𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕤. cedric diggory

5

We grew up together, going through years and school side by side, never once straying from the others side.

In second year, you had your first crush. Angelina Johnson.

You asked me if I fancied anyone. With a fake smile, I told you it was Oliver Wood. You seemed perplexed, but you didn't ask questions. I was grateful, but the ugly, bitter monster coiled around my heart once more and I almost choked on the severity of it.

I wanted to be the one you mooned over. I wanted to be the one you saw and thought, bloody hell, I wish I could hold you in my arms. I wanted to be one who made you smile. I wanted and wanted and wanted but you never gave and I never told. I should have told you then, when you asked for advice on how to get her.

I didn't.

When third year came around, you were over it and so was I. We were inseparable again.

That was the year Harry Potter came to the school. I didn't know much about him, but you practically tripped over air trying to get a glimpse at the boy. I thought it was pathetic. You argued that he saved the wizarding world. I claimed you a fanboy. You were mad. We didn't speak.

I felt so alone that year. Because you had all these other friends that loved you and admired the person you were and, while other people might tolerate me, no one dared pass me a second glance like you did. I walked the corridors alone - or with your sister and her friend (even though she claimed that she wasn't walking with me; I was walking with her) - and I went to dinner and lunch alone. In lessons, I sat alone and watched you joke and laugh with your other friends and it fucking hurt.

It was like someone was shredding at my insides, tearing me apart from the inside out. Most nights, I laid awake, wondering if that was it. If our friendship was over because of one small comment made in a moment of vicious jealousy.

(On those nights, I choked back tears and prayed that I didn't fuck things up beyond repair.)

Before term was over, you came up to me and you gave me a bracelet. It was leather, with a icy white pendant on it. The smile you wore was sheepish and your cheeks were tinted. I wanted to grab you up and hug you, to never let go. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you, to ease away all the discomfort that was plastered on your face.

I didn't.

I asked you what the hell it was. You told me it was supposed to be my Christmas present, but you couldn't give it to me because we were having a row. I laughed and called you a prat. You smiled and said I was a dolt. Then, you told me to put it on, your grin so excited and anxious that I had to recollect myself before I could do anything.

It fit perfectly. You loved it. So did I. I ended up giving you my present - a journal that I knew you had been wanting for awhile. I had felt like a fool; you got me this amazing gift and all I had to show for it was some ugly journal that wouldn't be used in a year or two.

But you grinned, that shy, secretive grin that sends chills down my spine, and said, "It's amazing! Thanks, Hamlin!"

I told you it was nothing, but I was pleased. My body felt warm, like I was sinking into a giant pit of lava. But it didn't hurt, or maybe I was too blinded by the sheer adoration I felt for you to notice. Perhaps I was burning, a slow burn that felt nice at the beginning, but got hotter in time, stinging my skin and clawing at my heart. But I didn't pay attention to it. You were here and you were smiling and I figured, if I get burned here soon, it'll be okay.

You make it okay, Cedric.