log; ongoing

[dazzlepuff.livejournal.com]

When; The night of Sunday, September 6th.
Rating; G-PG? Mentions of death, etc~
Characters; Cedric Diggory (dazzlepuff) & Luna Lovegood (suncolors)
Summary; Cedric arrives, freshly dead and very confused. Luna tries to help but possibly ends up confusing him even more. I am bad at summaries, okay. (Post to be updated with each following tag until finished, then it will be labeled as such.)
Log;

CEDRIC →

What Cedric should have hit was cold and damp ground under a thick layer of fog. The landscape should have illustrated the obvious victory of weeds and moss over cracked tombstones and the asphyxiating grass beneath. He knew this from the brief moments before, when he and Harry had scanned their parlous surroundings in search of any familiar faces or structures. He knew from the way his shoes sank slowly with each step and the dirt was wet, almost muddy. He knew that even through the thick layers of his tournament attire it was still chilly and that it wasn't at all due to the weather. He knew that something was wrong even before those suspicions were evinced.

What Cedric should have felt was nothing, and that is where the puzzlement begina. Never in his life had he truly considered death, much less how that death would play out, but to say this had been unexpected would be a tremendous understatement. Death had never been a worry; in fact, at seventeen he had yet to truly consider death as an inevitability. It was so far in the future that it hardly seemed a pressing matter. But that spell left no room for doubt. He knew upon hearing those two unforgiving words what was coming. This, however, is not it at all.

What Cedric feels is his cheek scraping against the hard stone ground that should not be there, which is almost as baffling as the fact that he can feel it, when he most certainly should not. What he sees as he pulls himself up is no cemetery, it's not even close. A town square like none he has ever seen before, surrounding a monumental fountain and surrounded by a city he has never before visited. Cedric stands, confusion and apprehension painted across his face as he scans an alien terrain for the second time that night.

LUNA →

Luna Lovegood keeps to herself a fair amount of the time, not particularly inclined or disinclined to spending time with people but not the type to constantly seek either the companionship or the solitude. She cares a great deal about the friends she does have, and the tension in the space where they all live has not escaped her, but it is no more her tendency to try to fix it than it is to cause it in the first place. Given over to uncomfortable truths, she would not hesitate to tell anyone who asked if she sees that things are not as right as they should be, that she does, yes, and very much so, but she would follow that up with the confession that it isn't so much up to
her.

People are stubborn sorts and change happens when they decide it, as individuals, and not before--real change, true change.

Padding through the square which is not as populated at this hour of the night, she has a mild hum beneath her thoughts with an even milder tune to it, hands clasped lightly in front of her and wrists crossing, flower basket hanging from those with a slight swing that results from
each footstep. In said flower basket there are indeed flowers, but there are also stray buttons and corks and bottle caps, among other things--odds and ends that make sense to her, because everything in the world means something. It's just a matter of figuring out what, or, on the contrary, simply waiting one's time out long enough to understand and accept that some things can't be figured out at all.

Take for instance the young man whose face she knows from papers and not-finished history books.

It is, she will always think, very sad that people are often only remembered because they die too young.

"Cedric Diggory," she greets unceremoniously, that dreaming quality to her voice that often makes people think she is only half there, when it is quite the opposite that is the truth. Waiting for him to notice who addresses his person, she tilts a blond head, peering at him, sections of corn tassel yellow strands falling over her shoulder. Watchful, she can thread ways and words around him like a story, but it is altogether unnecessary with the story maker right before her, so she contents herself to keep with the wait a while longer.

CEDRIC →

Cedric does not recognize her right away, and there are two reasons for this: one more honorable than the other. The more innocent of the two stems from the fact that he can't exactly be blamed for his current state of disorientation. Had it been Cho or his own father approaching him, they still would have been met with befuddlement and hesitation. There are too many questions flying back and forth in his head, a frenzy of electrical impulses and frantic nerve receptors inching closer and closer to total overdrive. Where am I? What happened? My parents... Did Harry –– ? The questions spin around and around in search of answers or clues, taking on lives of their own because Cedric is much too overwhelmed to address each and every one. Thinking has become a chore at this point and Cedric has to wonder whether he imagined it all – Krum, the maze, the portkey, the harsh cry of that Unforgivable Curse. Perhaps he's still competing, and this yet another level of the tournament. This is, in fact, the most challenging experience he has been faced with since the start of this tournament.

