My Son

She sat alone in the Quidditch stand, head bowed against the bitter cold of December. The sharp, biting wind that blew from the north stung her eyes and carried with it razor sharp ice crystals that pierced her lungs. Her shallow breath was a visible mist that gave testament to the chill in the air and in her soul. Tears began to fall one by one, only to freeze on deathly white cheeks that rivalled the colour of the frost on the frozen, unyielding ground.

She came here every year, on a pilgrimage of sorts, from her home near Ottery St. Catchpole to sit and relive the memories that were all she had left. She cradled them as she had once cradled him, protected them as she had once protected him. It left a taste of bitter ashes in her mouth, but anything was better than the numb, unfeeling life to which she had been reduced.

This was her time, time she opened herself to the pain and anguish. She allowed herself to experience fully once again the searing, excruciating torture of loss - loss that left her breathless and shaking, speechless from its intensity.

Here, in this forsaken place, was where she had last held him, had last told him she loved him and was so very proud of him. She gave a shuddering gasp and the tears flowed thick and fast. She covered her face with gloved hands as she gave herself over to the bittersweet remembrances of that twenty-fourth day of June.


“Surprise, Cedric! Your father and I came to spend the day with you before the final task! Let’s take a walk around the grounds, shall we? It’s beautiful outside.”

We walk out of the Great Hall and out the doors, down to the lake. The Giant Squid swims lazily across the surface as Amos claps his hand on Cedric’s shoulder.

“So, Ced, tonight’s the big night, eh? How are you feeling? Feeling pretty confidant? Not to worry; you’ll beat Potter the same way you did in Quidditch - snatch the trophy right out from under his nose. You’ll do it, son,” he says proudly, smiling widely.

Cedric smiles back at his father, and hugs me.

“Thanks, Mum and Dad. You know I’ll do my best.”

Then later in the evening, during dinner in the Great Hall. Cedric is pointing out his girlfriend, Cho, at the Ravenclaw table. She is a beautiful girl, and we can see why Cedric’s so taken with her. She comes by to greet us and tell Cedric good luck before Dumbledore stands to announce it is time for the Tri-Wizard Tournament champions to follow Ludo Bagman to the stadium.

“Good luck, Cedric. We’ll be cheering you on from the stands. I love you,” I say to him, pulling him into a tight hug before Amos does the same, telling Cedric, “Love you, son. You’ll win this thing, Ced. We believe in you!”

Cedric leaves the Hall with Fleur and Viktor, followed shortly thereafter by Harry Potter. After a short bit, we all file out to the stadium, excitedly waiting for the start of the final task. I grasp Amos’ hand in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion as we find seats close as possible to the front of what appears to be a huge maze.

The whistle blows and Cedric dashes into the entrance of the maze and is lost from view. We wait anxiously as one after another, the champions enter the maze and the task is begun. Moments tick by slowly until a huge gasp goes up from the crowd when we see red sparks shoot up in the starry night sky. It appears Fleur and Krum have encountered trouble and are lead from the maze by the teachers patrolling the outside.

Time passes and Dumbledore begins to look concerned. Suddenly there are shouts and screams from the crowd; the noise is deafening. Harry Potter has appeared at the entrance to the maze, clutching the trophy and -no, it can’t be. I look at Amos fearfully, then my eyes are only for my son. We begin to hear the hushed words “he’s dead” floating through the night air.

I clutch Amos’ arm, but he shakes me off. He’s running from the stands and I follow, terrified. Amos reaches Cedric before I do and I see the horrible truth reflected in the slump of Amos’ shoulders, the bowed head. I shake my head, not wanting to believe. I rush up to stand next to my husband and I block out the sound of Cornelius Fudge’s voice and Professor Dumbledore’s. I begin to scream as I drop to the ground to grab the body of my only child into my arms.

She was screaming his name now, just as she had done then. She pounded her fists on the stands, relishing the stinging pain, then she jumped to her feet, the words ripped from her raw throat once more as when she had seen him lifeless at her feet.

“CEDRIC! Oh, God, NO! God, not my son! My only son, please no - not him!”

She was running now, tripping, but managing to make it down onto the pitch. She threw herself onto her knees on the very spot, raised her fists in the air, tilted back her head and shouted at the top of lungs her keen misery and unquenchable anguish.

“WHY? WHY CEDRIC? He was my SON!”

She collapsed sobbing onto her face in the dirt, her fingers scrabbling for something, anything to hold onto - anything real. She clawed frantically, breaking fragile nails, the ground resisting her attempts until her frozen fingertips were able to find purchase in the sod. She was rewarded with a meager handful of dirt, but as she sat up she pressed it against her heart as though it carried within it the form and shape of her beloved child.

How long she remained there, gently rocking back and forth, she did not know, did not care, and only when the sobs dissipated was she able to look about her surroundings. Night was fast approaching - that thief of light, of hope and promise. She rose slowly, attempting to bring life back into her cold, aching limbs.

She took a deep breath, and in her mind she determinedly replaced the brittle bones that made up her spine with rods of pure steel. She stood straight and threw back her shoulders, preparing to return to but a mimicry of her former happy life. She pocketed the bit of dirt as carefully as any gem before she wiped her eyes.

She slid her hand into a different pocket, one that held a frame. It surrounded a picture of a smiling, handsome boy standing with his parents. He was waving rather shyly at the camera, while the parents looked at him proudly. She gave one last quick glimpse around, dropped something at her feet, then touched the picture frame. Instantly, the portkey took her home.

And on the frozen ground, there lay a beautifully decorated square of parchment that read:

Merry Christmas, Cedric, my darling son.

I miss you so very much. You were all the gift any mother could ever ask for - and so much more than I deserved. I didn’t have the time with you I would have wished to have, but I’m thankful for what precious time I was given.

I love you, my son.
Mum


***


Mrs. Diggory’s memories were taken from information provided in The Goblet of Fire, US Edition, by JK Rowling in Chapter 31, pgs. 615-627 and Chapter 32, pgs. 671-672.