ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

2〝two〞

UNKNOWINGLY, ELLIS HAD, OVER THE course of the last three whistles or so, pulled herself up to more than fifty feet in the air.

It was a wonder her Shooting Star hadn't yet given out.

No one paid attention though, least of all Madam Hooch, who was working to tame Harper's broom that appeared to be in a frantic fit. Ellis watched as more and more of the class gathered around the commotion—concerned or gloating she could not tell (but was willing to bet good money it was both).

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a stray flyer. A boy, lingering around twelve to fifteen feet, one arm outstretched, wand poking out the end of his maroon sleeve, leaning forwards as if reaching for something. She squinted: it was Colin Creevey, the mousy-haired Gryffindor. Ellis rolled her eyes.

Obviously, he was trying to summon that damned camera.

But the boy clearly hadn't been listening to Professor Flitwick during Charms. His "swish and flick" had no wrist movement to speak of, and instead was very much his entire arm moving like the blades of a windmill. With each wave his Comet jerked, sending him further up the front. His camera sat still on the grass, making no advancement whatsoever. Two waves later he was drifting farther even from the herd, his Comet tilting with the wrong end down.

Ellis swept her eyes between the boy and Madam Hooch.

If the situation at the latter hadn't monopolized all spotlight before, it certainly did now. No one peeled their eyes away, not that Ellis could blame them. It was more than a bit of a feast—Jeremy Harper squealing girlish yelps as his Cleansweep grew increasingly agitated. Ginny Weasley, Amelia Shepherd (Ellis recognized one of her roommates), and two others were soon ordered to help.

Seeking to steal a glimpse of the action too, Colin craned his head towards the crowd. Considering he was in the middle of performing a Summoning Charm (or struggling to), however, it wasn't an altogether wise decision.

Pulse quickening, Ellis again darted her eyes to the sea of emerald and maroon robes—no one had seen. She deliberated. Surely he himself would have realized by now, Ellis assured herself.

Nobody could be that thick.

How wrong she was.

In a heartbeat, Ellis was flat on her Shooting Star and in a swooping dive. The wind whipped through her ponytail as she pelted towards Colin Creevey, who was still attempting to do two things at once and failing at both and deplorably unaware that his Comet was now so dangerously tipped.

And then, as if it was possible, it all happened even faster.

The Gryffindor made another wave to get his camera (the device didn't so much as quiver); his broom slumped; it became completely vertical—bristles to the sky and upside-down; Colin was plunged into free-fall; his wand was thrown from his hand; Ellis stretched out; in a second she was grabbing onto his collar; in the next an image flashed into her head; there was a deafening shriek as Colin screamed at the top of his lungs; with a blink the image had gone—Ellis found the ground coming at them at great speed; she swerved to the left; she let go of her broom, balancing only on the footrests; her fingers wrapped around the ten-inch ash—she had caught it; she aimed it at a patch of grass to which they were accelerating and cried, "Molliare!"

Both of them tumbled gently onto the lawn as if it was made of marshmallow.

They laid there catching their breaths. For a while the sun seemed to have disappeared. A nice shade had passed over them. Ellis didn't know how long it was before she realized the sun had, in fact, not disappeared and it was just a bunch of cowering people—young witches and wizards to be exact.

All that wailing presumably alarmed them.

Great.

Voices were overlapping, hushed and then forming distinct words as Ellis pushed herself into a sitting posture.

"She's got it..." someone gasped.

"Make her give it back..." whimpered another.

"That's not yours! Now, give it back!" demanded a firm voice which made Ellis look up.

Against the light was Ginny Weasley staring down, though not directly at her, pointing. She followed the redhead's finger to... Ellis hastily released her clutch. One of the Gryffindors lunged forward and seized Colin's wand before stumbling back several steps, as though he couldn't get away quick enough.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

Madam Hooch had elbowed her way to the front. Fists on her hips, she was fuming. It seemed highly plausible that any moment now her ears could spew smoke or her hair might catch fire or she would simply explode. Ellis scurried to her feet; Colin had long been on his, though huddled between two other Gryffindors whose arms were around him and still shaking. The hawk-like eyes of their teacher examined them curtly, and upon finding no apparent injuries returned to being livid.

"What have you got to say for yourselves?!" hollered Madam Hooch but allowed no time for response. "MR. CREEVEY!"

Colin jumped. Automatically, his pair of bodyguards backed away. He looked up positively timid, like he was about to cry. His face was quite devoid of colour and his mouth hung slightly open, but speechless.

"Miss Grindelwald?" Madam Hooch's tone was stern and the type of calm that came before a storm. Ellis peered up briefly, meeting the inquisitive yellow. For reasons evident only to her, she didn't wish to explain herself—not right there and then anyway. She swallowed and kept quiet.

"Nothing?!" The flying coach now sounded somewhere between exasperated and disappointed. "And I thought you were doing so well."

Ellis steered her eyes away. She had thought exactly the same.

There was a lot of muttering coming from Madam Hooch as she turned swiftly on her heels. "As if I've not had enough to do today..."—and from the inner pocket of her robes she pulled out her wand—"never should have turned down that refereeing job..."—gave it a whirl above her head: all twenty brooms miraculously still in twenty solid, functioning, pieces lined up in a single file in mid-air—"third league would've been better than this lot anyhow..."—and with a flick they zoomed in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

She whipped around again.

"YOU! HARPER!" And she pointed her wand at him. "I expect you for remedial lessons Thursday afternoons. Is that clear?!" Harper nodded furiously. "Both of you"—she yanked on Colin and Ellis by their robes, shoved them side by side in front of her, and gripped them firmly by their shoulders—"my office! NOW!"

But before she could march them off the grounds—

"If I might interject," drawled a cold voice.

Professor Snape had come swishing down the lawn. The class parted like the Red Sea so he stopped right in front of Madam Hooch.

"Out of my way, Severus," she insisted. "My class, my jurisdiction."

"Be that as it may, Ma'am," said Snape as he stopped her from pushing past him, "I happen to bear witness to this...incident." Madam Hooch stared at him, unconvinced. "Besides, as Miss Grindelwald's Head of House, surely I could be of assistance to the matter?"

With this she was most certainly not impressed, and the glaring went on awhile. Until Snape, with much resolution, said, and smoothly, "Shall I send for Professor McGonagall?"

Madam Hooch drew a long breath. "Very well."

Snape nodded—rather triumphantly even, not that anyone dared to look—and swept his way back towards the castle.

"The rest of you," she snapped at the class, "back to your Houses! Now! DIS!-MISSED!"