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THE only time I knew death was around only occurred three times in life.
The first time was when my paternal grandmother died due to old age. I was five years old; I couldn't really understand why my parents were silently crying or why every adult during the funeral gave me smiles of pity.
The second was when my parents and I had to bury our family cat. His name was Taffy, a beautiful caramel-colored feline that had been with us ever since mum was pregnant with me. I was ten and back then, it felt like the end of the world. Though looking back at it now, it's much less painful than it used to be.
The third and final was the worst. I didn't realize that I would be spending my last few weeks in Hogwarts mourning Cedric's death. It was so unexpected. He and Harry were supposed to run out of the maze victorious, the cup in both of their hands with beaming faces. Instead I had to cling onto Harry for support after I ran down the steps and cried over his dead body.
Cedric was more than just a classmate, he was a friend and he was family to me, and his death hurt in ways I couldn't have imagined.
Every single time death welcomed someone, there was always the same response; first it was the pain, then comes numbness — where you just don't want to feel anything anymore or don't know what to feel — and then you kind of just move on.
I remembered feeling sad during my grandmother's funeral, missing how Taffy would curl in my lap every time I read a book and crying myself to sleep after Cedric died.
Perhaps the most painful fact had been that whatever happened to Cedric was no accident, it was cold-blooded murder.
Even though I was a wreck for weeks I had to push through. I knew that Cedric wouldn't have wanted me to shut down my entire life because he was gone, he would have wanted me to carry on and live and so I did.
I made sure that I wasn't pushing anyone away, I surrounded myself with the people I love, and I remembered him as the most loyal and caring friend, not someone who was an unfortunate victim to the Dark Lord.
But sometimes, even trying to live my life reminded me of him in more ways than one.
That summer when I went back home, I knew everything was going to change.
The announcement of You-Know-Who's return sent everyone into a frenzy and state of panic, including my parents. They were part of the previous Order, after all. Which was why I had to spend the entirety of my summer in the most depressing house in all of Britain.
12 Grimmauld Place belonged to the Blacks and for a family so wealthy and high-up in the social hierarchy, their house said otherwise. The outside showed promises of a beautiful townhouse, concealed by the Fidelius Charm so that no muggles can see it. But the inside was not so welcoming. The walls were decorated with black wood that were slowly molding away at the corners, every step I took caused a creak in the floorboards, and the furniture was enveloped in a thick layer of dust.
