Arrow ━ Cedric Diggory

6 ─ NORMAL GHOSTS.

  Though, Cupid tried to tell herself it was from exhaustion rather than embarrassment (a lie born to save herself the mortification.)

  However, she was grateful that she had the good sense to wear shorts and thick nylons. After all, Cupid wasn't a complete fool.

  Huffing, Cupid forced her feet to keep moving. Avena had wandered ahead, competitively racing the twins for their seats at the top. The elders had lingered back, leaving Cupid to endure the enlightening conversation between Mr. Weasley and Cedric's father.

  Now, the McLean girl wasn't complaining, but she was sure there must have been a more convenient means of traversing the stadium. One that didn't require her to force her feet to keep up with the steadily moving group.

  Cupid cursed her lack of stamina, pausing to take a break. She suddenly wished she hadn't quit her endurance training so promptly after her last Quidditch game (a lack of forethought on her part.) In the midst of all the drama of the previous year, it was easy to forget herself and the rigorous routine she once knew.

  She kicked at one of the metal stairs, suddenly annoyed with herself. If she lost this bet and ended up having to rejoin the team, she was only going to hold them back. Cupid had done no summer training, hardly even daring to touch her broom.

  It was an embarrassing thing to admit. Cupid had been so sure that her joy in Quidditch would be forever soured; all over something that now seemed so minuscule. Sometimes, she still couldn't believe how badly the last year had affected her.

  She sighed, sitting on the steps. She was aware that this small break would likely lead to her getting lost, but Cupid simply couldn't keep up. As the crowd moved on, she watched the flow of people passing her.

  And, for a small second, she was suddenly jealous of the groups of friends who smiled and laughed together.

  Despite the quick make-up between Cupid and Harry, she still couldn't bring herself to linger for too long. In the moments where silence descended, she felt confined by the faults she'd committed against her friends. It was almost like she was apart; separate from their group, when she was once an integral part of it.

  An outcome orchestrated all on her own, of course. So, who could she blame but herself? Cupid tried to find solace in the fact that, though things weren't the same, they weren't entirely different.

  It was a poor comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

  Begrudgingly, Cupid got to her feet. She had to catch up with the rest of the group. Or risk getting lost amongst stairs and people.

However, as Cupid turned, she found that the world seemed to stop as a head of white-blond hair flashed within her vision. Her breath halted in her chest.

  She tried to tell herself that she couldn't be sure. The figure was there for only a moment, and then it was gone. Lost between the constant movement of bodies.

But, she knew.

  She knew in the way the head had turned, giving her the smallest glimpse of the figure's face— an infinitesimal second's worth of sight. And Cupid wasted no time in turning on her heel and launching herself up the stairs.

  Though, that promptly resulted in hitting her head against a firm chest. "Ow!" George groaned, rubbing at the spot where the McLean girl had struck.

Cupid reeled back, gaze transfixed on the sudden appearance of Fred and George. She felt her breath release from her chest. She gave a furtive glance behind her, cautionary of who might appear next.