Archive of Our Own

Hermione slowly dragged the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, watching as the liquid vibrated from the movement. A series of tremors moved down her hand, nearly knocking her glass over. She clenched her fingers into a fist, trying to steady it. A flash of movement waved in her peripheral, she glanced up at the intrusion as it pulled her from her thoughts.

“Have you heard anything I’ve been saying? I swear, trying to chat with you is like talking to my gran.” Barnaby teased. “What’s going on tonight in the glorious mind of Miss ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age’ and all the other terms that drive her barmy?”

She grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, Bee, I swear that I’m listening."

Hermione pushed her drink away. The sound of the glass scraping across the table made her cringe. Her head was pounding with each heartbeat.

"Please, continue. You were talking about the new hire for our team?” She prompted, turning her attention back to her mate.

“Yes, as I was saying—before I had to wake my companion—they finally filled Perry's old spot in our department. The new bloke studied under a witch in Italy with extensive connections and they've been trying to recruit him for ages."

Barnaby paused to take a drink. "Good news for us, he’s apparently brilliant in his field."

She hummed, nodding along as he continued.

He leaned in conspiratorially, smirking. "Even better news, according to Myson, he is extremely easy on the eyes.”

Hermione raised her brows skeptically, “Myson from HR said he was attractive?" She scoffed.

"First, that’s completely unprofessional. Second, how would he even know that? It’s not his department.”

“Don’t be such a grumpy grindylow." He pushed her drink back into her hand, “It’s nice to have an informant on the inside.”

"Rumour has it, he’s been out of the country for months, completely unreachable. Myson and Genine had to floo to him for the interview, which I’ve never seen them do before." Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise.

“When is he starting?” She asked conversationally.

“No idea, Myson said that he has a project to wrap up before he joins the team.” Barnaby looked to her thoughtfully, “I wonder if he’s into wizards? It’s been far too long since Thomas and I broke up.”

“You broke up last Thursday,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

“I stand by what I said—too long." He stated with a curt nod.

"Now, what is going on with you? I’ve never seen you this distracted before.” Barnaby asked, peering over his glass at her as he took another swig, “Worried about the presentation Monday?”

“I just have a lot on my mind tonight.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I’ll say,” he chuckled dryly, gesturing at her drink, “you usually order gigglewater or butterbeer when we go out after work on Fridays. I’ve never seen you with a firewhiskey before.”

Hermione eyed the amber liquid in front of her. It had been just under a year since she had a glass of firewhiskey. In fact, her last drink of it was just before she had begun her current position at the ministry. She took a sip, relishing in the feeling as it burned down her throat. It tasted like summer nights under the stars and the smell of firewood.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, hoping she looked nonchalant, “it just felt like a firewhiskey kind of night.”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m all here for it. We need to get you to loosen up. Hell, after a few of those I might even talk you into finally letting me set you up!” Barnaby wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands, “Not this again. I literally just went on a date last month and you know what a disaster that turned out to be." She cringed at the memory, "At least when you have a date it doesn’t end up on the cover of tabloids.”

Barnaby threw an exasperated look her way. “William was a catch. That man had everything you asked for on your impossibly detailed list of criteria for a date and he looked bloody fantastic in that tabloid article.” He shook his head in disapproval, “I still don’t understand what happened with you two.”

Hermione absentmindedly fiddled with her locket, twisting the gold chain as she spoke, “It wasn’t a good fit. He wasn’t my type.”

Barnaby rolled his eyes, “You should go into politics because that was a very diplomatic answer, and nowhere near the truth.”

“I’m just…not exactly interested in dating. Maybe next year,” she conceded airly with a wave of her hand, “I will go on a date next year.”

He narrowed his eyes at her accusingly, “That’s what you said last year.”

“And I just went on a date,” she reminded him with a shrug, “consider my yearly quota filled.”

That Monday morning, Hermione’s gaze swept across the room as she addressed the witches and wizards before her.

“In conclusion, the results of the study indicate the benefits far outweigh any potential negatives. If we do not intervene now, the repercussions of disrupting the migration patterns of Centaur colonies could decline birth rates for generations to come.”

With a flourish of her wand, the image dissipated into smoke.

There was a click in the back of the room as a door opened and closed gently. Hermione’s eyes drifted to the latest arrival. Hermione felt her breath leave her all at once; she froze in place, still holding her wand up for her next talking point. Her voice caught in her throat and her field of vision narrowed in as the rest of the room blurred, focusing on only him. She blinked once, twice, squinting slightly as if she were imagining it—imagining him.