That theory is shot with two morbid realizations: the first is that he feels colder than he did before, even in that dreadful cemetery. The second is that his heart is not beating. Hogwarts may not offer your typical course in Biology but Cedric knows enough to be startled by this. How can he possibly be alive without a heartbeat?

The second reason he doesn't recognize Luna is simple: he never noticed her. Cedric was years ahead of her class and they came from different Houses. He had no incentive to spend time with Third Years, much less those who weren't in Hufflepuff. After a very long period, it dawns on Cedric, but quite slowly. The raddish earrings are to blame: he may not recall her by name, but he remembers paying special attention to a very peculiar girl with a very peculiar pair of earrings. It's comforting, at the very least, to be amongst a fellow Hogwarts student, and that small hint of familiarity is more than enough given the situation.

He nods at the mention of his name and runs one hand through his hair, speaking only once it has (flawlessly) fallen back into place. "Right." Another hand goes up and, once again, this display buys him some time. "Ravenclaw, yes? I'm afraid I don't know your name."

LUNA →

Death wears itself cleanly on Cedric, and this has nothing to do with his physical appearance, not to Luna at any rate who certainly observes but rarely digests the aesthetics of verve or lack thereof.

"Luna," she smiles a half-smile at him. "Luna Lovegood." The standard 'welcome to the city' has never been her choice greeting, so she doesn't bother, instead shifting weight from her heels to the balls of her feet, leaning toward him a little as one leans toward a mystery. Two patient moments later she offers her hand. "I'm glad I get to meet you after all."

It is a softer confirmation that he is as he dreads, but not necessarily kind, for who can call the premature close of a life kind? Luna wouldn't, couldn't...so she doesn't, all pervasive and yet considerate at the same time, a dreamer who is always awake and knows what she sees when she sees it. That her strength lies in the very thing he proves--not being noticed overly--is also true, and she takes that in stride, having learned just how much one can glean from being the one on the outside of the window after all.

How different, she supposes but does not imagine, for someone like Cedric, and it isn't lost on her that this won't be easy for him any more than it isn't lost on her that, from what she has heard, from
what she still hears back home, Cedric Diggory probably doesn't want to burden anyone with the difficulties. That doesn't mean they aren't there though, or won't be, and all this she files away, as is her way with people. It isn't book smarts and it isn't the precise brand of wisdom Ravenclaw is more often associated with, but it is her own and she knows its methods and non-methods well enough to let them run their course.

Cedric Diggory.

She wonders, fleetingly, how Harry will feel about his arrival.

CEDRIC →

Lovegood. That's it.

"Ottery St. Catchpole?" Their fathers must be acquainted – there are only so many wizard families in the area and Cedric is certain he's heard the name before. Again, the familiarity helps, albeit very slightly. "After all," he repeats. There's no surprise in his voice. "That settles it, then, doesn't it? I really..." I really... The word catches in his throat, bitter and acerbic. He might as well say it, now that it's certain. "I really died."

He has his answer; there are many more questions, but none seem as urgent or crucial in comparison.

That's a lie. Equally as important as his fate is that of his parents. He can only imagine their devastation, and the reality, he knows, will be far worse than anything he could conceive. What will his father do without a son to dote on? All his hopes and dreams for Cedric's future, now made impossible. How will his mother cope in an empty house, without the weekly letters of assurance, reminders that her son is safe at school? And Cho – how will she handle his death? He knows there is nothing he can do to ease his parents' suffering, but Cedric hopes that Cho won't be as shattered as he expects. She still has a promising life ahead, and he doesn't want to be the weight that drags her down and keeps her from what she deserves.

He wonders if Luna Lovegood can offer any more answers, but where can he start? Would she know of his parents? Perhaps she heard something in passing, from her father. Maybe she remembers Hogwarts in the aftermath. It may be wishful thinking, but he doesn't have much else, and he knows she was alive when he died.

"You wouldn't happen to know..." Know what? It isn't easy to mold a question that she can concievably answer when he knows so little about her. He starts again: "You wouldn't happen to know what happened, would you? I mean, after I...died."

LUNA →

Sometimes the only place to start is at the end.

