A Memorable Tale

58 | The Past

Cedric's funeral was a mere two weeks ago.

Ever so often, I got letters from his parents and Fleur — I'm pretty sure Krum was busy writing to Hermione. They avoided his name like the plague and somehow managed to small talk through the marks of their quill.

My roommates were a little more subtle about the thin ice they believed to be stepping on. Sue and Mandy were always ones for conversation; Morag and Lisa were always sincere; Padma was already talking about school and who would be prefect, head boy, head girl, and all that, so she didn't run out of things to talk about.

Luna's letters were just as odd as she was.

Neville's letters were just whatever came to his mind at the time. Sometimes it involved Cedric, sometimes it didn't. What was clear was that if he ever believed he was walking on thin ice, he certainly wasn't afraid of falling into the water.

What these people didn't know was that I was reminded of it every single day without fail.

I shot up in bed, holding my dry throat as I realized how long I had been screaming for.

I looked around my room, realizing that I wasn't in the maze, running through the hedges calling out Cedric's name. I wasn't met with a boy with straw hair, glaring at me through one fake eyeball as he raised his wand, reciting that horrid spell of blinding pain. I wasn't hearing the sounds of a woman and a man screaming in anguish until their brain couldn't remember how to tell them to make a sound.

This was my room.

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, an obnoxious thing that constantly reminded me of how little I slept, seeing the hour hand just a little past the five.

Two hours.

With a sigh, I slipped out of bed and walked out the door, meeting with the empty hallways of a house where I once laughed with my brother, cooked with my godparents, and played with my best friend.

My fingertips traced the walls, barren of any photos that held any remnants of past because no one in my family looked back. Not until now.

Neither of my parents were ever home.

My father always conceals where he goes, although I found a letter that mentioned something called the Order of the Phoenix, which he quickly burned.

My mother was always an adventurer, never staying in one place for too long. But now, I never know where she is, but her body sits in the Diggory household, unable to leave out of the goodness of her heart.

I don't think I actually said anything since the funeral. My quill wrote words I couldn't muster and the paper held the voice I didn't have, but my throat had words it couldn't dare say through my hands.

Dipper entered through the window and landed on the back of the chair at the dining table, a parcel only the size of my palm in his beak and some envelopes in his talons.

He dropped them on the counter and retreated to the Owlery.

I stared at the different names - Hermione, Ginny, Mandy, Morag - and fished out the one with Neville written as neatly as possible.

Dear Y/N,
I read The Hound of Baskersville the other day. Turns out my gran already had it! I was imagining a big dog like a grim the entire time. Probably much scarier to me than to Muggles if that's how it was. It was pretty good, but the first one was certainly better. What's the next book called?
Oh, and are you free any time soon? We haven't seen each other in weeks! You can choose the place since you always came with me to the lake during the year.
How are you feeling? Have you left the house at all? We're three weeks into summer break, I'd hate for you to waste it. Write back soon!
Neville