I ever thought that I was going to find someone who ate as much as Ron, Ced..." Harry's playful voice echoed in his head, making him smile softly as he remembered one day when they were in Hogwarts's kitchen in 1994, in a period between the first and second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Cedric was devouring a generous plate of a typical English breakfast, composed by crispy strips of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, toast and beans in which Dobby, the free elf made for him; Harry just looked at him with curiosity.

"There is a reason why the Hufflepuff common room is close to the kitchen: we badgers are eternally hungry!" he winked cheekily to his boyfriend, who laughed in response.

The sound of Harry's bubbling laughter echoed in Cedric's mind, his subtle smile giving way to an empty, tired expression, the cereal bar resembling wood sawdust as it came down dry in his throat.

It hurt to remember of Harry and the sound of his laughter.

It would always hurt.

The feeling of loss was still an open wound, always making him feel that tightness in his heart and his eyes sting with tears that never seemed to dry up completely.

In the past years, this pain was somewhat suppressed in favor of having to focus on the goals and missions, which gave a meaning for his existence, but now that everything had come to an end, the memories and the pain came back in the same intensity as the days that followed the death of his beloved.

His memories were the only thing he had: as time passed, his friends came to see him as a criminal monster, his parents, once so proud of him, were now ashamed of his existence.

He was alone.

The memories are hurtful, but reminded him that many years ago, in something that seemed like another life, he, Cedric Diggory loved and was loved by the most famous wizard in the world.

Sitting on the porch floor and leaning against the wooden column, he returned to his memories, in a time when everything was simpler and more promising.

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December, 1993

In general, weekends at Hogwarts had limited options for hobbies: if students weren't busy with schoolwork or study groups, they were content to play chess or cards in the common rooms or in the Great Hall.

On that early December morning, Cedric Diggory hadn't been in the Hufflepuff common room, nor in the library or the Great Hall. He was in the private greenhouse of Pomona Sprout, a small building made of steel and glass panels in which the professor kept specimens of the rarest magical flowers in all of Britain and in which she took great care of.