(OotP) CHAPTER NINE: Legilimens

"Do you really think it makes any of it better, Ellie? Do you really think I care what some witch I've never met says about how I died?"

She was back in her nightmare—the one where Ghost-Cedric berated her until, eventually, his faced morphed into that of Voldemort's and Aleks'. So far, he was still Cedric—which, really, was the hardest part.

"What was I supposed to do?" she pleaded with the ghost. "Let her say it was an accident? You really wouldn't have cared?"

She didn't know why she was indulging him this way. She knew perfectly well that this wasn't the real Cedric; why play into her own torture?

"What I care about," he hissed back at her, "is the way you're traipsing around with him, despite all the conversations we've had."

"I'm hardly traipsing around with him," she said weakly. "We still aren't together. We still don't hold hands or kiss in public or—"

"I'm dead!" Ghost-Cedric shouted at her. "Do you really think I care about what you do in public, Ellie? It's the fact that you're doing it at all!"

"But I'm hardly even—" she started to object, but before she got the chance, he was Voldemort again.

"Go ahead, Ellie," the snake-eyed, demonic being taunted her. "Keep going down the road you started on today. I would simply love for you to be expelled. I came so close to capturing you once already, you know. It'll be so much easier when—"

"Like hell you will," growled a new voice. And just like that, Fred Weasley had joined the nightmare.

She'd be lying to herself if she said she felt anything other than an overwhelming sense of comfort upon hearing his voice—and seeing his face—amidst this nightmare.

But on top of that comfort, she felt guilt—the same guilt she always felt when Fred coexisted with ghost-Cedric. Even when that ghost-Cedric had already turned into Voldemort.

"Come on," Fred said to Ellie, taking her hand. "Let's get out of here."

And with that, they woke back up.

"I didn't mean to wake you up entirely," Fred said when Ellie's eyes opened. She was on the couch with him—the same place she'd been when she dozed off. "Just meant to take us somewhere a little less depressing."

She held his gaze for several seconds, contemplating her next move.

Whatever she'd been doing for the past few months clearly wasn't working. This halfway-with-him, halfway-without-him thing only seemed to result in her still having nightmares and neither of them actually being satisfied… right?

And those few times they'd tried going further had worked, hadn't they? Perhaps, if they'd only been able to continue…

Not seeing what alternative there was, and quite determined to stop feeling sad and confused, she kissed him again.

It was every bit as electric as the last time they'd kissed, and then some. Their circumstances—both half-awake, half-asleep, yet emotionally charged from the nightmare and their protectiveness toward each other—only added to the intensity of the embrace.

She was getting to him, she could tell as she crawled into his lap, straddling him beneath her on the couch. The way his fingertips tightened against her bare skin—the hunger with which his lips moved against hers—the choppiness of his breath—

He cursed, pulling away from her and scooting as far from her on the couch as he could get.

He was cross with her, she could tell. Only… did he have a right to be?

"I told you," he said, chest still rising and falling at a very rapid rate. "This isn't a good idea. Not while you're still… figuring things out."

"Maybe this is what I've figured out," she pushed, scooting closer to him. "I feel better when we're doing this, Fred. Who's to say I won't feel better if… if…"

But she couldn't quite bring herself to say it. Was she really talking about that—about an act her own mother hadn't even gotten around to discussing with her? How could she possibly be ready for something like that when she couldn't even say the word out loud?

"Who's to say you would?" Fred asked, shaking his head. "El, it's way too risky. That's not how it's supposed to happen."

"And how is it supposed to happen?" she asked him. "Once two people have decided that they love each other? That they're soul mates?"

"Once two people have gotten older, for starters."

"You're already of age! You're an adult by all wizarding accounts—"

"And you're not!" he shouted back. If they got much louder, they were bound to wake someone up. "Why are you pushing this so hard, El? Can't you see that I'm just trying to protect you here?"

Of course, she could. He was being the perfect gentleman she had always known he was, and she loved him for it.

Unfortunately, her love for him was the problem here. She wanted to make their relationship work, and the only thing she could think of to fix it was the very thing he refused to do.

"I told you before," he said, reaching out to take her hands in his. "I'm fine, El. I'm not in a hurry. Just focus on feeling better right now. Don't worry about me."

But she wasn't sure she could differentiate between the two anymore. Fred's happiness was as good as her own.

