You and Cedric had been through so much. His near-death during the Triwizard Tournament. Nearly being torn apart by Professor Umbridge when she decided boys and girls weren’t allowed within eight inches of each other. And yet—you were still standing. Still together. Still holding on, hand in hand, like you could weather anything.

Cedric had always known—somewhere, buried in the back of his mind—that it would be okay. That as long as you were together, you could make it through anything.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

Nothing could have prepared him for the way his heart stopped the moment he saw you hit by the Sectumsempra curse during the Battle of Hogwarts. The way your body hit the ground, lifeless and limp, as crimson bloomed across your clothes far too fast. The way your hands trembled, clawing at the dirt, gasping for breath as one of the Death Eaters stepped over you like it meant nothing.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. Faster than they ever had. He sprinted toward you, wand slashing through the air, casting Expelliarmus at anyone who dared come close, his voice cracking with panic.

You’d both come back to Hogwarts to fight for it, promising each other you’d be okay. You had Harry on your side. You weren’t meant to be on the frontlines—just support. Just backup to fight off the death eaters.

But there had been so many of them.

And now Cedric was kneeling beside you, somewhere at the edge of the battlefield, hands shaking as he pressed them to your wounds, trying—desperately, hopelessly—to stop the blood. It was pouring through his fingers like sand, like time.

“It’s okay, love. It’ll be alright,” he whispered, but his voice broke around the words. They were empty now, trembling and hollow, meant more for himself than for you. Because he could see it in your eyes—the fading light, the pain. And he didn’t know how to fix it. The Golden Boy didn’t know the spell to reverse this.

He didn’t know how to hold on.