Chapter Text
6th November 1993
Willow Lily Potter sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts, racing towards the Hospital Wing where her younger brother, Harry, had been taken after his nasty fall during the Quidditch match. Earlier, she would have joined Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Gryffindor team, but she wanted to speak to the professors about how the dementors reached the pitch. Plus, she had gone with Madam Hooch to retrieve Harry's broom—if you could even call it that.
Willow bit her lip, her heart heavy as her thoughts drifted to the splintered pieces of wood resting at the bottom of her bag. Flying meant everything to Harry. It was when he was happiest, his smile lighting up the field as he raced to catch the Snitch. How would she tell him that his beloved Nimbus 2000 had been reduced to a pile of toothpicks, all because the Whomping Willow was a bit too sensitive? And how were they going to tackle the dementors? They affected her as much as Harry, freezing their bodies and blanking their minds. For her, they brought her back to that night—the one she never wanted to remember.
So lost in thought, Willow didn't notice someone rounding the corner until it was too late.
SLAM!
Willow collided with the person, the force of the impact sending them both sprawling to the ground.
"Merlin, are you alright, Cedric?" came a worried voice above her.
Startled, she looked down, seeing Cedric Diggory, still in his Quidditch robes, groaning. It took a moment for her brain to register that she was straddled on top of him. She scrambled to get off, but her hand slipped on his damp robes, and her elbow landed straight into his gut. Cedric yelped, his body lurching in pain.
"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" Willow's eyes widened, her cheeks heating up with embarrassment as she fervently apologised to Cedric, curled up in renewed agony. At last, she managed to pull herself to her feet, and his friend—Ian Wilson, if she remembered right—helped Cedric up, his face caught between concern and mild amusement.
"I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!" Willow continued, guilt gnawing at her as she picked up Cedric's broom from the floor. "I was rushing to see Harry in the Hospital Wing, and I didn't see you coming."
She stood up, glancing at Cedric, who was still wincing and rubbing his stomach.
"Are you hurt? Did I break anything?" Willow asked, giving him a concerned once-over.
"It's alright, I'm good. All bones intact and accounted for," Cedric reassured her with a kind smile, holding out his hand. She handed him his broom, still eyeing him with concern.
"You sure? I practically tackled you to the ground and elbowed you in the stomach—I must've hurt something."
Cedric chuckled good-naturedly. "Nah, maybe a bruise or two, but nothing serious. I wouldn't be much of a Quidditch player if I couldn't take a few knocks. Besides, I have bruise paste back in my dorm; should clear up in no time."
She frowned, still doubtful. "If you're absolutely sure…"
"You're quite the worrier, aren't you?" He grinned, amusement dancing in his grey eyes.
Willow shrugged as she retrieved her bag from the floor. Worry was the default state of mind when you were Harry Potter's sister.
"We just came from the Hospital Wing to see Harry. I wanted to apologise for not getting the match overturned."
Willow's frown softened at his words when she caught the genuine regret in Cedric's expression.
"You didn't have to do that, Cedric. You caught the Snitch fair and square. Even Wood admitted it," Willow insisted firmly.
"Where is Oliver, by the way? I didn't see him with the rest of the Gryffindor team."
She bit her lip, remembering the hollow look in Wood's eyes as he asked not to be disturbed before shuffling off to the locker rooms. Fred reckoned he was off to drown himself in the showers.
"Er, he's on his way here. Just made a quick stop at the locker rooms," Willow replied, avoiding Cedric's gaze.
Cedric hummed, thoughtful, but when he spoke again, he caught her off-guard. "And…how about you? Are you feeling any better?"
Willow looked up, startled to find genuine concern in his expression.
"What?" She asked, tilting her head in surprise.
"I saw you at the stands after I realised the dementors had come to the pitch and Harry had fallen from his broom. You looked frozen and were shaking in your seat. I just wanted to know if you're feeling better now."
She blinked in surprise. She hadn't thought anyone—least of all the Hufflepuff Heartthrob himself, a nickname the girls in Hogwarts had coined—would notice her in the middle of a massive thunderstorm on the pitch. The horde of dementors hadn't been close enough for her to black out again, but she could still feel their dreadful presence. Her insides had gone clammy, and she began trembling violently. Only Hermione had noticed and quickly guided her away from the stands, far from the dementors.
