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He speaks to him, in his mind. Only lately, it's been getting harder to guess what he'd say. It's been years, after all.

Cedric comforts him before a Quidditch match. Soothes him to sleep. Tries to convince him to move on.

"I can't," Oliver arguees feebily. "I love you. I always will."

"Well, that didn't make much of a difference when I was alive, did it?" Cedric says sometimes, and Oliver's heart pinces in guilt.

"I know," Cedric says sometimes, "I love you too." And Oliver lets out a sob.

"You can love others," Cedric tries to convince him, and Oliver argues back. Argues with himself.

Sometimes Oliver catches a glimpse of Cedric on the street. And throws himself into Quidditch afterwards, not stopping until he's bloody and sweating and so tired he falls asleep the moment he falls into bed.

He's not that different from the way he was before, so no one notices.

Oliver dreames of Cedric and wakes him, clutching the pillow, tears in his eyes, or hands in his pants. Oliver lives alone and is the best Keeper Puddlemere United has ever seen. He'll be the best Keeper in history, yet. And the only person he wants to make proud isn't there.