"It's not in vain, you know," she pats his upper arm awkwardly because reaching his shoulder isn't quite as easy, and Luna has a tendency to be uncomfortably blunt both in regards to personal space and choice of words, at times. "...anyway," she doesn't bother to elaborate on 'what' is not in vain, because a simple truth is sometimes best left just as that rather than a deconstructed explanation of itself. His death was not in vain, not without its own purpose however unintended by anyone but Voldemort himself. Any good person like Cedric serves his friends even after death, and that is something Luna knows the dark lord would never understand. The people who do retain some sense of humanity, and a person need not meet the ghost of a man, once a boy named Tom, to know he lacks that, has lacked it for a very, very long time indeed. Even in this state, his clothes cold with the cold of his body when she offers him that awkward gesture of reassurance, something about Cedric remains alight.

Eyes averting, the pale girl mentally sends whispers to the people who love him--even as they stand here now.

"...I know some things, but maybe you would prefer someone else to explain?" she half asks and half suggests, a quiet smile there, a serenity one can almost reach out and sense with fingertips. There are the others, after all, she thinks, but her mind is still on Harry. Is it a disservice to her friend with the eyes of his mother to presume he would not mind? She always hopes not, even when hoping does not change her tendency to act on whims, but one could argue all of Luna's way is about the whim rather than the well laid plan.

CEDRIC →

While it may be true that the vague can sometimes provide for the best paths of explanation, Cedric does not – can not – see it this way. It has been quite the rare occasion that has found Cedric Diggory at a loss for the right words or the best course of action, or even, sometimes, the answers to most questions. He has always been a well-rounded student, one who performs well and excels in the face of challenge. One who can handle nearly anything that is thrown his way. This, he supposes, is the great exception. Why wasn't it in vain? What could possibly justify his death? Who killed him and why? Was it – ? But that isn't a thought he allows himself to entertain. The Quidditch World Cup was an isolated incident; it meant nothing. It's foolish to consider, he tells himself, although he must acknowledge that something in that cemetery felt monumentally wrong.

Yes, he wants to know, and he doesn't appreciate the ambiguous answer, although he won't voice this aloud. He does appreciate Luna's presence, despite the growing evidence that she may be even more...offbeat than he could have expected. He can tell that she means well, and that happens to mean a great deal when someone has just been murdered.

"Who else is there?" He inquires rather hesitantly. Was that meant to suggest there are others from Hogwarts? Those he may know more intimately? He desperately hopes that's not the case. As much as he would love to see his friends and family, the thought of someone he holds dear having died as well is not a welcome thought at all.

Comments

[suncolors.livejournal.com]

Vague is a way a person carries himself or herself, and vague is also a way a person doesn't carry himself or herself. Or itself, as the case may be in this place between places. She doesn't feel badly about her answer, because she has no other to offer and that is hardly a fault so much as a reality. There isn't much, she feels, to be said to make a person feel better, but she can explain her own truths---that to not die in vain does not mean there was a reason for it, and that to have a reason for death at all is a disturbing nature to have at all.

"Others," she pauses. "Harry Potter for one," she eyes the deceased pointedly, which serves the same purpose as saying alive, before ticking off others on her fingertips, name upon name, iteration upon iteration. "Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley was--for a while hmmm...and there is Neville Longbottom. Also, Remus Lupin..." She stops, gaze averting to some unimportant distance beyond the tall boy's shoulder. "...and Draco Malfoy as well, but he doesn't live in the same place." Until recently, one, Sirius Black was among their numbers as well, but she doesn't see the point in mentioning it, considering...well considering. Turning away from him, she waves her hand lightly.

"Whether or not you do want more of an explanation, you should come with me," she says, quiet, ever thoughtful and private about those thoughts, one of which is that he will be safe. Many would argue: what need does a dead person have of 'safety'? But safety isn't always about a pulse in one's wrist. It can as soon be about comfort, about trusting the faces one meets every morning, and not running from the voices you live with. Summer breeze filtering through, she waits, not prompting again, instead pulling her hair over one shoulder, absently sectioning it off to begin a simple braid. There is no rush and the least she can offer him, perhaps, is a moment to gather his own thoughts around who else is here and whether or not he wants to go to them right away. Some would not, and in this case Luna isn't even certain which it might be, a palpable deference to those who have passed on equating to a buffer of personal space.

[dazzlepuff.livejournal.com]

A gesture, bold as it may or not be, is not substitute for a clear and precise confirmation, particularly in Cedric's current state of mind. He jumps at the first and worst possible conclusion: Harry, too, was killed. The succeeding list of names sends a wave of dread through him. He can think of only one cause for so many deaths; one perpetrator. He must have returned.