"Detention?" Angelina shrieked at Ellie and Harry the next morning at breakfast. "Both of you? On the day of Keeper tryouts?"

The tryouts for the new Gryffindor Keeper had quite honestly been the last thing on Ellie's mind as of late; she had entirely forgotten that they were to be held that evening.

"Sorry, Ange," Harry said with a frown. "Can't speak for Ellie, but I'd much rather be with you lot."

Ellie chuckled at that, but Angelina, of course, did not. Instead, she huffed and puffed several times, scoffed a warning about them ever giving Umbridge sass again, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

"Bloody hell," said George as he watched her go. "Is it just me, or has she never been so attractive?"

Ellie and Fred both cackled at that as Ron reddened. "D'you reckon she's so cross because she thinks it's going to go badly?"

"No way, mate," said Harry immediately. "It's going to go great—you'll see."

Ellie, who had flown with Ron almost every summer since she met him, wasn't so sure. He was a perfectly gifted Keeper on a good day, but the moment anything riled him up—whether it be the new girl joining the family game or Hermione watching from the bench—he tended to get worse. She had a feeling his nerves would get the better of him with half of Gryffindor watching.

I know, Fred said in her head. But I'm rooting for him, anyway.

When Ellie and Harry reached Umbridge's office that evening, the first thing that struck Ellie was that this woman was seriously deranged. The bright, hideous shades of pink everywhere the eye could see were bad enough, but the cats on every plate, painting, and tapestry in the place took the whole thing to another level.

"You'll be doing lines today," Umbridge told them cheerfully as she gestured for them to take their seats at the two desks awaiting them. There was parchment already waiting for them, but Ellie didn't see a quill or ink.

"Use these," Umbridge chirped, handing two curious, black quills to Ellie and Harry. "The lines are I must not tell lies."

Instantly, Ellie was overcome with the same rush of emotion she'd felt in class the day before. She wanted to scream at the woman—to wring her by the neck, even.

Please stay calm, Fred said in her head. We don't know what that horrible woman is capable of yet.

"You haven't given us any ink, Professor," said Harry, whose tone suggested he was every bit as livid as Ellie.

"Oh, you won't need any."

That was odd. Ellie wasn't sure she wanted to know why.

"How many times?" Harry asked Umbridge.

"Oh, let's say… as many as it takes for the message to really… sink in."

As she watched Harry lift his quill to his parchment, Ellie knew, at least on some level, what was coming. She didn't know exactly how the quill would go about hurting Harry, but it would.

So, without moving a single muscle, she projected a shield around him.

"Whoa," Harry said at the exact same time Fred said in her head, Whoa.

"Miss Prince," said Umbridge tersely, pivoting on the spot to glare at Ellie. Ellie wondered why she was so adamant against calling Ellie by her real name, but decided now wasn't the time to ask. "Are you really looking to get yourself into more trouble than you are already in?"

Think of Ange, Fred warned her. She might actually commit a murder if you get yourself kicked off the team.

"I don't have any control over it, Professor," Ellie said. Not entirely a lie, nor entirely the truth. She knew, of course, that her shield would have automatically protected her from whatever the quill was trying to do. Harry, though? That had been a conscious decision—not to mention, the first time she'd ever been able to cast a shield onto someone else without also shielding herself. "It's the way my charm works. It senses when those I care about are in danger. Was that quill perhaps going to… hurt Harry?"

Umbridge held her gaze for several seconds. Ellie could see the anger building in her beady eyes, more and more, until finally, she said, "I did wonder whether this particular teaching strategy would work on you. Never you mind—I have a plan B in place."

Ellie glanced at Harry, whose green eyes were wide and fearful, then back at Umbridge.

"Close your eyes," Umbridge said, lifting her wand and pointing it at Ellie. "This won't hurt a bit."

Ellie didn't close her eyes. She had no idea what Umbridge was going to do, but surely if it was a spell that caused her harm, her shield would protect her, right?

"Legilimens!" Umbridge shrieked, and with that, Ellie's mind was invaded.

It was nothing like having Fred in her head. Whenever she heard Fred's voice, her entire body relaxed—even warmed—as if being tucked into bed for the night. When Umbridge entered her thoughts, it felt like a thousand fire ants were chomping at her skin.

