You’d told yourself not to look for him.

You’d promised you wouldn’t care. That it wasn’t serious, that you knew the rules. That it didn’t matter if you snuck around in the dark or kissed behind statues or held hands under desks where no one could see. But when you saw him dancing with Cho at the Yule Ball — his hand resting on the small of her back, the way he looked at her like she was sunlight — something inside you cracked loud enough to echo through your ribs.

So you waited. Not by accident. Not like all the other times you’d “run into” him. You stood by the corridor near the library after midnight, freezing your fingers off, waiting for him to show. And he did. Laughing with his mates, flushed from the dance, until his eyes landed on you and everything in him shifted.

—“Hey,” he said quietly, like you were a ghost he didn’t expect to see again. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he hoped he wouldn’t.

You didn’t smile.

—“What’s going on, Cedric? I thought this was something.”

He blinked.

—“We said no labels.”

You laughed, but it sounded broken.

—“Then why’d you let me meet your mum? Why do I have a drawer in your dorm? Why do you look at me like you mean it, and then treat me like a stranger when anyone’s watching?”

He looked away, jaw tight.

—“I told you from the start — this is casual.”

—“Then why didn’t it feel casual?” Your voice cracked on the word, and you hated it, hated how small you sounded, how much it still mattered.

And maybe that scared him. Maybe the truth of what you were becoming — of what he was ruining — was too much for him to carry. Because he snapped then. And what he said didn’t come from his heart but from his fear, his shame, his panic.

—“You’re such a loser for thinking we were ever a real thing.”

The silence after was deafening.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stood there, staring at the boy who used to kiss you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. And then you left.

A few days later, you were standing outside the Great Hall, half-listening to your friends chatter about some new Quidditch drama, trying to fake your way through the ache that hadn’t gone away. You were doing fine — really — until someone snorted behind you and muttered, “He probably has anger issues or something.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Just let your eyes drift across the hall, and there he was.

Cedric.

With Cho.

She was laughing, her hand brushing his arm, and he was smiling that soft smile — the one you used to think was just for you. And maybe it never was. Maybe you’d been stupid. Maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing up in your head.