ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

41〝forty-one〞

NO SOONER WAS MR. BOSSY startled to be called upon than was he in his element.

"Yes, I can," he told Lockhart confidently. "Don't worry, Professor, I'll make sure she gets to the Hospital Wing. You can count on me."

Ellis didn't fully register Lockhart's response because something had lightly nudged the outside of her shoe. She glanced down automatically; blood dripped more ferociously onto the front of her robes. As she swapped to use her other sleeve to stem the flow (the current one was quite soaked), she saw that an ink bottle had rolled up to her foot, seemingly out of nowhere. More surprising, however, was the person who had bustled over to retrieve it:

Cedric.

"Sorry," he muttered, bending low to collect the glass jar.

As he rose, he—surreptitiously, and shrouded from his peers by his bag—stuffed something soft into Ellis's freed hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, this time just sufficiently audible for her.

His breath had only tickled her ear briefly, and their fingers barely grazed. Yet, she was again warmed by an unknown wave of heat while goosebumps sprouted all over her skin. Nobody would have discerned, but Ellis swore her body even gave the tiniest involuntary twitch at his touch. Her heart was beating so hard and fast it seemed incredible that her nose wasn't making a tap of itself again.

Still, Ellis kept her bloodied face turned, refusing to look at him. Cedric hastened off, wearing an anguished expression she did not see. What she did see, as she opened her palm, was a handkerchief—the one that had once dried her tears and swabbed butterbeer foam off her lips.

The sudden thought of him—Cedric, a wizard—owning only one handkerchief seemed to drive everything from her mind, and for a moment, Ellis simply felt amused. But the moment passed, and she was left with the sweetness of his act that pricked her heart still more.

"Come, now," said Mr. Bossy with an air that befitted his nickname to a T.

Regret for choosing him as an escape plan creeping up on her, Ellis traipsed alongside him (he strutted quite pompously) down the hall that was now deserted, cupping her leaky nose with the silk napkin.

Like both other times, it smelled of citrus. It smelled of him—essence of Cedric Diggory. Her eyes threatened to burn. She forced herself to think about something else...anything else...

At least her nose still worked.

"I'm sorry about what happened," the redhead continued, though not sounding it. "You must forgive Ginny. She's been really out of sorts lately."

"Don't worry about it," said Ellis thickly (her voice was muffled by the makeshift mask). "It was an accident."

Despite not witnessing the entire episode—or any of it, for that matter—Ellis was quite certain Ginny Weasley hadn't been out to break her nose. More or less, she had been running from that brat of a boy Draco Malfoy.

"I seriously don't know what's up with her," the prefect rambled on. "I get that she's upset about Mrs. Norris (she does adore cats) and Creevey (they sat together in Charms apparently), but that was months ago. The Mandrakes are nearly ripe; I thought that ought to cheer her up. And all these nightmares she's been having—Mother's reckons (since we've ruled out that she's physically ill) that she's homesick, and she's been fussing about, sending over Ginny's toys and blankets from home and whatnot.

"I have to say, though, that I agree with her. Not her methods—obviously—those'll only spoil Ginny. It's probably just the stress of being away from home for the first time and having so much going on around here. Not everyone handles it well, you know, stress. I, myself, am naturally independent and thrive under pressure. Ginny, it seems, not so much. But wandering around in a daze, blundering into classrooms without first checking if they're in use—frankly, it's preposterous."

A headache coming on from his incessant speech, Ellis frowned, baffled.

Ginny had blundered into the classroom, no doubt, but why would she need to check if it was in use? Of course it was—they were supposed to have started their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Why else would she be blundering into it? Unless she was blundering into empty classrooms?

But Ellis was too exhausted to be bothered otherwise. Perhaps her headache was worse than she had made it out to be, and she had just misheard or misinterpreted him. Her nose was hurting too much in any case, and she was beginning to feel slightly faint.

"I know Mother's entrusted me with Ginny's care not only because I'm the oldest here but because I'm most responsible." (He then mimicked a high-pitched and rather agitated tone.) " 'Percy, you must look out for her, be more understanding, comfort her.' I get where she's coming from, of course—Ginny is my sister, after all—and that's all very well, but I'm not going to be here for her all the time. And she can't possibly rely on Fred or George—or Ron. She's got to learn how to handle herself. It's no more than school now; it's going to be much tougher out in the real world."

Just when Ellis concluded that he would never shut up, he did. And she realized, with a swell of relief, that they had just conquered the stairs leading up to the infirmary. Mr. Bossy went ahead inside, Ellis trailing along.

"Mr. Weasley," said Madam Pomfrey as he approached the counter, "what can I—You again!" she raved, noticing Ellis, causing both students to jump. The matron's eyes dilated even further as they cut to Ellis' blood-covered frame. "Oh, dear me—"

Absently, she waved off the Gryffindor and whisked Ellis to the nearest bed, her usual protective manner regaining control. Gingerly peeling Ellis's hand (and Cedric's handkerchief, now sodden) off, Madam Pomfrey didn't even blink, as though a bloodied face was a sight so commonplace, but assessed it from all angles, then nodded.

"Now, stay very still," she instructed, readying her wand. It didn't cross Ellis's mind to disobey, though it took some effort as her head was vaguely spinning. "Episkey!"

Ellis's nose felt so hot like it could brand, then so cold like a thousand miniature Barons were partying inside. The odd sensations triggered her suspicion as to whether she had inadvertently swayed whilst the matron cast the spell, ruining its healing effect. It was a few seconds before Ellis became aware that her nose no longer throbbed, which seemed a good sign enough. Then she spotted maroon flecks flying from her face.

After all the blood had been siphoned off, Madam Pomfrey held up a mirror, in which the reflection Ellis surveyed was quite standard for whenever she was here: nose as unremarkable as it always was, eyes wearied, and complexion pale to the extent that legitimized the matron's exceedingly creased forehead. Ellis attempted to thank and commend her exceptional nose-mending feat but it was in vain.

Nothing could deflect the matron's wrath now.

"It's always the same ones," she fumed, scurrying off toward the office and mumbling something in which the name "Potter" could be distinguished. When she returned, it was with a steaming mug of cocoa that she handed to Ellis. "I daresay you shan't be rushing back to class until I get some color back onto those cheeks. Who's lesson have you got left?"

"Professor Lockhart's," answered Ellis, cautiously sipping the piping chocolate.

Madam Pomfrey made a "hmph" sort of noise and did not trouble to hide her eye-roll either.

"You're lucky to still have a nose, then."