Was he really standing there?

Cedric Diggory had just strolled into her presentation to the entire Ministry department. Hermione felt the colour drain from her face as she stared, suddenly feeling light-headed. He was standing there in fitted navy-blue trousers with a brown belt and a white oxford showcasing his strong forearms with the sleeves rolled up. His sandy-brown hair was lightly tussled, off to the side—just how Hermione used to style it for him. He leaned casually against the back wall, his hands in his pockets as he watched her intently, a slight curve to his lips as she spoke.

“I—” she swallowed, brushing her hair out of her face as she continued, visibly flustered, “If you turn to page eighteen in your packet you will find a summary of my closing remarks. Thank you,” she gave a small smile as the room filled with polite applause.

Hermione could not leave the room quickly enough; her legs felt wobbly and unstable as she made her way out the door. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her pulse skipped a beat. She willed her eyes not to look back at Cedric as she crossed the room even though she could feel his gaze following her. She all but ran to the loo down the corridor, moving as quickly as possible without drawing attention to herself.

Gasping, she could not catch her breath—air came to her in short pants as she balanced herself against the cold porcelain sink. Her heart raced, her bare skin pulsed against her gold locket with each beat.

Hermione never thought she would see him again, not after—

Clutching the locket between her fingers, she tried to slow her breathing. She would count—just like she used to—a 10 second loop. Her hands shook as she fumbled to open the locket. The moving picture danced inside; she had watched it repeat so many times that she had each second memorized.

1 second

The picture began as it always did, with Hermione smiling widely at the camera. Her hair was wild, and her cheeks flushed pink.

2 seconds

A pair of arms swept around her from behind, as Cedric nuzzled himself against her, his lips brushing against her neck.

5 seconds

She scrunched her shoulder in delight from his kiss, her nose crinkled in pure happiness.

7 seconds

Her lips moved almost imperceptibly, and he pulled back from her, his grin stretching from his cheeks up to his eyes. He never looked at the camera, only at her. It had broken her heart all over again to realize that her favourite picture of them did not show his hazel eyes that she loved so much.

10 seconds

Her breath calmed, like it always did. She snapped it shut, holding the pendent so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her eyes misted with tears as she rapidly blinked, tilting her head to the ceiling.

Hermione had resigned to the fact that she would never see him again.

How was he here?

Why was he here?

Hermione thought back to the moment that they had taken this picture.

“This is the moment.” Cedric declared suddenly as he sat up in bed, looking to Hermione seriously, “This is the moment I never want to forget.”

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh, “Yes, Cedric, because everyone wants to remember themselves in pyjamas with messy morning hair.”

Cedric shook his head fondly as he set up his camera, guiding a reluctant Hermione in front of it. He stood behind the camera and pointed it at her.

“That’s not why I want to remember this moment.”

“And why exactly, of all the moments in the world, do you want to remember this one?” She asked, her hands on her hips in amusement.

He tilted the camera, angling it towards her, “Because,” his voice was thick with emotion, “it’s the exact moment I realized that I love you.”

-click-

The camera began to take the image. Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink; her eyes widened as he ducked around behind her. Cedric wrapped her arms around her, pulling her up against him. She leaned into his touch, strong and familiar. His soft lips dropping kisses on the small of her neck.

Hermione’s heart felt like it was bursting in her chest from happiness as she whispered, “I love you too.”

She would never forget the way that Cedric had carefully traced and cut out their picture .

“Next to your heartbeat,” he murmured softly, his lips pressed against her locket as he closed it; the pendent fell against her chest, “so you'll never be alone.”

Her parents had gifted it to her for her sixteenth birthday, and it had sat empty for nearly three years; Hermione was notoriously indecisive when it came to her locket. It had become a bit of a running joke with her parents, that only Hermione would ask for a locket and then refuse to fill it, denying its only function.

Hermione really had tried to fill it, but nothing seemed quite right until that moment. The picture slid perfectly into place, as if the locket was made to hold it.

A gentle knock at the door pulled her out of her memory.

“Hermione?” Barnaby’s low voice floated through the door, “Are you alright?”

Opening the door, she stepped aside for him to join her in the loo.

“Hey,” he muttered comfortingly, rubbing her shoulders, “your presentation was perfect, why did you rush out so quickly?”

