Gone, Together (Cedric x Reader)

Chapter 49 ~ Forever Broken

Cedric 

In a heart-wrenching moment, Y/n threw herself before me, shielding me from the impending doom. Despite my desperate attempts to push her away, she stood resolute, her touch comforting yet a terrifying barrier between the danger and me. I was in shock, trying to pry her away, to save her from the imminent threat, but she wouldn't budge.

Then came the chilling command, "Avada Kedavra," and the sickly green light surged toward us. Y/n held her ground, her body rigid as the curse struck her. In an instant, she went limp in my arms, lifeless and unresponsive.

My world crumbled around me as I sank to my knees, clutching her lifeless form. It felt like the end of everything, an unbearable void consuming my being. Her once bright eyes were now empty, her wand lay forgotten on the grass. I looked up at Harry, a silent plea in my eyes, the horror and despair painted across my face. The sight of Y/n, motionless in my embrace, shattered my soul into a million pieces.

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, each drop a testament to the searing pain inside me. I couldn't help but let out a guttural scream, the anguish in my heart spilling out into the night. Anger surged within me, a fierce blaze mixed with overwhelming sorrow. With shaky hands, I cast a protective shield around us, a futile attempt to protect what was already lost.

The hooded figure, Peter Pettigrew, stood there, a vile presence that twisted my insides. My gaze never left Y/n, the love of my life. She had understood me in ways I couldn't even fathom, and now, she lay there, lifeless. Her strength was unimaginable, and she would have emerged victorious. She had saved me despite all my faults, and the weight of that realization crushed me into agony.

My eyes locked on Wormtail as he began to boil water in a colossal cauldron. With dread, I watched as he unwrapped a twisted, scaly object, its red hue and flat snakelike features sending shivers down my spine. I hoped silently, prayed even, that it would meet an end, that it would somehow drown in that cauldron.

In that agonizing moment, Pettigrew began his incantations, summoning dust from Tom Riddle's resting place to revive his master. Wormtail's voice, hollow and trembling, uttered the words "Flesh of the servant," and with a swift motion, he severed his hand, the severed limb landing into the churning cauldron. The final ingredient was extracted from Harry, blood dripping from his upper arm, as Wormtail murmured "Blood of the enemy," adding it to the bubbling potion. From that boiling concoction emerged a figure—a man, tall and skeletal—rising from its depths. It was Voldemort, resurrected.

My heart raced, a maelstrom of fear and helplessness enveloping me. Harry needed my help, yet I was frozen, paralyzed by the sheer terror of the moment. Every fibre of my being yearned to act, to do something, anything to change this nightmare. The weight of powerlessness pressed upon me, making me want to scream, to rage against the cruelty of fate. I was overwhelmed by the desire to do whatever it took to shatter this despair, to fix what had gone so wrong. 

I was jolted by the recollection of the curse that Viktor had cast upon me, and it stirred an involuntary twitch from deep within. As my thoughts raced, I finally compelled myself to rise from the ground and assist Harry. Carefully, I laid Y/n's lifeless body beneath the protective shield and tenderly grasped her wand, cradling it with mine in my hand. Every fibre of my being screamed with grief and fury at what had transpired, but I couldn't afford to dwell on those emotions at this moment.

I glanced at Voldemort, pacing the graveyard, his words chillingly recounting his own history. His summoning of the Death Eaters sent a shiver down my spine.  Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself, knowing that I had to summon every ounce of strength I had. 

Voldemort welcomed his Death Eaters and noted that they seem, as a group, guilty for having betrayed him when he needed them. One of the men throws himself at Voldemort's feet, begging forgiveness, and Voldemort laughs mirthlessly and performs the Cruciatus curse on him.