The Diggory boy you claim was murdered, Umbridge said in her head. They say that you played him from the start. Is that the real story, Eleanor? You played him to his death?

What does that even mean? Ellie demanded. I don't—

But before she could finish her sentence, her memories were swirling—wheeling backwards—past that summer, and Sirius, and—oh, God, did she see Sirius?—and then past Voldemort and the graveyard—surely that proved the truth, did it not?—and past all three tasks and all of year four until, suddenly, it landed on Cedric's face the morning of the Quidditch World Cup.

"Do me a favour," Fred whispered into her ear as they approached the pair. "Try not to make this too painful for me."

His words surprised her for more reason than one. She preferred this strange sort of joking to his flat-out getting upset or judgmental with her, yet it was quite unusual for him. Had he really gone from being the ultimate coward to being just the opposite so quickly?

Not that quickly, she reminded herself as Cedric flashed his pearly whites and jogged over to hug her. It still took four years.

"You look great, Ellie," Cedric told her when he pulled away from her. They continued following Arthur further into the middle of nowhere as he continued, "How was your summer?"

The rumours must not have been all that rampant, she mused, if he hadn't heard. Or was he only being polite? "It was… eventful," she said carefully. "How was yours?"

He chuckled. "Not half as interesting as yours, I'm sure." Okay—maybe he had heard them. "But glad to be here—and in good company, no less."

Ellie reached out at that point—at least, she tried to reach out, but it was only a memory within her own mind, and she had no control over the Ellie of that summer previous. She wanted to touch Cedric's face one last time—to tell him that she was sorry—to tell him that if she could do it all over again, she'd find another way.

But she couldn't. Instead, she was being plummeted back to reality, and suddenly she was in Umbridge's office again, and she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

El? Fred was shouting in her head. What the bloody hell happened? Where did you go? You dropped off the map!

"Are you okay?" Harry was shouting in real life. "What happened? What did she do to you?"

"Why would you show me that?" Ellie whispered to Umbridge. Her eyes were filled with tears—more than filled; the tears were cascading down her cheeks. "What kind of monster are you?"

"To make you understand, of course," said Umbridge brightly. "The lies you've been spreading were to ease your own conscience after all you did to that poor boy. Once you step back and come to terms with the way you treated him, you'll be sure to find closure."

"What?" Ellie, Harry, and Fred demanded all at once—the latter of which only happened in Ellie's mind, of course.

"But… if we're doing that, can't I just show you what happened at the graveyard?" Ellie stammered. She knew it was a slippery slope—knew it would put her father at risk to even suggest such a thing—but then, couldn't her memories also vindicate him?

"Certainly not," chuckled Umbridge, as if this were an utterly absurd request. "Legilimency is a malleable art, Eleanor. You could far too easily craft your memories to trick me. I'm doing this for you, you see—for you to come to terms with your own memories, and to move forward."

Ellie stared at the woman, tears still falling, chest still heaving. She was more than deranged. She was… sadistic.

"That will be all for you today," Umbridge continued. "Mr. Potter, you will stay and complete your lines."

"No way," Ellie said immediately. "I'm not leaving him."

"Ellie," Harry said immediately. "It's okay."

"This is not a negotiation," Umbridge said calmly to Ellie. "If you do not leave in the next five seconds, you can count on another week of detentions. How does that sound?"

Get out of there, Fred urged her. Please.

"What are you going to do to him?" Ellie asked Umbridge. "What does the quill do?"

"Four."

"Just go, Ellie," Harry insisted. "I can handle it."

"Three."

It's only the first week, El. You have to play the long game here. You have to be smart.

"Two."

"But if you would just—"

"One."

Cursing, Ellie stormed out of Umbridge's office, slamming the door closed behind her and gripping the railing of the balcony so hard, her knuckles turned white.

She didn't even notice Fred standing there until she heard his voice out loud.

"El… what did she show you?"

Heavy, wet, grey eyes met warm, concerned brown ones, and Ellie whispered in a voice colder than she had ever heard herself speak before, "Him."

Nice long chapter for my fine friends! That Umbridge really is a cruel woman, isn't she? Whatever progress Ellie was making on the Cedric front is sure to be hindered by the Umbridge torture, right? Unless, perhaps, she can find a way around it? Stay tuned to find out, and don't forget to leave your thoughts in the reviews!