[FIC] Tears on Her Pillow.
Title: Tears on Her Pillow.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Warnings: Angst. And if by some reason you’ve not read Order of the Phoenix, spoilers.
Characters/couples: Cho Chang, Cho/Cedric. Harry.
Summary: It’s bad if you don’t cry because you’re choking in your pain, but it’s bad if you do because you should let go.
Rating: PG-ish.
Notes: Holy Macarroni, I’m writing Harry Potter again! And it’s not MWPP! Projecting on a character much? Maybe, but it’s cheaper than going to a shrink.
Tears on Her Pillow.
People don’t seem to know what they want, and grief is another one of those concepts that seems to be stuck in the middle. When you’re grieving, it’s bad if you don’t cry because you’re chocking in your pain, refusing to live it, but it’s bad if you do because you should know how to let go, after all, feeling pain is very egotistic. The person you’re mourning is, after all, in a better place.
Cho never thought herself an atheist. She had prayed to her father’s gods and had studied his religion, but it’s not until Cedric dies that Cho suddenly wants a proof that her boyfriend is in a better place, that he is happy after he was murdered, that he’d rather stay in Nirvana, Heaven or Whatever-Bloody-Name-It-Has rather than to be back alive, feeling the sun burning his face as they play Quidditch and fly.
She wonders about this and, although she had never been much of a bookworm (grades were easy if you paid enough attention and did your schoolwork and she did, so she had never thought about bothering more) but Cho reads book after book on Religion, Metaphysics, Alchemy; anything she might find to find out that Cedric is truly at peace.
She’s terrified that he might not be. Terrified that, somehow, being murdered by the Avada Kedavra means you can’t rest. She doesn’t voice this, of course. Her mother is worried enough at the way she can’t stop herself from suddenly breaking down in the middle of dinner, sobbing against her napkin before she stands up and runs to her room, throwing herself to her bed and crying as hard as she knows how unto the pillow.
It’s not that it aches - although it does - and it’s not that Cho misses Cedric - although she does. It’s just that she doesn’t know how she ought to react anymore. Laughing seems wrong, because he won’t laugh again; and yet, he had had such a beautiful laugh, and the idea that he might get sad if she doesn’t laugh again aches. Cho cries after the Tornados win another game and it’s not of happiness that her favorite team had made it, but of hollowness when she thinks that Cedric would’ve loved the game and at aching when she realizes that she won’t see Cedric’s eyes lit up again when he sees a particular hard move he wants to try.
She doesn’t want to cry all the time. Cho knows that Cedric would worry (is worrying?) about her tears, and she knows that if he was alive he’d try to tell her joke after terrible joke, only to see her roll her eyes and fight the smile that would’ve been trying to form on her face. Cedric had always said that she had a beautiful smile.
Cho cries and laughs at the same time then, and she hides her face against her pillows and hopes that her parents aren’t listening because, if they had, they might think she’s going crazy.
Who knows? She might be. After all, there’s probably no one else that feels the way she does, that aches the way she does.
And still, Cho wishes and hopes for Harry to understand. He might’ve not known Cedric (she feels as if she barely did, and they dated for more than six months) but he did, in a way, and he was the last person to see him.
Perhaps he might put a name at the feeling that brings the knowledge of having lost something as trivial as a smile forever.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Warnings: Angst. And if by some reason you’ve not read Order of the Phoenix, spoilers.
Characters/couples: Cho Chang, Cho/Cedric. Harry.
Summary: It’s bad if you don’t cry because you’re choking in your pain, but it’s bad if you do because you should let go.
Rating: PG-ish.
Notes: Holy Macarroni, I’m writing Harry Potter again! And it’s not MWPP! Projecting on a character much? Maybe, but it’s cheaper than going to a shrink.
Tears on Her Pillow.
People don’t seem to know what they want, and grief is another one of those concepts that seems to be stuck in the middle. When you’re grieving, it’s bad if you don’t cry because you’re chocking in your pain, refusing to live it, but it’s bad if you do because you should know how to let go, after all, feeling pain is very egotistic. The person you’re mourning is, after all, in a better place.
Cho never thought herself an atheist. She had prayed to her father’s gods and had studied his religion, but it’s not until Cedric dies that Cho suddenly wants a proof that her boyfriend is in a better place, that he is happy after he was murdered, that he’d rather stay in Nirvana, Heaven or Whatever-Bloody-Name-It-Has rather than to be back alive, feeling the sun burning his face as they play Quidditch and fly.
She wonders about this and, although she had never been much of a bookworm (grades were easy if you paid enough attention and did your schoolwork and she did, so she had never thought about bothering more) but Cho reads book after book on Religion, Metaphysics, Alchemy; anything she might find to find out that Cedric is truly at peace.
She’s terrified that he might not be. Terrified that, somehow, being murdered by the Avada Kedavra means you can’t rest. She doesn’t voice this, of course. Her mother is worried enough at the way she can’t stop herself from suddenly breaking down in the middle of dinner, sobbing against her napkin before she stands up and runs to her room, throwing herself to her bed and crying as hard as she knows how unto the pillow.
It’s not that it aches - although it does - and it’s not that Cho misses Cedric - although she does. It’s just that she doesn’t know how she ought to react anymore. Laughing seems wrong, because he won’t laugh again; and yet, he had had such a beautiful laugh, and the idea that he might get sad if she doesn’t laugh again aches. Cho cries after the Tornados win another game and it’s not of happiness that her favorite team had made it, but of hollowness when she thinks that Cedric would’ve loved the game and at aching when she realizes that she won’t see Cedric’s eyes lit up again when he sees a particular hard move he wants to try.
She doesn’t want to cry all the time. Cho knows that Cedric would worry (is worrying?) about her tears, and she knows that if he was alive he’d try to tell her joke after terrible joke, only to see her roll her eyes and fight the smile that would’ve been trying to form on her face. Cedric had always said that she had a beautiful smile.
Cho cries and laughs at the same time then, and she hides her face against her pillows and hopes that her parents aren’t listening because, if they had, they might think she’s going crazy.
Who knows? She might be. After all, there’s probably no one else that feels the way she does, that aches the way she does.
And still, Cho wishes and hopes for Harry to understand. He might’ve not known Cedric (she feels as if she barely did, and they dated for more than six months) but he did, in a way, and he was the last person to see him.
Perhaps he might put a name at the feeling that brings the knowledge of having lost something as trivial as a smile forever.