Her tear filled eyes met his, “You didn’t tell me it was Cedric,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Oh my god, you know him?”

She nodded quickly, turning away, “He—yes.”

He was my first everything.

He was everything.

The words caught in her throat, “I know him, but it’s just under a year under since I saw him last.”

Ten months, two weeks, and five days.

Hermione self-consciously smoothed her outfit, inspecting her red eyes in the mirror.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea he was starting today. We received an owl just this morning that he was coming in for orientation with less than an hour notice. How do you know him?”

The memory tugged at her mind, pulling her in like a pensieve. She shivered as nostalgia swept through her.

“Room for one more?” A soft voice asked from behind her.

Hermione frowned, “I’d really rather be alone right now.”

“I have whiskey.”

She hesitated before sighing, “I suppose I could do with company,” she conceded as she shifted in the windowsill, making room for another body.

He slid into the empty space next to her, his legs joining hers as they dangled into the cold night air.

“Why is Hermione Granger sitting alone up here, in the Astronomy Tower, tonight of all nights?” He asked quietly, placing a full bottle of unopened whiskey between them.

She looked at him carefully before retorting, “Why is Cedric Diggory here with her?”

The corner of his lips perked into a smile, “Touché. I believe we are here for the same reason.”

“To hide from life?”

“To hide from life.” he repeated quietly in agreement, “I don’t think I’ve done anything but hide for the past year."

A beat of silence filled the night air.

He looked up at the stars thoughtfully, "Do you ever feel like your life is split into moments? As if there are some moments so impactful that your life splits into a before and an after as soon as they occur?”

“Yes,” she admitted painfully, “and once you’re in the after, it’s nearly impossible to go back to the before.”

He paused as he considered her words, “I could never go back to my before, before the war. I couldn’t stay in the Great Hall for one more minute; all those speeches and words, no matter what they say or how they spin the battle, it will never undo the horrors that we lived through.”

“I can’t believe they asked us to come back here.” She thought aloud bitterly, “As if I want to relive the carnage and loss under the guise of celebration of life. I only agreed to be here for Harry. It was…difficult for him this past year. He blames himself for every lost soul, every scar—he thinks he could have prevented them.”

He nodded mournfully, “We all lost friends and family that night, but no one ever talks about the invisible losses. The loss of innocence; we lost our childhood fighting the war of adults. I can’t believe it’s been a year. It feels far too fresh to have been an entire year.”

“The night terrors have barely stopped.” She said, mostly to herself, “Sometimes I think I’ll never be back to normal.”

“What is ‘normal’?” He mused, “I don’t think you were ever normal.”

She huffed, “That’s a rather rude thing to say to someone, don’t you think? Not everyone could have been like you.”

His eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs, which fell over his eyes, “Like me?”

“Yes.” She asserted, “You were everything.”

His lips widened into a smile as she blushed and stammered, “You know what I mean.”

“Everything?” He questioned slyly, brushing his bangs with his fingertips.

“Prefect, Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, Triwizard Champion,” she listed on her fingers, “everything.” She clarified, her cheeks still tinted pink.

“Everything.” His face held the ghost of a smirk.

She picked up the bottle of Ogden’s Finest, without breaking eye contact she opened the bottle and took a swig. Hermione shuddered as the liquid trailed down her throat, burning the lining.

“What couldn’t you do?” She asked rhetorically, placing the glass bottle down on the stone ledge.

He lifted the whiskey, inspecting it carefully before tipping it against his lips.

“There was a lot I couldn’t do.” He sighed, his eyes tracing her face, “No one is perfect. We all have regrets. We all have lost moments that we wish we could change.”

She turned to the open window before them, leaning back onto her elbows as she watched the night sky.

“Remember the Quidditch World Cup?” She wondered aloud, “The night we sat outside the tents and watched the stars together?”

“I could never forget it. It feels almost like tonight. Though, the stars aren’t nearly as bright as they were that night, and I vaguely recall the smell of butterbeer in the air around our campsite instead of firewhiskey.” He reminisced softly, “One thing that hasn’t changed is how impossibly beautiful you look in the moonlight. I never did stand a chance.”

Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide, “You never...” her voice trailed off.

She wondered briefly if the whiskey had gone to her head; glancing down, she noted that they had barely made a dent in the bottle.

“Speaking of regrets and lost moments, I wanted to do this that night,” he whispered, leaning closer to her, “I always wondered if you would have let me.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him, recognizing his intent. Her voice cracked, “I would have let you.”