The greatest fear of the wizarding world has been realized and Cedric is painfully aware of what that will mean. No one is safe, not even the Muggles. His parents, Cho, his best mates – they're all in grave danger. The worst of it, he is slowly coming to realize, is the growing feeling of helplessness. He can't do anything for them. He won't be able to protect them; he has failed before he ever even tried.

This succession of grave realizations paralyzes Cedric in his place. The colors around them blur, dulled and dismal. It may be his imagination, but what he hears is a dead silence around them. It drowns out Luna's words, somehow. He watches and she waits. With nowhere else to go and nothing else he can do, Cedric starts after her, following his only option.

[suncolors.livejournal.com]

"He didn't die," she says, not pausing in moving forward but glancing back over her shoulder all the same. That Cedric is overwhelmed is to be expected and that there is little she can do about it also is, but she finds that sometimes, in cases of devastation, cases beyond definite repair, it can help to focus on simpler things.

"Oh, this is yours," she does stop this time, turning fully to offer the network device to him--his, likely, as she picked it up before saying hello, not three paces far from where he stood looking like someone who didn't dare to hope for a second chance. It doesn't help that his first was taken so unfairly, but again, there is nothing to be done for it, for the truth of what happened any more than what will happen. All anyone can offer, beyond a certain extent, is a hand along the way from time to time, and she does not hurry to continue just yet.

"It may be useful," she understates. "If you want to say hello," or goodbye. Hands folding in front of her, pale fingers lacing, she peers up at him, a little unintentionally owlish despite the contrasting shape her patronus would imply. Ever in the habit of looking longer than is considered polite, Luna only faces the other way again when she has crossed that moment, spreading out what she can read in the dead boy's expression, a layer of bewilderment that couches pain with separation. Walking again, she absently tugs on her right radish earring, thoughtful.

"Don't worry," she says, barely enunciating with that willow-wisp quality to each sound, not entirely believing it will make a difference. "It really isn't very far from here at all," if that is any consolation or relief...if you were worrying at all.

[dazzlepuff.livejournal.com]

He didn't die. "He didn't?" How is that possible? At the same time, Cedric has to admit it stands to reason that the Boy Who Lives would live yet again. There's an element of comfort that extends beyond just knowing that Harry survived, although that certainly is a large part of it. They didn't know each other well, but Cedric had learned that there was much more to Harry Potter than the likes of Rita Skeeter would have anyone believe, and he certainly didn't deserve to die. Moreover, it was Harry who was at Cedric's side in his dying moment. It was Harry in the maze before that, when they helped each other survive Krum's attacks and agreed to share the victory. For the most part, though, it was the fact that Harry would live to tell about the ordeal, and he hoped that it would bring his parents some comfort if someone was there to explain it to them.

He reaches for the object, curiously looking it over. Something to distract him, momentarily. He wonders if that was Luna's intention. The result is the same either way, but he thinks it terribly sweet of her if that was her motivation. "...What exactly is this?" It resembles one of those Muggle devices he's heard Arthur Weasley boast about – what where they called again? Tellyphones? Cedric can't fathom why he would need a tellyphone, but he holds the device with care nonetheless, experimenting with some of the knobs on its side.

[suncolors.livejournal.com]

Indeed, Harry Potter is a great deal more than what anyone like Rita Skeeter could ever dream up, make up, or lie up--these three not always being the same--and though she is not the closest person to him, it is true enough that Luna considers him one of the closest people to her. There is a conflicted hope about him, or maybe that is all in the way she perceives him alone, and then with his comrades there is something shining that he will never see himself, and that is fine too. Cedric, she thinks, shines too--this having nothing to do with a heartbeat but a heart--and it is with no little amount of her own colour of sadness that she understands in another way that people will only ever know that again through memory. It is not so distant, what her mother's death did to her father, and while she would never presume the two to be the same, there is something common between them, in that the loss of any family strikes itself hard against those left behind. For Cedric, she half imagines and half knows, concern for his parents must be near the front of his own heart.

Time enough for this though, she thinks, fingertips barely brushing his as she pulls away, the device settled suitably in his grasp.

"A device of sorts," she nods at him, a vague motion but meant to encourage his scrutiny of the box. "A bit more like muggle technology really, but quite useful too," she continues, their steps toward the so-called home steady but not hurried. "In a way," is the addendum and she reaches out briefly to tap a button--quite possibly the 'on' one, though she does not particularly aim for it.

