ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

5〝five〞

WHEN ELLIS AWOKE TWO DAYS later, it was the first of November. The dreamless sleep she was promised left her fresh in ways she had long forgotten; the fact that Hallowe'en and all that it came with was also over showered her with such tremendous relief she literally felt lighter.

She couldn't have asked for a better start to the month.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a hearty breakfast and claimed everything was "in order" but refused to discharge her without an escort (ghosts did not count) and declined to explain how that was not, in Ellis' words, "entirely unnecessary." All attempts at objection overruled, Ellis reluctantly allowed the matron to usher her back to the Slytherin common room, though making rather brusque yet sadly ineffective complaints as the longer of possible routes was taken.

The dungeon wasn't sporting the Saturday crowd Ellis had expected. Then she recalled that it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term which, as the notice on the raggedy noticeboard informed, meant all third- to seventh-years with signed parents' consent were permitted to visit the nearby village for a day, returning to the castle by six o'clock in the evening. All the better for her.

Nevertheless, her entrance silenced them all the same. It was no surprise; Ellis always had that effect on people. What was abnormal was that everyone, whilst fighting powerful urges not to speak, run, or breathe, were staring at her.

They were all staring at her.

Under ordinary circumstances, conversations punctuated, they would have otherwise ignored her presence, averted their gaze, and awaited to resume their lives once she was out of sight and earshot. Now, they looked a disturbing amalgam of fear, consternation, and interest.

Unable to resist, Ellis found all the answers she needed boring straight into the eyes of a burly boy seated near the fireplace: the night before—the night of Hallowe'en—marked the opening of the legendary Chamber of Secrets, and had to be the root for her dread of the occasion; Harry Potter and his friends were discovered along the waterlogged corridor where the caretaker's cat hung victim, though Petrified rather than dead (Ellis took some comfort in this knowledge); upon the wall overlooking the scene of the crime was literally bloody words:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

As though the light switch to a pitch-black room had been flicked on, everything became crystal clear at once.

It was no wonder Madam Pomfrey avoided the shorter path which required passing through said vandalized hallway. It was no wonder everyone jumped at the first opportunity to escape the castle. It was no wonder everyone else gaped at her like she was some sort of fantastic beast with Ministry of Magic classification "X X X X X." With her disappearance unaccounted for (Professor Snape had only notified relevant teachers of his Sleeping Draught prescription) and reappearance much too timely, it was almost excusable on their part for speculating her involvement in the affair.

To these absurd conjectures, though, she said nothing. Ellis simply withdrew her piercing gaze and departed towards the girls' dormitories.

In her room, which was emptied after the flat out evacuation of Lyanna Aldrin and Amelia Shepherd, she was promptly visited by the Bloody Baron. The ghost of Slytherin House was an unlikely acquaintance for anyone, dead or alive—but Ellis wasn't just anyone. Beginning atop the Astronomy Tower one night before class, him groaning and clanking for leisure and her admiring the stars despite the noise, their friendship built itself upon similarities neither imagined another could bear. A mutual understanding was developed and they spent most of their time together surrounded by little chatter, simply enjoying the company of one another—which, to both, was far more valuable than words.

"Ah, good to have you back, missy!" said the ghost with a bout of delight. "You look quite well."

"I am," replied Ellis, "thank you."

"When Sir Nicholas told me, I—"

"Do you reckon he's told anyone else?" she asked suddenly.

"He's not a gossip," assured the Baron, "but I doubt I can speak for the Friar."

* * *

Sure enough, in the following week, the subject of her being admitted to the hospital wing had become common knowledge. This inflamed all talks regarding the attack on Mrs Norris: Some theorized that Ellis' absence was but an elaborate alibi, and that Potter and his faithful sidekicks were, by one way or another (this seemed to be left free for each individual's imagination and assessment), doing her bidding. Some went as far to suggest that the attack was a form of feeding, and that the Petrification alone was somehow responsible for her newly-acquired radiance.

Even Cedric and his friends, though initially skeptical of the stories, renounced their jesting ways and by the end of November were forced to reconcile with the fact that the series of unfortunate events at Hogwarts could not have been by mere coincidence.

To exacerbate matters, the night after the first Quidditch match of the season, Colin Creevey was found to be Petrified.

This starkly dismayed Ellis. She had fought, against her conscience, to keep to herself and lost, and knowing not when her vision would catch up with reality, henceforth raced against time to warn him: wasting a week racking her brains for ways to slip him parchment strips with explicit instructions "DO NOT GO NEAR THE HOSPITAL WING," and spending another trying to act on it. To date she succeeded twice; the second time—Thursday before the game during Potions—she even saw him reading the note and was confident that his fate, whenever it chose to descend, could be thwarted.

Nobody could be that thick.

How wrong she was.

Again.

Yet, the worst—though, ironically best—part had to be her sneaking up to the Tower that very evening. It was still chilly from the showers earlier but the skies had cleared, providing a wondrous view of the constellations. No matter how convincing the ceiling of the Great Hall might be, it wasn't the real thing. She had a spectacular time with the Baron. They talked like they had never talked before: at first grumbling about the terrible defeat their House never should have suffered (both were so enthused in calling their Seeker rather crude names it quickly escalated into a competition), and at last learning that they were both Capricorns but much preferred Aquila—by which time, a consensus was reached that they did like talking after all.

Then a clock chimed somewhere; neither could really believe midnight had dawned. Ellis, however, was way beyond the curfew for first-years and could stay up no longer. The Baron offered himself as a chaperon, in which he mainly glided down stairwells and hallways to help Ellis ensure the coast was clear. For the most part, it was; the Baron only had to scare off one Gryffindor prefect. They were almost at the entrance to the dungeons—just one last hallway—when Ellis heard someone clear their throat.

"Excuse me," said an authoritative voice from behind.

Ellis turned to find a curly-haired Ravenclaw perfect, now looking quite aghast as though she was a Muggle who'd just seen a ghost. The Baron, who had been scouting ahead, swept up to them in an instance and hovered intimidatingly alongside Ellis, though said nothing.

"W-well, you sh-shouldn't be out-ta bed," stuttered the prefect. "R-run along n-now."

Without seeing through her instruction, the Ravenclaw stormed off, albeit slightly shakily, and seemed to have broken into a run at some point as Ellis and the Baron heard her rapid footfalls fade into the distance.

"This school really ought to get prefects with better nerves," said the Baron.