You watch Cedric from across the common room, your gaze drawn to him as if pulled by an invisible thread you’ve long since given up trying to cut. The fire crackles softly, shadows dancing against the stone walls, but it’s his presence that holds you captive. His brown hair catches the firelight, warm golden strands glinting as he tips his head back in laughter. The sound of it, soft, rich, unforced, rolls through the space like a melody you have no right to hear.

He’s surrounded by his friends, all of them grinning, their faces bright with the kind of easy happiness that feels like sunlight. For just a fleeting heartbeat, you let yourself imagine what it might be like to belong there. To fit seamlessly into that world where smiles come easily and hearts aren’t heavy with secrets.

But you don’t.

Because Cedric is good. Not just in the way everyone calls him handsome, talented, and effortlessly charming, but in a way that goes far deeper. He’s the boy who slows his stride so a younger student can keep up, who notices when someone is left out and draws them gently into the circle, who speaks with a kindness so genuine it softens even the sharpest of tempers. There’s no performance in it, goodness runs through him like marrow in his bones.

And you? You’re not good.

You are selfish. You have lied. You’ve hurt people just to get what you wanted. You’ve made choices Cedric would never dream of making, choices that cling to your skin like stains, no matter how hard you try to scrub them clean. Even now, even sitting here with guilt biting at the edges of your thoughts, a part of you knows you’d do it all again.

Yet somehow, unbelievably, he chose you.

The sound of his voice pulls you from your thoughts like a thread tugged loose. “Hey,” Cedric says gently, his tone carrying warmth that seeps into the coldest corners of your chest. When you glance up, he’s already slipping onto the seat beside you, his knee brushing against yours, his eyes searching your face with an openness that makes you feel bare.

“You okay?” he asks, brow furrowing ever so slightly, concern softening his features. “You seem… distant.”

There’s no judgment in his gaze. No suspicion. Only affection, steady, unshakable, undeserved.

And it terrifies you.