[dazzlepuff.livejournal.com]

Cedric has never held a particular fascination with or interest in Muggle culture. He finds it curious, the same way he imagines they might approach wizard customs – were they ever to learn such things exist, of course. He knows the basics, things one would pick up at the train station en route to Platform 9¾ or on the way in to Diagon Alley. He knows how they travel and how they communicate, for the most part, and he's heard that their entire society seems to run on something called elektriksity. This may be the first time he has been directly exposed to it, and Cedric isn't quite sure what to make of it.

The device whirs on, a bit too bright in contrast to the time of night. He wonders how useful it could possibly be, when the pictures don't seem to move at all and the keys – he assumes they're mean to mimic those of a typewriter – are much too small. "Useful how, exactly?"

[suncolors.livejournal.com]

Though his attention seems rather taken with the device--for which she is glad--Luna knows that the shadows surrounding death and not being able to change certain events continues to sit with Cedric Diggory. When or if he chooses to bring them up with someone, she can only hope in her own simultaneously roundabout and straightforward way that it does something for him, even if what that something is cannot necessarily be pinned down in descriptive terms. It might just be a feeling one is left with after being with friends despite the darkness, or the near-to-comfort of hearing that they 'win', or the distant relief that someone else lives to explain what happened, however few will believe him. All of this on a curious sort of carousel in her head, she stares at him with all attention anyway, wide pale blue eyes blinking once or twice.

"Well," she taps a tapered finger to the side of her face, "...mostly for talking to people," a very concrete answer coming from one, Luna Lovegood. "...from where we are no for example," she reaches over to point at a rather blatant button of green. "Supposing you wanted to talk to people, it's a recording of sort that happens, the same message in boxes all across the City." That is, in reality, a bit unnerving to think of one's words all echoing out like a radio program, but not so much to Luna who finds it quite charming, because she likes the sounds of peoples' voices as much as she appreciates silence. Glancing away, nearer to the makeshift abode for everyone from their world so far save for Draco Malfoy, she tilts her gaze skyward.

"You'll hear a lot of things---a lot of bad things I think," she muses, and her dreaming voice undermines some of the sincerity here, but that is as it always has been for her---well, not always, but for a very long time now. "...but it really isn't all bad here," she concludes softly, lower lip catching against her teeth in a second of concentrated thought before her expression is, almost seamlessly, once again that almost vacant look---though if one knows her or even is paying a certain sort of attention, there is a sharpness to it, the kind that watches because she knows how much can be gained from the watching.

[dazzlepuff.livejournal.com]

As far as Cedric is concerned, recent events have provided sufficient nightmare material to last well into the future. It's difficult to view much else as bad at the moment, but he doesn't dismiss Luna's comment as untrue. He is sure there is bad – no world can exist without the two sides to any spectrum – but he can't imagine, at this moment, just how bad it may or may not be. In short, her words don't worry him as much as they possibly should.

He continues to toy with the gadget, overcome, in some small part, by curiosity. Aside from that, it's something to do, and he could use a break from his own thoughts for a short while. "What sort of bad?" He wonders aloud, if only in hope of keeping conversation alive. Watching him marvel at muggle technology can't be the most entertaining item on Luna's itinerary. On a similar note, it occurs to him that they'll never really get to where they're going if he doesn't move. He steps forward, walking toward Luna and, presumably, the cottage where they're headed.

[suncolors.livejournal.com]

Worry as much as he ought to or not, the good thing--the one truly good thing--about his being here, is that he has people who will look out for him when worry of a more authentic sort does occur, or the things that cause said worry seem to close up and around, as curses often tend to.

"All kinds," she says a little sadly, but adds, more thoughtful in the flicker of an eye, "...all kinds of good too though." What she does not say is that in that way it's very much like home. Luna, for all her sometimes uncomfortable straightforwardness also has a knack for knowing peoples personal ticks and tocks, and where Cedric's situation is concerned, she thinks she wouldn't very much like anyone to compare this place to home. It is different for her, for Harry, for everyone else--at their points in time--because they will all go back. What will become of Cedric though? No one can say, and some rocks are best left unturned when so many are already scattered in the path anyway.

After walking some time, when the cottage is at last in their vantage, she slows her already modest paces just a little, still staring at him because that amount of intrusiveness is something she rarely bridles. She doesn't see the point. There is no harm and some flattery in another person taking interest, whether in the look or the like of you, and more than that, she feels a person doesn't have to see the other to understand, but sometimes, it can certainly help.