Tilting his head towards her, he leaned in and his lips met hers, soft and tentative. 

He tasted like firewhiskey and starlight.

“I already knew about the teams,” she confessed against his lips.

“What?” He pulled back, his eyes alight in amusement.

“You taught me about the Quidditch teams that night, about Bulgaria and Ireland, but I already knew about everything you told me. I had purchased a book about them before the World Cup.”

He bit back a smile, “You had a book about Quidditch, and you still let me ramble for a half hour about the match?”

She shrugged sheepishly, “A good researcher has many sources, if one of those sources just happens to be a handsome older man, so be it.” She added coyly, “Plus, we did talk about more than just Quidditch.”

“We did,” his lips curved, his fingers brushing a stray curl behind her ear. 

Hermione shivered from the touch, goosebumps forming on her arms.

Cedric continued, “I vividly recall you spent a good twenty minutes talking about your cat.”

“Crookshanks.” A laugh danced across her lips, “Yes, and your dreams of being a Charms master.”

He nodded slowly, “Yes. Those dreams…” His voice trailed off, "I’d nearly forgotten about them. I haven’t applied anywhere. It’s been…it’s been a rough year.”

She swallowed, watching him carefully, “You should apply. I can’t imagine you doing anything else. It’s your calling.”

“Do you believe that? That we have callings?”

“I do.” She maintained, “Everyone has a calling. It all depends on whether or not they have the courage to listen.”

Cedric looked down, twisting the bottle of Odgen’s as he considered her words.

Hermione hesitated, “I always wondered...Why didn’t you speak to me after the World Cup? I thought we connected but then I never heard from you at school.”

He sighed heavily, “That was a big year. I had assumed with everything going on, the drama of having two Hogwarts champions, the tournament challenges, and then there was Krum...I just thought that I misread the signals.”

“You didn’t misread the signals,” she confessed softly, “I wanted you to kiss me.” She took a breath, "I still do."

“Well, it would seem that I have lost time to make up for,” he noted, his hazel eyes catching on her lips.

Tonight was the one year anniversary of the worst night of her life. The night that triggered months of nightmares, grieving, and trauma. The night that began the countdown of her mortality. It was the start of St. Mungos visits, healers, tests, and scans. Instead of focusing on her memories of what had been, Hermione wanted nothing more than to forget and focus on this moment.

Life is full of those moments, some so impactful that it splits a person into a before and an after.

She laced her fingers behind Cedric’s neck, pulling him back to her as she closed her eyes, losing herself in his touch.

Sometimes you do not even know that you are in the before until you have fallen into the after.

Once you are in the after, it is impossible to go back to the before.

“We went to school together but barely interacted until the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.” She involuntarily winced at the memory, “We sat in the Astronomy Tower window and spoke until dawn. We dated for about a year and a half, but he left after accepting an apprenticeship for a Charms mastery a thousand miles away. I haven’t seen him since.”

“I had no idea…” Barnaby faltered, “is he why—”

“No.” Hermione cut him off quickly, too quickly, “He’s not. We just wanted different things out of life. It wasn’t meant to be.”

For him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t mention him before.” He sounded hurt by her omission, “Did you love him?”

“It wasn’t enough,” she exhaled, the words tasted bitter as they left her lips.

I loved him enough to let him go.

She nodded once at her reflection, feeling determined, “Let’s go back out.”

“Are you ready for that?” He asked in concern, inspecting her face carefully, “I can give an excuse if you need to floo to your flat.”

“I’m ready,” she assured him, “I was just taken by surprise. I needed a moment to compose myself. It’s been a while since our last conversation.”

“You need to take this opportunity.” Hermione encouraged vehemently, taking his hand into hers, “There are only a few Charms masters in the entire world. This offer is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you can’t pass it up.”

“I don’t want to leave you, not with everything you’ve been going through lately. We have to have other options, other healers, we can't just—”

“You have to go, it’s your calling, Cedric.” She insisted firmly, “You have to listen.”

Cedric searched her eyes, “We can make it work, you take the Ministry job and I’ll start my mastery; we can do long distance from Algeria, owl, floo call. I’ll be back in half a year; the time will fly by.”

Her lip quivered, “It’s…not enough. You and I both know this was never meant to be long term. You know what happened to me at the Battle of Hogwarts. I can’t…I can’t put you through this any longer. We have been putting off the inevitable.”

