A/N: Oread, Walking uses a particular type of story-telling known as the Faery-Tale style; it's presented in a way that's meant to be told orally, as old faery-tales are, and so the tense shifts are deliberate.
She can still hear him breathe when the wind blows.
Hermione Granger has not, can not, and will not forget the day Cedric died.
But, more importantly [or so Cedric would have her believe], she will never forget the day that Cedric lived, and entered into her life.
You're an odd one, Hermione, a very odd one indeed. But I think that's why I like you.
Cedric was just as odd as Hermione, because he liked to walk.
But not just walk walk, he liked to walk. To wander down the paths unknown, trampled by a thousandfold of Hogwarts students, and yet still very ancient- but new- to him.
Hermione liked to walk, as well. She liked to walk, walk, walk, and all the phonetic, kinetic, derivations of that particular motion that can be derived from it.
She liked to walk on sunny days, because it seemed to her that magic was real. For a moment, away from the grim, oily social mechanisms that pervades the life of every teenager in school- surely you remember?- Hermione could feel the magic of life flowing through streams of sunlight.
This is how Hermione and Cedric met:
They walked.
In and out of doors, up and down halls, they walked. At first, it was merely accidental. Hermione seeking a sunnier, brighter path that Cedric happened to be haunting [you walk like a ghost, Cedric, I can never hear you coming] or Cedric trying to find the bright green patch of clover Hermione was walking circles in.
The destination was never important, because they were already there.
You're strange, but I think that's why I like talking to you.
Hermione, of course, has always been a bit, well, weird. The children at her Muggle school preferred the term freak, and her parents and assorted adult relatives liked to use the word special, but Hermione was weird, and she knew it.
And until she went walking one day, she never knew that it could be such a good thing.
So, Cedric and Hermione. They liked to walk.
One day, Hermione took a left turn, Cedric took a right, and they ended up walking together down a shady, cool path by the side of the school.
They both nodded politely and left one another to their thoughts, but they walked together, steadily, left right, right left, left left, there's a stone in the way. Take a left, hang a sharp right, and look- they're still walking together.
Cedric was always a popular boy. And while he appreciated being well-liked, there comes a time in every boy's life where he wants time to think, but when you were Cedric Diggory, everyone needed to have a word.
Except Hermione Granger.
But she was odd like that.
Hermione was always the girl with the answers. And while she liked being the smart one, the dependable one, sometimes she liked to unwind and think about inane things, like the interesting shape of a cloud or wonder- how did that Squid end up in the lake? But, if you're Hermione Granger, people need answers from you.
Except Cedric Diggory.
But he was just smart like that.
The first conversation went something like this:
'It's nice out today.'
'Yes, I rather thought so.'
'Have you ever seen the gardens in the back?'
'I didn't know there were gardens in the back.'
'Here, let me show you, the daffodils are amazing.'
And until the very end, they could never remember who started the conversation, because they both knew about the garden, but had wanted an excuse to chat with one another.
So they went to the garden, and walked through the flowers.
Hermione and Cedric talked a lot, and generally speaking, they talked a whole lot of nothing in particular, especially about unimportant things. Unimportant, at least, to you and me. We may never know just how dear the concept of Muggle automobiles really was to Cedric, or how passionately Hermione cared about milkweed, but these are the sorts of special things that only make sense to the person concerned, of whom neither is you and I.
Nevertheless, this is what they talked about.
But what they really loved to talk about was the wind and the sun, because both are very important to the well-being of the world. Not that this concerned them; it's just what they liked to talk about.
Cedric told Hermione about a favourite cousin of his that had died when he was little of some strange, wasting disease. He called her Oread, but everyone else just called her Echo.
Cedric told Hermione that when the wind blew, he thought he could hear her talk. Any other time, with any other person, Hermione might have rolled her eyes, but this was Cedric, who walked. So she stopped and listened to Echo speak, and understood.
Hermione never found out that Cedric thought she was the only person who would understand. And she did.
Hermione and Cedric went on many walks, because this is what friends do, and in an odd sort of way, befitting an odd sort of girl, they were friends.
Hermione loved the sun, loved the warmth and the fire. When the light filtered through the trees, Hermione swore up and down that it was just pure magic in the form of light.
Cedric, being Cedric, understood.
This is how the end began:
Hermione was scared. Two of her friends, and her date to the Yule Ball, were about to take the third task.
Hermione does not, will not, and could never have the Third Eye- for the old fraud told her so- but perhaps Fate came and strummed her fingers on Hermione's soul, because she was more scared than she should be.
In her hands were dried daffodil petals, which Cedric brought her.
For good luck, Hermione, for both of us. How about a kiss for it too, eh?
So the odd little girl gave the handsome, popular boy a kiss on the cheek. Like it was natural, or something.
She wasn't at all expecting him to turn his head just so the moment she tilted hers like that, and she wasn't expecting a kiss on the mouth.
She wasn't expecting the voice of Echo to saunter back and whisper her approval, either, because Hermione rarely needs approval for anything she does.
But Echo gave it, and Hermione accepted it as fate. It was just as natural as dead cousins who talked through the wind, sunlight flowing like magic, and the freak girl being friends with the popular boy.
Perhaps another kiss when this is all over, strange girl? Promise?
And she did.
This is what Cedric thought when he was Portkeyed:
Where in fuck-all are we? I wish Hermione was here, she knows more about this kind of stuff than I do.
This is what Hermione thought when Harry and Cedric didn't return:
I wonder if daffodil petals are good luck.
And this is what Cedric thought before he died:
Is Harry okay? Where are we? Was this supposed to happen? Wands at the ready. What's the voice? Who's there?
What the hell?
I hope Hermione isn't too scar-
Hermione kept herself very composed when she heard Cedric died. Well, more composed than most girls would be if the boy that they had kissed just a few hours past came back dead, being dragged at the hand of your best friend.
She saved her tears for later, in the warm light under a tree in a garden full of daffodils. It's hard to believe that Hermione fell in love between her fifteenth and sixteenth birthday, because normal girls don't fall in love like this. But Hermione's the weird one, and she fell hard and fast for a pretty boy who had a dead cousin.
It was just so senseless- but then, that's how War goes. Hermione lost her Lover to the War, and now there's hell to pay.
Hermione let herself cry in private, feeding the dirt of the garden as she weeps. And in the tangle of tears, she realises she can't remember who started the first conversation.
The wind blows, and Hermione's hair raises on her neck.
Echo is speaking to her. But the wind is warm, like a gust of moist, hot breath.
Hermione now knows that Cedric is still there, in a way that Death and War and Murder cannot prevent. He's with his dead cousin, now, and as Oread watched over Cedric, now Cedric will watch over Hermione.
So she went on with life, bravely, steadily, working in silent hope and dedication, so that Cedric's life would not be lost in vain.
And when the wind blows, she can feel his breath on his neck, and Echo carries words for him that he never got the chance to say in life. And it's okay.
She knows he meant them, anyways.