ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

18〝eighteen〞

ELLIS SET ABOUT ON A very long walk. Marching away from the toilet, she made for the Slytherin common room, ensuring to take every needless turn and corridor on her way. In her dormitory she shrugged on her winter cloak, collected a couple of things, then headed towards the Owlery.

Glynnis, her albino great gray owl, was perched roughly midway up the circular tower, near one of the glassless windows, fast asleep. It was an incredible feat of sorts, given that the Baron's bemoaning howls were audible and disturbing even up here. Ellis did not wake her, but left a generous helping of the bird's favorite treat of bacon rinds in the bowl that hung from her roost. She needed Glynnis to be in a good mood; her next few deliveries were bound to be demanding.

The snow had lightened since the morning. The sun was behaving like a mischievous child, stealing more and more peeks from behind the clouds now, casting weak shadows here and there, that Ellis was certain it would stop soon. Carefully descending the still icy stairs, she wandered towards the lake. She would have gone to the Astronomy Tower, if the Baron hadn't been so insistent on talking about "Caesar Dittany" (they had adopted the codeword out of amusement) all the time, or to the Quidditch field, if only it didn't remind her of him.

She arrived at the massive beech tree, by which time it had indeed stopped snowing, and could instantly see why it was the favorite haunt of many. The view it proffered was quite spectacular: a vast lake whose horizon melted into a mountain range while a castle nestled atop the edge of a cliff, now all looking like copious amounts of powdered sugar had been doused upon them, the scene held all the typical charm of the Scottish Highlands. It even looked like it had come out of one of those things Muggles called postcards.

In the sunnier and warmer months, Ellis envisioned the spot would be coolly shaded, from which one could comfortably admire blue skies, turquoise waters, and a great deal of healthily-green pastures. A rather lovely picture developed in her head and, come to think of it, she actually did like the school grounds—if not for all the people that usually populated them during the term.

Groaning under a fresh blanket of frost, the frozen lake was now a shadow of its former self and no longer tempting to skate upon. Instead, Ellis began to climb the trunk of the large tree because, surely, it was the most logical thing to do. She settled herself upon a sturdy branch from which she had swiped off accumulating snow and lounged against the bole. A thick fleece inner lining of her cloak and her little jar of bluebell flames kept her snug and toasty as she pulled from her pocket her most recent copy of Seeker Weekly, which she was planning to reread cover to cover—there wasn't going to be another issue until Monday.

It was a most serious err in judgment, she surmised not a minute later.

At the point of picking up the magazine she had apparently forgotten that the very person whom she did not want to have to think about was, alas, also a Seeker. And it seemed only to amplify the words her long walk had dismally failed to expunge from her mind.

It's what people do...

"Not to me, they don't," muttered Ellis through gritted teeth.

With unnecessary force, she flipped a page and it ripped from its binding.

"Reparo!" she said listlessly; the torn leaf reattached itself without a trace of damage.

Annoyed, Ellis snapped it shut and shoved it back into her pocket. She wished she had Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and attempted to recall the different breeds of dragons in reverse alphabetical order for distraction.

Ukrainian Ironbelly, Swedish Short-Snout, Romanian Longhorn... something that begins with P... "It's what people do, you know..." Ellis rolled her eyes. Romanian Longhorn... Peruvian Vipertooth! Norwegian Ridgeback, Hungarian Horntail... "You should try it some time..." She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, praying for patience. Hungarian Horntail, Hebridean Black, Common Welsh— "It's a good look on you..."

"Merlin, shut up already!" Ellis lashed out, causing a flock of sparrows to scatter into the air, tweeting furiously.

Very suddenly, Ellis flinched—something had been crawling on her hand. There was the smallest of screeches. She darted her eyes to the source: barely several inches tall, what acutely resembled a single spinach stalk was upright on multiple root-like legs, with two equally misshapen but much ganglier arms that ended quite like a double-pronged fork held up to what must be its face, where a pair of inky protuberant beads peeped through fingers of spindly spikes, while its slit for a mouth and leaves, mimicking overgrown droopy ears, that sprouted from the top of its head were aquiver.

For a few moments, Ellis was so astonished by its appearance that she could only stare at the brilliantly-green creature. Finally, she realized what it had to be.

"It's okay," said Ellis softly, "you're a bowtruckle, aren't you?"

Although still cowering, it did not retreat from where it was on her knee, which Ellis believed to be encouraging.

"Well, I don't have any wood lice or fairy eggs..." mumbled Ellis, peering around uncertainly—then, it struck her.

Fumbling inside her cloak, she retrieved her container of bacon rinds. There were still some crumbs left, which she dished out into her palm and coaxed the bowtruckle towards. But, for what was delicious to humans and great gray owls alike, the granules of fried pork fat didn't appeal to the tastebuds of the part-plant-part-stick-insect being (it stopped eating after the first one). Nevertheless, it was content to loiter near her midriff, where under her cloak was the jar of bluebell flames, presumably for warmth.

Upon close examination, it was quite adorable, creeping around her gloved fingers like they were a thrilling obstacle course. Ellis scanned the surroundings for more, but none broke into sight.

"Why are you alone? Where's your family?"

It merely squeaked; whether it was responding or a coincidence, there was no telling.

"You know they can't talk, right?" piped up a voice from below.

Starting, Ellis nearly tumbled from the bough. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bowtruckle jump and scuttle into her pocket, alarmed by her sudden movement.

"Why do you keep doing that?" snarled Ellis, in a low voice so as not to frighten the creature further. "And don't say it's what people do!"

"I'm sorry," said Cedric, chuckling, "it wasn't my intention to scare you."

"Can't imagine what was."

Ellis directed her efforts to cajoling the bowtruckle, who was refusing to leave its refuge.

"Well, I"—he cleared his throat, and then his tone changed—"I think that belongs to Professor Kettleburn," she heard Cedric call up. "Probably a stray who escaped its enclosure. They're great lock pickers—did you know that?"

She did not know that, but did not say so as she gazed down at him.

"Would you like to return it?"

"I don't know where Professor Kettleburn's office is," replied Ellis.

"I do," said Cedric. "I can take you."

Because the bowtruckle needs to be with its family, Ellis thought repeatedly as she traipsed alongside the Hufflepuff towards the castle, the bowtruckle still in her pocket.

Past a series of deserted ground-floor classrooms tagged with wrought metal numberings was the Care of Magical Creatures teacher's study. The door next to eleven, instead of bearing the number twelve, was taped with a sketch of a dozen black furry animals with long orange snouts, fighting each other for various shiny objects—from Galleons and gold bars to necklaces and even spoons.

"Nifflers," said Cedric, addressing Ellis' inquiring look. "Professor Kettleburn's favorite."

AN: Sorry my updates haven't been as periodic as I've promised—I've been swamped at work. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. If you have, don't forget to share and vote! What do you think Cedric and Ellis will be up to next?