“Stop." He instructed her desperately, “Stop talking like that, like this is over.”

“It is though, isn’t it? It’s been over before it ever began. You’ve already seen the symptoms, and you know it’s only going to get worse. You can’t give up your dreams for a dying woman.”

His voice broke, “I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll have to find a way." A sob caught in her throat as her eyes filled with tears, “You can live without me. You have to.”

“I can live without you,” his devastated whisper pierced her soul, “but without you I’ll be miserable at best.”

“I’m so sorry." She brushed away one tear, then another, and another, “Take the mastery, Cedric. You deserve the world. You are everything.”

Hermione dropped his hand, turning away before she could lose her nerve. She stumbled into the fireplace, tossing her handful of floo powder as she watched him disappear behind green flames, a broken man.

In the fireplace of her flat, Hermione collapsed, holding her knees as she sobbed until her throat burned, reminding her of their first night and that bottle of Odgen’s. She curled up in the ash, in the charred remains of a fire that was once alive.

Hermione pushed against the door to the loo and walked back out into the Ministry corridor. She considered her department small, but on the walk back to her office she found herself counting the steps, and it felt much larger than it had the day before.

She caught a glimpse of him inside as she approached her office door. Mustering up courage, she walked through the entrance, closing the door quietly behind her. She heard the seconds tick by on the clock, white noise filled her ears.

Cedric was sitting at her desk, holding the black framed picture she had placed on the edge. It was of her, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Luna from last summer. Gifted to her by Luna for her birthday. Though she loved the picture, no one had noticed that the smile did not quite reach her eyes.

“What are you doing here, Cedric?” Her voice felt tight in her throat.

He looked up, his hazel eyes meeting hers, she felt breathless at the sight.

“I have a new job, didn’t you hear?” He asked, looking amused, “They were hiring for a Master of Charms.”

“I thought we decided—”

“—you decided,” he corrected, setting the picture back on her desk as he walked across the room to her.

She felt the walls of the office close in on her as she inhaled, pinewood, smoke, Cedric.

“I tried to stay away, Hermione, I really did,” he moved closer as she reflexively took a step back, “but I just couldn't let you go. I’m not that strong.”

“Why are you here?” She questioned, barely above a whisper; her voice pained.

“Because I still love you,” his eyes drifted to her locket, “and I know you still love me.”

“I don’t—”

“—Show me the inside of your locket, then. If you don’t love me, show me the inside of your locket, and if it’s not us, then I’ll know.”

Her breath hitched; she held the locket protectively in her fist. She felt her heart beat rapidly against her chest.

Cedric was less than a step away, Hermione caught a whiff of his aftershave and suddenly she was two years away.

The night sky twinkled above them as a gust of wind pushed a billow of smoke from their campfire over the couple.

“Oh my god, you smell amazing,” Hermione mumbled against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt as she greedily inhaled into him.

He laughed boisterously, “And you smell like honey. I could eat you up.”

“Excuse you, I did not provide explicit consent to be cannibalized.”

Cedric smiled slyly, leaning closer to her, nipping softly at her neck. Hermione squealed, trying to lean away from his touch. With the shift of weight, she was suddenly falling, landing with a hard thud on the grass below.

“Honestly, who designed hammocks?” Hermione grumbled rhetorically, sprawling out on the grass in a dramatic fashion.

He rolled to the side, purposefully falling next to her and propping his head up on his elbow, “They were first recorded in the Bahamas, natives used them to sleep in the trees,” he mentioned casually, “origin unknown.”

She let out a laugh, “You would know that. Well, given that information, I’m glad we weren’t in a tree just now. I imagine that fall would’ve been unpleasant. Back to my point, we have magic, we should have a way to prevent these things from tipping.”

“Oh, my love, tipping is half the fun,” he gestured to the ground, “this is the optimal position.”

“Optimal position for what?”

Cedric moved, positioning himself over her and sweeping down for a kiss. 

She tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer while letting her eyes fall shut, savoring the feeling of his lips on hers. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes unsuccessfully, they fell back down as he watched her.

“I have to show you how to style your hair so it’s not always in your face.” She teased as she threaded her fingers through his unruly locks, “Can’t go hiding those lovely hazel eyes from me.”

“You’re one to talk, with these curls,” he quipped as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear, sneaking another kiss from her giggling lips.

