FOR ALL THE CREASES OF confusion wedging themselves between Cedric's eyes, Ellis might as well have explained herself in French. Although, admittedly, her attempt had been rather choppy, what with anxiety and tears intruding intermittently.
"So," said Cedric, after Ellis had most recently calmed down, "you're saying that you...saw them...getting attacked?"
"Not 'getting attacked,' per se, it's more like..." Ellis groped for an accurate description of what she had seen. "It's just...the end result, I guess..."
"Okay..." He looked deep in thought. "But what about Ginny Weasley?"
"That's just it," said Ellis helplessly, "I don't know."
"But you've seen something like this before?"
"Yes, but I didn't really know it then."
Indeed, Ellis had had a similar experience—back at Weirfield.
She had been nine; it was a couple of weeks into the new school year. Ellis was in her seat, extracting her science textbook and getting ready for class. Mr. Clarke was illustrating a mosquito's life-cycle on the blackboard. Ellis briefly saw her seat-partner, Darcy Lewis, approaching as she arranged her stationery. Next second, Darcy was toppled in her lap ("Whoops, sorry," said Caroline Channing, in the most un-sorry voice possible. Simpering, she was the resident class bully, and had obviously just shoved Darcy for sport—Darcy was clumsy, but not that clumsy).
That was when Ellis received her first "vision": Darcy tumbling down a flight of steps.
At the time, Ellis simply thought she was imagining things; the scene was a mere flash in her head at any rate. What she had truly cared about was her most prized mechanical pencil (it belonged to Elliot), which had been sent flying amidst the chaos and broken as it landed two aisles away. Also, Darcy wasn't one to fend for herself, which was what had made her such an easy target in the first place.
Not two seconds later, Channing, who was aiming to escape the scene before Mr. Clarke noticed anything amiss, tripped and—ironically—fell face flat on the floor. Apparently, her shoelaces had tied themselves together somehow. Her gal pals had to help her to the nurse's office. More than a month on, when Channing's nose had been healed for ages and everyone had put the incident out of their minds amidst the highly dreaded end-of-term tests, was when it actually happened.
Ellis witnessed it exactly as she did in her mind's eye: from the bottom of the stairs. But this time, she could glance to the top, where she caught the honey-colored pigtail of Caroline Channing whisking around the bend and out of sight. Darcy Lewis didn't return for the rest of the school year, nor any year after that. Rumor had it that she suffered a head trauma and a serious spinal cord injury that confined her to a wheelchair, and her parents had to transfer her to a special needs institution.
When Ellis reported what she had seen, both in her head and with her eyes, Principal Weatherby brushed it off as what Muggles termed déjà vu. Her mother looked aghast at the news, and Ellis had assumed it was because she ratted out the daughter of a school governor. She, herself, was too occupied with pangs of conscience: Channing wouldn't have sought revenge on Darcy if it wasn't for her.
All this, she had told Cedric.
Thinking back now, Ellis reckoned her mother ought to have looked furious instead.
She knew.
"So, you know what's going to happen," said Cedric slowly, "or at least to whom it's going to happen, but you don't know when?"
Ellis sighed, shook her head, and closed eyes. Tears were brimming again.
"Hey, hey, shhh," said Cedric, stroking her back, "it's not your fault they got attacked—"
"Of course it is!" retorted Ellis. "Why else would I be able to see what's going to happen, if I'm not meant to stop them?"
"It's not like you didn't try, it's just—"
"Then I'm not trying hard enough! I should have told Professor Snape about Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey—but I didn't even think of it. I didn't want to get involved. And then they were attacked, and still I didn't tell anyone about Justin. I should have told Rolf, but I—"
Breath promptly hitched in her throat. It was as though even her body registered how shameful her doing (or not doing) had been that it was protesting against its revelation. Tears began leaking down her cheeks.
"Shhh," Cedric repeated softly, drawing her into his embrace with both arms and offering up his handkerchief once more. "You're being too hard on yourself—you always are. It's not like you're the one who's opened the Chamber of Secrets and let the monster loose on them. That's the real culprit here."
"I just wish I could see who's doing it," said Ellis, sniffling, "at least then some good could come out of this damned curse."
"It's not a curse—"
"It's not a bloody gift, either."
The somber silence that enveloped them was short-lived.
"Hang on," said Cedric, in that abstracted way that meant he was thinking aloud, "Justin knocked into you on the night of the Dueling Club...which was the night I brought you and Rolf to the kitchens... Was...was that why you were acting all weird? When you were leaving?"
He pulled away to look at her, but Ellis didn't meet his eyes. Her heart racing and threatening to explode her chest, she gave a strangled sort of nod.
"Why didn't you just tell us?"
"I wanted to!" cried Ellis defensively. "I did—I wanted to—I just—I couldn't find—I didn't know how," she said meekly, "I didn't know how I could warn either of you about him without...without raising suspicions about myself... Everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin...and I...I just wanted to lay low... I didn't know what this was—I still don't know what this is—so how could I justify how I knew so much? I didn't want to add to that, so I just left. I thought I could figure something out but...but it was too late... It's all my fault..."
"No, it's not," said Cedric bracingly, "you said it yourself—you don't know when they're going to happen. You couldn't have known it was the very next day."
"But if I had told you—either of you—both of you—that night, he could've been warned; he could've avoided it. But I was"—Ellis swallowed as her stomach churned horribly—"scared, and a coward, and selfish; I put myself first and—"
"Self-preservation is not a crime," Cedric persisted, with that ever patient air, "it's an instinct. Wizards won't be around if we didn't have the natural tendency to preserve ourselves."
"You don't make a very good wizard, then, A Wizard," said Ellis acidly, but Cedric simply laughed it off.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Ellis shook her head, half annoyed and half amused—mostly amused.
"Listen, why don't we go talk to Professor Dumbledore—"
"I'm not talking to Dumbledore," said Ellis sharply, seething.
Cedric stared at her, looking astounded. He seemed to have worked out that she wasn't keen to keep on the subject, though.
"Er—okay, that's fine," he said in a cautious manner. "How about Professor Snape?" Cedric suggested upon some contemplation, still walking on eggshells. "You said he knows his stuff; perhaps he knows something about this."
"Professor Snape hasn't been very happy with me since Christmas," said Ellis dispiritedly, "and after this, I really doubt if he'll ever help me again."
Cedric suddenly smirked—and meaningfully.
"After what?"
"Nothing," said Ellis innocently, though blushing fast.
"This?" Cedric tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Or this?" He took her hand and intertwined their fingers.
The only responses from Ellis were a scarlet face and a skyrocketing pulse.
"Did you mean us?"
"No," replied Ellis in a totally unconvincing voice, gazing at the faraway window.
"Does 'this' make you my girlfriend?"
"You never asked," said Ellis coolly.
Next moment, Ellis thought she received an electric shock—but it was just Cedric placing his finger beneath her chin. He gently guided her face so that she was staring directly into his gray eyes, his smirk a shadow of its former self.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"