DRABBLE: The Residue of Yesterday; Or, Subliminal, Part Four (Cedric/Petunia)
Title: The Residue of Yesterday; Or, Subliminal, Part Four
Pairing: Cedric/Petunia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 486
Summary: Petunia dreams of Cedric again, though it is not because Dumbledore is bewitching her.
Author's Notes: Credit to peskywhistpaw for the prompt. :D Finally got this one done. I advise that you at least re-read Subliminal, because some of things Cedric says in that fic are somewhat misconstrued in this one (and this is important to the fic).
Previously: Subliminal | Aftereffect | Further Speculation
Sleep, by definition, should be a state of unconsciousness, a passive affair. But somehow, for you, it isn't - not anymore. Instead, you keep vigil in some other realm, one too obscure to be reality, though too vivid to be dismissed as mere fantasy.
You can see the young man, the one you've never met outside of your mind - not just a flickering, blurred idea of what he might be, but a defined and whole and solid person. He is tall, squarely built, with soft, clear-blue eyes and a striking smile. You can smell the light fragrance of wood, and of earth, as he approaches.
This is Cedric Diggory.
You hear him speaking to you - at first, in what seems a garbled tongue, for you are too busy admiring his youth. Then, after a moment, the words are distinct, and you listen to them.
"I won't wake."
"Good," you say dreamily. "Then neither will I."
"Oh, but you must."
"Why?" you ask, defiant. You feel quite like a schoolgirl, wobbly at the knees, yet still so strong of mind.
"Because," Cedric responds, a crooked grin forming on his lips, "You must take my body back. Remember?" He places a translucent figure in your arms - his own ghost.
Its touch is pleasant; a wonderfully ethereal glow seems to wrap itself around you.
"Take my body. Take me back," Cedric murmurs in your ear.
The ghostlike figure in your arms slowly gains color - no longer just an echo of Cedric, but an exact duplicate of his body, now radiating intense heat. You can almost taste his sweat, for he is so close to you, and so warm...
"Let go."
"No," you say, hugging his body firmly to your chest. His words are contradicting. Doesn't he want you to hold on?
"Please."
"I won't."
"Petunia, let go!"
You feel an outside force tugging at Cedric's body, and you desperately tighten your grip. No, you want to cry, He is mine! Don't you understand?
"For God's sake, Petunia, you've made off with all the bed-covers - and I'd like to have some back now, if you don't mind!"
You blink, giving your eyes some time to adjust to the darkness of the room. You're not quite sure what on earth has just happened; all you know is that Cedric is no longer in your arms.
And then you can see - not just a defined and whole and solid form, but a breathing, living, angry man bearing down upon you.
This is Vernon Dursley, your husband.
"Let - go." He pronounces each syllable with equal fervor and finality. It is at this moment that you realize precisely what he means, and you release the bed-covers at once.
"Thank you," he snaps, trying, but failing, to control the rage in his voice.
"Sorry," you mumble, rolling away from Vernon so he can't see your face, which is growing hotter and blotchier every second in embarrassment.
Read Part Five!
Pairing: Cedric/Petunia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 486
Summary: Petunia dreams of Cedric again, though it is not because Dumbledore is bewitching her.
Author's Notes: Credit to peskywhistpaw for the prompt. :D Finally got this one done. I advise that you at least re-read Subliminal, because some of things Cedric says in that fic are somewhat misconstrued in this one (and this is important to the fic).
Previously: Subliminal | Aftereffect | Further Speculation
Sleep, by definition, should be a state of unconsciousness, a passive affair. But somehow, for you, it isn't - not anymore. Instead, you keep vigil in some other realm, one too obscure to be reality, though too vivid to be dismissed as mere fantasy.
You can see the young man, the one you've never met outside of your mind - not just a flickering, blurred idea of what he might be, but a defined and whole and solid person. He is tall, squarely built, with soft, clear-blue eyes and a striking smile. You can smell the light fragrance of wood, and of earth, as he approaches.
This is Cedric Diggory.
You hear him speaking to you - at first, in what seems a garbled tongue, for you are too busy admiring his youth. Then, after a moment, the words are distinct, and you listen to them.
"I won't wake."
"Good," you say dreamily. "Then neither will I."
"Oh, but you must."
"Why?" you ask, defiant. You feel quite like a schoolgirl, wobbly at the knees, yet still so strong of mind.
"Because," Cedric responds, a crooked grin forming on his lips, "You must take my body back. Remember?" He places a translucent figure in your arms - his own ghost.
Its touch is pleasant; a wonderfully ethereal glow seems to wrap itself around you.
"Take my body. Take me back," Cedric murmurs in your ear.
The ghostlike figure in your arms slowly gains color - no longer just an echo of Cedric, but an exact duplicate of his body, now radiating intense heat. You can almost taste his sweat, for he is so close to you, and so warm...
"Let go."
"No," you say, hugging his body firmly to your chest. His words are contradicting. Doesn't he want you to hold on?
"Please."
"I won't."
"Petunia, let go!"
You feel an outside force tugging at Cedric's body, and you desperately tighten your grip. No, you want to cry, He is mine! Don't you understand?
"For God's sake, Petunia, you've made off with all the bed-covers - and I'd like to have some back now, if you don't mind!"
You blink, giving your eyes some time to adjust to the darkness of the room. You're not quite sure what on earth has just happened; all you know is that Cedric is no longer in your arms.
And then you can see - not just a defined and whole and solid form, but a breathing, living, angry man bearing down upon you.
This is Vernon Dursley, your husband.
"Let - go." He pronounces each syllable with equal fervor and finality. It is at this moment that you realize precisely what he means, and you release the bed-covers at once.
"Thank you," he snaps, trying, but failing, to control the rage in his voice.
"Sorry," you mumble, rolling away from Vernon so he can't see your face, which is growing hotter and blotchier every second in embarrassment.
Read Part Five!