She was tugged out of the memory abruptly by the feeling of his hand on her cheek; he lightly brushed a curl from her shoulder. It felt so much like her memory, her heart ached in her chest.

Her fingers itched to touch him.

“You know nothing has changed,” she croaked, her voice betraying her, “I’m still cursed, and the symptoms are progressing. I’m dying, Cedric. I can’t put you through that. You deserve to build a life with someone who can give you that—a life. You said—”

He cut her off, exhaling sharply, “No, you said, you decided for me. You’re the one who said we were done.”

“You needed time,” she reasoned to herself, “time away from me. I know you thought you could handle it, but I couldn’t condemn you to a life with me. You deserve so much more than that.”

“It was never a condemnation to live a life with you. I have learned so much over the past year but most of all I know that I can’t live without you.” He let out a shaky exhale, blinking away his unshed tears, “I suppose in the end, you’re the one who could live without me.”

She fought back the sob that threatened to escape her chest. Memories provided the words before she could stop herself, “I can live without you, but without you I’ll be miserable at best.”

Cedric slipped a hand under her chin, his thumb stroking her soft skin as he coaxed her head towards him. 

Her lips parted as her body waged war against her mind. She longed to lean into his touch, to feel the heat of his body, to taste his lips. 

Her mind screamed for her to stop, before she was in too deep. If she kissed him then she would never be able go back.

His lips captured hers.

Just like the very first time, he tasted like starlight.

His touch felt like a spark igniting a fire deep within her. She felt the past two years wash over her like a tidal wave. As if he never left, which he had not, not really.

So you’ll never be alone.

He kissed her like he was a drowning man and she was his last hope. The fire consumed her, from the top of her head down to her curling toes. His fingertips dug into the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

“I tried. I can’t live without you, I just can’t,” he whispered fervently, like a prayer.

“It’s been nearly a year, Cedric." She faltered, doubt creeping into her mind, “Your apprenticeship ended almost six months ago. You never came back.”

“After my apprenticeship in Algeria, I used my mentor’s contacts and found a witch in Malaysia; she’s the leading expert in curse breaking. I took a 6-month hiatus while she trained me. We traveled around the world, in search of a cure.”

She stepped back, “Cure?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, “We found a wizard who was cursed in Italy. He had all the same symptoms, Hermione, every single one. He offered himself up for experimental trials.”

She froze.

“It took nearly a month but we broke the curse. It’s completely untraceable on any scans. He’s healed.”

The air left the room.

Hermione’s mind frantically tried to process his words, “Broke…the curse? But every specialist said—”

“They were wrong." He insisted, “We found a new technique developed by a pair of witches in Greece. We can break the curse on you just like we did for Benito."

He reached out, his hands gently held her face as his thumbs wiped away her tears. "I sent an owl and traveled by floo as we found out it was successful. I haven’t even slept.”

“You don’t have to live this way." Cedric’s voice caught in his throat, "You don’t have to die this way.”

“You spent half a year of your life searching the world, looking for a way to break my curse?” She asked in disbelief, her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“When a curse stood between me and the love of my life, I never had a choice. You were my calling, and Hermione, I had to listen.”

Her mind raced as she considered what had seemed impossible just moments before, a future. 

She had a future.

“I love you, Cedric,” the words tumbled out of her lips, “I never stopped, not for a single moment.”

I counted the seconds.

She reached up to open her locket, turning the image to him.

He watched the picture repeat several times before looking back up at her, his eyes shone with tears, “Marry me.”

“What?” She blinked, suddenly breathless.

“Will you? Will you marry me?” He corrected himself, cupping her face between his hands as he searched her eyes.

“You said that you couldn’t condemn me to this life, but I want you to know that a life with you is the only life I want. Life is split into moments, into a before and an after. You are my after. You told me once that when you’re in the after, it’s difficult to go back to the before. For me, it’s bloody unbearable. There is no one else for me. I spent 313 days away from you and I never want to spend another second without you.”

In that moment, Hermione knew she could never go back to before. He had split her life into two, and she never wanted to know an after without him.

“Yes,” her voice was barely audible, a tear ran down her cheek as she nodded quickly, her voice grew stronger, “Yes!”

“Yes?” He repeated in shock, his eyes wide.

“Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck as he picked her up by her waist, the room blurred around her.

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” she marveled, her voice thick.

“I would do anything for you, Hermione. There is no after without you.”

“I meant what I said that first night, Cedric,” she murmured against his lips, “you are everything.”

“And you are my after.”