ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

6〝six〞

DESPITE THE PREFECT'S BEHAVIOR, HER fear did not seem to stick. It only took a couple of days for the news that Ellis was out of bed on the same night as Colin Creevey's attack to hit the school, and Ellis, like a tsunami.

Ellis wasn't so much worried about being the suspected culprit for double Petrifications as she was of being caught out of bed, for the latter she was actually guilty of. And time seemed only wanting to crawl by as she waited on tenterhooks for ten points to be taken, detention to be given, and Professor Snape to write to her mother. But nothing came until the end of the first full week in December.

It was after Herbology. The Slytherin and Ravenclaw first-years were leaving greenhouse one when a Gryffindor prefect, his hair flaming-red like Ginny Weasley's, strode up to Ellis.

Appearing to have a dire need to adjust his uniform (and especially his prefect badge) before he could speak, he might as well have addressed the entire class as they all—barring Luna Lovegood, who looked to be swatting invisible midges from around her head—stopped, though at a distance, to listen.

"Professor Snape has asked to see you in his office," he said ceremoniously.

There was a spurt of murmuring. Ellis did not move. Either she didn't want to, or couldn't; the distinction wasn't altogether obvious. Now that the time had indeed come, she felt like she could have afforded to wait longer—much longer.

"Right away, please," urged the prefect.

Resigned, Ellis made her way towards the dungeons. With great effort, she raised her fist and rapped the door—that was when she noticed there was someone else inside. Two heads turned to face her; one of which belonged to another student, built around the same height as her Head of House but much brawnier. She didn't think much of this person, probably just another misbehaved Slytherin waiting to receive punishment. Those were all too common.

"Enter," said Snape.

She imagined the Potions master to be furious beyond venomous, but he didn't look anymore malicious than normal as she inched across the room and, at long last, arrived in front of his desk.

"Miss Grindelwald," said Snape, "this is Marcus Flint, Captain and Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Mr. Flint, Ellis Grindelwald."

Snape could have Confunded her there and then, and it wouldn't have made a difference. Absolutely nonplussed, Ellis gazed up at the burly figure who made a low grunt that complemented his trollish features. Any noise would have matched Flint's response but, even that, she could not manage.

"Mr. Flint here," Snape went on, "has recently made me aware that our current Seeker"—at this he gained Ellis' undivided attention—"despite his previous contributions to the team, is incapable of meeting the high standards required of his position following his latest injury. Given that our Seeker before him has graduated, we are, naturally, in search of a replacement.

"I, for one, have witnessed your flair for flying and am meaning for you to succeed him. Mr. Flint has agreed that, should you consent to accept this offer, you will begin training with the Slytherin team as soon as possible."

Positively paralyzed with excitement, Ellis could do or say nothing besides stare at Snape. Although if she was a hugger, she supposed she would have lunged forward and done so already.

For a second she thought she might be dreaming, but then she remembered that her dreams were never sweet. Then it occurred to her that it could be a joke—a joke to stack her hopes up so high and then topple them all at once, a practical joke Snape deemed an appropriate way to penalize her for her rule-breaking. It certainly didn't sound beneath him. But to put the Quidditch and House cups at risk...