Giving Notice

ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG.

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It's never enough.

The walls are full. We covered them with photos of Cedric - photos of him as a baby, a toddler. Photos of him right after receiving his letter from Hogwarts; the photo he sent from school when he first got Sorted, wearing his brand-new House crest with pride. The photos he sent when he first made it onto the Quidditch team, and later became the Hufflepuff team Captain. And of course, photos from the Triwizard Tournament.

The walls are full, but they can never be full enough. They'll never fill the empty bedroom. They'll never fill the empty chair. They'll never fill the empty bit inside me.

It's strange - how little the glass looks in my hand. I always did have big hands - 'cuddly bear's paws', my mother used to call them. But I suppose that it makes sense - if it's only a little glass, then of course the scotch will disappear fast. Not much of it there to stay for long, is there?

Not enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry Potter.

I hate that boy. Dear God, but I hate that boy. I knew he was going to Hogwarts - Ced wrote and told me so, that all the students had been excited. Then, he wrote to say that somehow the boy had managed to weasel his way onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team - and with the best broom available at the time, too. Minerva McGonagall always was every bit as biased as Severus Snape, though you'd never get her to admit it in a thousand years. She's more careful about it, sneaky cow, but she has her favourites too. Still, the boy had had it hard - he'd lived with Muggles of the most rotten kind, from what I had heard. So I thought, like most everyone else, that this was a break he deserved; especially seeing as he had a real natural talent, according to Ced. I suppose he must have, to have never flown before and yet get in the team. Ced always was honest - he wouldn't have said it if Potter hadn't had at least some natural ability - he was a gentleman, but also a realist.

Still, for all his much-vaunted talent, he lost to my Ced in sixth year - Ced's sixth year, that is. My Ced beat Harry Potter. I was so proud, I was talking about it to everyone at work for weeks. And Ced only mentioned it offhand in his letter - didn't seem happy with his victory, bless his modest heart. Still, can't blame him - up against someone three years younger, I suppose he must have felt it was unfair to be proud of his win. Must have felt that it wasn't a proper win because Potter fainted. He would have caught the Snitch first anyway, most likely, and I kept telling him that a Seeker who couldn't stay on their broom obviously wasn't meant to win. It was plain to see that the best man won. But Ced kept insisting that it was different - 'It was the Dementors, Dad, Harry was made to remember terrible things, Harry was under special circumstances...'

Special circumstances, pah. Don't talk to me of 'special circumstances'. We know all about that. Got a newer, even better broom out of that faint, didn't he? Another top-of-the-line broom that he didn't pay for himself. Rather convenient, that.

Damn it all to hell, where did that bottle of scotch go...

~*~*~*~*~*~

And then the Triwizard Tournament. Oho, yes. No one is going to forget that. How that boy's name got in the Goblet of Fire, I'll never know. No, all right, he didn't do it. I know that NOW. But he didn't bow out like a gentleman should have, he didn't direct Skeeter's attention to the person who was the Hogwarts champion, he just seemed to lap it all up. Again. Like he didn't have enough fame and attention. It was positively revolting.

I told him off, just before the Third Task. I wish I hadn't now... No! I'm glad I did it, damnit! He had no right! No goddamned right...

That Tournament was no place for a boy. Honestly, just look at the Second Task for proof of that. That nitwit Veela girl went into the lake after her sister - threw an overemotional tantrum as well. Don't think the Tournament was much of a place for her, either - she did terribly in the Tasks, compared to the others. But that's females for you.

But Ced - Ced went into the lake after the girl he liked, the girl he asked to the Yule Ball. Even that Krum bloke went after a girl he was keen on. Potter went after one of Arthur Weasley's sons - his 'bestest friend'. Rather obvious to see who were the men and who was just a boy, now doesn't it?

Just a boy.

He brought Ced's body back. Fought You-Know-Who and brought it back - of course, according to the story he told, You-Know-Who wouldn't be back if it wasn't for him, anyway. But he brought Ced back, and nearly died doing it, and I was grateful for it, at the time. Still am. I visit Ced every day - make sure that little bush is nice and healthy. Ced always did enjoy a view of greenery - his room looked out on the garden.

He told us the story, and damned if I didn't feel bad for what I'd said to him. He told us that Ced was brave, that Ced was honourable to the last, that Ced had offered him the victory that was rightfully his, that Ced had tried to protect him in the graveyard, that Ced's ghost had protected him even as Ced asked him to bring back his body to us.

The child even tried to give us the prize money, saying it should have been Cedric's, that we should have it... just as Cedric would have done if the positions had been reversed.

My brave, upright boy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

And would that be the end of it? Would Potter leave me alone to mourn my son in peace, and to stare at the pictures on the wall and wonder what might have been? To think of the grandchildren I could have bounced on my knee and told stories to; stories of Quidditch victories and Tournament victories over the Boy-Who-Lived, no less? No.

He killed himself last week, you know.

That little bastard hung himself, right in the school - left himself hanging there for anyone to find.

Heh. Well well... I never knew how satisfying the sound of breaking glass could be - but what a waste of scotch.

Damn you, Harry Potter. How dare you throw away what my son had torn from him? How dare you run away from life when my Ced died trying to help you? If you were so desperate to die, why didn't you just do it last year in the graveyard and leave my son to me? Leave my son with his life, his love, his treasured people...

I hope you see Cedric flying on your broom in Heaven as you burn in Hell.

I wish you weren't in Hell. I wish you were here so I could shake some sense into your thick head.

Don't you know that children who die are missed desperately?!

Who was it that didn't tell you?!

Children these days, totally ungrateful...

Never enough...

I need more scotch.

END.

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Well? Next is a Slytherin POV, and after that - well, that would be telling. Suffice to say that there will be many, many shocks still to come.