ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

16〝sixteen〞

THE ONLY WORD ELLIS COULD discern now was "folly," as the Baron drifted hither and thither, muttering unremittingly. It was a while before he could be drawn out of his stupor.

"Baron?" repeated Ellis for what she felt had to be the dozenth time.

Finally, he whipped around, looking confused, damaged, wistful, contrite, and contemplative all at the same time. His face emitted a faint glow in the moonlight—it was shining with a fresh coat of tears. Her fear melted away in an instance.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Ellis tenderly.

He shook his head, and Ellis honored that. She made to collect her possessions but—

"You may not desire his fancy," said the Baron suddenly, "but you cannot stem it; it is his to decide what he shall do. In my youth, I elected to pursue my passion, and, in failure, to concede; but never have I forsaken her, even after all these centuries, even after..."

Sobs erupted at irregular intervals so that the Baron was rendered incoherent as his see-through fingers traced the silvery blotches of blood on his robes. Meanwhile, Ellis swelled with tremendous admiration for the ghost.

She had known romance only in the form of literature; she wouldn't dare dream it up for herself. She could not imagine plunging headfirst into a realm described by certain uncertainty; a world in which wisdom could not reign, in which dedication so often guaranteed only pain. She could not embark on an adventure when she knew not how she might emerge; she could not commit herself to grasping at something as elusive as smoke to fingers.

For true love was rather rarer than elder; and for what could be fierce and eternal and pure but could also be difficult and merciless and tragic she could not risk the latter—she just wasn't brave like that. (Not that, in her opinion, and after everything she'd done, she deserved love of any kind anyway.)

And yet before her was someone who had braved the hardship and savagery and affliction—who had loved "with all his heart and all his soul," who had loved "so, he would live and die" for the one he loved, with precisely nothing to show for it—and still stood by love.

To Ellis, that was courage at its highest and sheerest—courage whose art she could never master.

Naturally, she was curious as to who could have wielded power the likes of which had spurred such valor and tenacity. She had known the Baron to have taken the life of someone for whom he cared deeply, and in punishment taken his own—yet another feat Ellis could never have achieved, and for that respected him still more—but the details remained hitherto undiscussed, and little did she expect the martyr of his inadvertent deed to be his true love. Now that she thought about it, her assumptions could only be childish...

The Baron hiccoughed, but his weeping seemed to have abated. He drew himself up with poise and apologized for his outburst.

"That was most unpolished and imprudent," he admitted. "Almost a thousand years of practice; you'd think one'd've gotten the hang of bridling that temper."

"You'll get it," said Ellis bracingly.

"You are very kind, missy," replied the Baron and a very inviting silence transpired between them.

"Who was she?" asked Ellis, adding quickly, warily, "If I may."

Lips parted, as though prepared to speak, the Baron looked at her in somewhat of a surprise at her injection. What he did not look was unkind or affronted, which was encouraging, and Ellis waited with bated breath, crossing her fingers mentally.