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Aurora Areli
WHEN YOU LOSE SOMETHING important in your life, everyone says that it rips a hole in your heart. That it leaves an empty, hollow void that can't be filled by anything.
That could not be further from the truth.
The truth is that the place where that something used to be is filled with something worse, like pain or anger or grief. Or all of them.
I was only a baby when I lost my uncle to one of Voldemort's followers; I wasn't even alive for long enough to remember much of him. One of the few memories I do have is horrible shouting before a flash of green light.
I considered Cedric to be one of my best friends, despite what had happened over the Christmas holidays. I had plenty of memories with him, though they were mostly good. But the one that I couldn't get out of my head was of the dream I had on the night before June twenty-fourth, the night before the third task. Any time I closed my eyes it would come back to me — the panic I felt seeing Cedric and Harry alone in that graveyard, the hooded figure with the bundle of robes, the chilling words ordering the death of my friend, the terrible, horrible green light . . .
To avoid reliving that nightmare, I tried as hard as possible not to sleep. It took a real toll on me. I couldn't focus in class, or talk to anyone other than my brother or Harry, Ron and Hermione, my head hurt constantly, and my mood was always for the worst.
Someone must have noticed, but they said nothing, probably just blaming it on grief. I thought I was just going to have to learn to live like that forever, until Hermione took it upon herself to question me about it.
"You look like you haven't slept in days, Rory," she said one morning in our dormitory. "I'm worried about you, we all are — what's going on?"
I shook my head, not looking up from where I was tying my shoes. "I just haven't been sleeping well, don't worry about me."
I didn't want her, or anyone, to worry. The sympathetic looks I got in the corridors between lessons or by teachers when I was in their classrooms was enough. Besides, Harry was the one we should have been worrying about. He had actually been there in that graveyard.
Hermione frowned, and hesitated for a moment before finally saying, "I think you should go and see Dumbledore."
"Don't you think I've tried?" I said quietly, still not meeting her eyes. "He's always so busy, Mione, especially now . . ."
"I know he is," she said, "but . . . just promise me you'll try? If I'm right about what I think is bothering you, then he needs to know."
I looked up at her then. "I will."
. . . . .
Everything had seemed to go by in a blur. At breakfast the morning after the third task, Dumbledore announced to the whole school that we were not to ask Harry any questions or badger him to tell the story about what happened in the maze, and to simply leave him alone. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was one of sorrow and confusion. Of course, nobody really knew what had happened, nobody other than Harry and Dumbledore fully knew.
