ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

17〝seventeen〞

THE LANNISTERS AND THE STARKS were long-standing family friends, and this year were visiting Greece together over the Christmas holidays. Like the rest of his clique, Cedric normally looked forward to spending this time with his own family.

On the fifteenth-anniversary of him being the biggest third wheel in the world, however, the Hufflepuff had decided to gift his parents some alone time for a couples' vacation while he remained at Hogwarts. His friends, whom he had forgotten to inform, were naturally bewildered when he signed the list to stay. Even Professor Sprout looked taken aback, but simply assured him that the Christmas feast would not disappoint.

None of the gang failed to extend Cedric invitations into their own homes, or, in the case of Jaime, a spot on the overseas trip, when he made his intentions known. And if he was ever inclined to intrude and impose, his plans were thwarted by the neglected work that had accumulated while he had been enslaved by Sansa's revamped training regime. So, with the excuse of a tottering pile of undone assignments, he politely declined.

But it was odd, admittedly, to awake without the usual weekend clamor of Samwell turning out his trunk in search for something to wear that wasn't his school uniform as Podrick bewitched the cockerel on his Tottenham Hotspurs jersey to crow, to dress without having to fight with Jon and Jaime for the mirror, and to reach the common room and not have to wait for Margaery, who was always late (even when the boys deliberately dawdled) because she was spending extra efforts to curl her hair.

They left him a note, though, which stated he needn't see them off for they would "be back in no time" and wished him a happy Christmas. He supposed they let him sleep in, what with the final Quidditch practice of the term ending much too late the night before.

By the time he climbed up to the entrance hall, the last of the students were just boarding the self-drawn carriages headed for Hogsmeade station. For a fraction of a second loneliness stirred inside Cedric: he missed them already, and wished he'd woken sooner to at least bid his friends good-bye. But then he was distracted.

"Cedric?" said Roger Davies, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Didn't expect you around."

Explaining about his parents, Cedric returned the question to his fellow fourth-year.

Roger told Cedric that his elder sister, seventh-year Ravenclaw perfect and current Head Girl, had elected, dutifully, to hang around as a result of—in Roger's words—"all this crazy stuff going on lately," and that he thought he might as well follow suit. Apparently, he had plenty of work to catch up on himself. And while something about Roger's body language hinted there was more where that story came from, Cedric knew when not to prod.

Together, they set off toward the Great Hall. Ruth Davies was deep in discussion with the Head Boy and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall as they entered. Since both their Houses were equally lacking in strengths, Roger suggested they could sit together for breakfast. Cedric, who had spotted where he would quite like to be at the moment—and it certainly wasn't with Roger—but could find no reason to refuse without being rude or suspicious, agreed. When asked which table he preferred, he answered "Ravenclaw" unhesitatingly.

Not long had they immersed in the topic of their favorite Quidditch teams (Roger, too, played for his House, Ravenclaw, albeit as Chaser) over porridge and sausages when someone coughed. Perhaps it had been magnified by the emptiness of the vast room, or purely the result of close proximity, but it was strangely loud, and turned many of what few heads were present.

Craning his neck toward the Slytherin table behind him, whence the noise came, Roger nearly gagged too; his mouthful of pumpkin juice ended up mostly slopped down the front of his jacket. Cedric, meanwhile, was glad for the pretext to gaze openly in said direction, though rather judged himself for it. After all, the girl had been choking.

"That's her, isn't it?" whispered Roger urgently.

Indeed, it was—the "her" whose name seemed almost as taboo as You-Know-Who's nowadays: Ellis Grindelwald.

For a response Cedric only raised his eyebrows. Unsatisfactory as that was, however, he got away with it. Roger was too busy mopping up his juice-soaked jacket with a serviette, though inconsequentially—haphazard orange patches still besmirched the light grey fleece. He gave up and performed the Scouring Charm; within seconds, it looked as good as new.

"Wonder what she's doing here," said Roger, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder.

"No idea," replied Cedric truthfully.

"Hardly anyone to attack now, is there?"

And Roger reapplied himself to his gruel as casually as if he'd just commented on the weather. Unbeknownst to him, Cedric frowned. The Ravenclaw could scarcely be blamed for believing rumors that were backed by rather compelling evidence, but his dismissive tone, in spite of his pure-blood status, positively wasn't necessary in Cedric's opinion. Soon, Roger resumed abusing the Wasps for something they did earlier this season in the League (he was an Arrows fan), which Cedric paid little attention to, simply nodding and producing "yeah" automatically whenever there was a pause. (As a Puddlemere supporter, Cedric was neutral to both sides.)

Within five minutes, Ellis was getting up and departing. Cedric's mind and patience seemed to have left with her. After a while, Roger's complaints became unbearable and Cedric invented the need to use the bathroom to extricate himself.

Deserted as the castle was, Cedric met no one along the way until he was in the archway of the cul-de-sac that constituted the students' toilets. Somebody had just exited the girls' lavatory, and both of them, recognizing each other, stopped short in their tracks.

As it had happened so often before, Cedric beamed while the blonde stared blankly at him. He reckoned he ought to swallow the fact that anything less than an all-out glare was the best he could hope for. Thus, he broke eye contact and headed for the gents. He had one hand pressed on the door when she called from behind him.

"What is wrong with you?!"

Cedric whipped around. As thoroughly as her voice had been accusatory, her face was annoyed. She looked at him like he was a sum she couldn't solve, when, really, she was now the puzzle he couldn't piece together.

"Excuse me?" said Cedric, disconcerted and semi-defensive—surely, he didn't think there was anything wrong with him.

"You keep smiling at me!" cried Ellis hotly, as if it was a heinous act. Her fair cheeks had flushed a vivid shade of pink, and her tone became still more agitated as she interrogated, "What's wrong with you?! What do you want from me?!"

What did he want from her?

Moments passed and the silence between them grew more deafening than ever. Cedric knew what he wanted all right, but it was not from her, per se. It was something trivial, something that would be silly to even put into words—weren't some things just meant to be unspoken?—not that he could, even if he wanted to. His thoughts seemed to have been seriously misplaced; he was groping around his brain, as though blind, for help to his cause that did not come.

He was reduced to staring mutely back at her, who, of course, had not ceased her own. There appeared to be a different quality in her gaze, however, he noticed. A searching look now haunted her eyes, screaming that she was desperate for the answer he could not give. But with a quivering breath, she seemed to have abandoned her quest, and it was gone. Before Cedric knew it, she was stalking away.

"It's what people do, you know," he piped up.

Something had overcome him, like his brain had been abruptly switched on again.

Ellis paused where she was under the archway but did not turn her head so that Cedric merely glimpsed her profile.

"Smiling," continued Cedric. "You should try it some time. It's a good look on you."