"Oh, I'm feeling better now. Really," Willow added, seeing the dubious look on Cedric's face. "I'm still a little shaken, but I'll be alright."
Cedric frowned, then gestured to Ian for his bag. He rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a bar of chocolate similar to the one Professor Lupin had handed out on the train. He extended it toward her, signalling for her to take it.
"No, it's alright, Cedric. I'm fine." Despite her protests, he shoved it into her hands insistently.
"The chocolate will help, trust me. And besides, would you really turn down this gift of inter-house friendship, Willow Potter?" Cedric gasped, clutching his chest in mock hurt.
Willow rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but a smile tugged at her lips. She wrapped her hands around the chocolate, drawing it close to her chest.
"Thank you, Cedric," she said sincerely, her gratitude evident in her expression.
"Oh, no problem. I always have chocolate in my bag, anyway. It's one of my favourites." Cedric's eyes shifted away, and his hands moved to tug at his collar. Willow noticed a blush creeping onto his cheeks and ears, and she felt her own face heat up to match his unexpected shyness. Ian, however, was relishing the situation far too much, a full-blown grin stretching across his face as he watched his uncharacteristically sheepish friend.
"Well, I should get going to see Harry. Thanks again for the chocolate. See you around, Cedric, Ian." Willow bid them farewell and sprinted to the Hospital Wing, leaving the two Hufflepuffs behind.
༻⸻⸻⸻⸻༺
Cedric's eyes followed Willow as she disappeared down the corridor. Suddenly, he felt an elbow nudge his side and turned to see his grinning best mate.
"Alright, Cedric?" Ian asked, feigning innocence. "Don't tell me you've fallen for the Potter girl after literally falling for her."
Cedric's hand instinctively reached out to swat Ian on the head, but Ian ducked away quickly, howling with laughter.
"Sod off," Cedric grumbled, shouldering his broomstick as he made his way toward the Hufflepuff Team locker rooms.
Ian trailed behind him, his laughter tapering to small chuckles. "Never thought I'd see you acting shy over a girl, Ced. And sharing your favourite chocolate, too! I've been your best mate since we were in diapers, and you've never shared your chocolate with me," he teased.
"You don't even like chocolate, you wanker. Besides, she needed something to calm her nerves," Cedric muttered, avoiding Ian's knowing gaze.
"Oh, of course. Just the Hufflepuff Heartthrob being his gracious self. What did you call it again? A gift of inter-house friendship'?" Ian couldn't resist goading him further.
Cedric paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes at Ian, who was grinning much too gleefully for his liking.
"You better start running, Wilson," Cedric warned, a grim smile creeping on his face before taking off after Ian.
Ian's laughter echoed through the empty corridors as Cedric chased after him, determined to smack that stupid grin off his face.
༻⸻⸻⸻⸻༺
7th November 1993
"Oh, for the love of—!" Willow barely managed to stop an expletive as she watched the poor excuse for her creation fall apart. Again.
She groaned and dropped her head to the table with a resounding thud that echoed loudly in her little corner of the library. Wincing—not from the pain, but from the noise she'd just made—she pried her forehead from the surface and scanned her surroundings, half-expecting Madam Pince to swoop in and scold her for disturbing the sacred peace of her beloved library.
Once Willow realised she was in the clear, she continued her lament, folding her arms across the table to rest her chin on them while glaring at the pile of splintered wood before her.
Harry hadn't taken the news of the Whomping Willow breaking his Nimbus 2000 very well. He was so heartbroken when she produced the remnants of his broom in the Hospital Wing, she felt compelled to do something. As she watched Harry stop Madam Pomfrey from throwing away his shattered broom, an idea popped into her head. After much coaxing and reassuring him that she wouldn't discard the last bits of his Nimbus 2000, she sped off to the library with hopes of manually recreating a miniature Nimbus 2000 using the remaining materials. However, that was easier said than done.
"You will not defeat me," she hissed at her failed creation, wincing at the splinters and cuts in her aching fingers. "It might take me all day, but make no mistake—I will get you to become what I want."
"What in Helga's name did that pile of twigs ever do to you?" An amused voice from behind startled her from her staring match.
She swivelled in her chair and found Cedric Diggory leaning against a nearby bookshelf, an amused smile on his face as he carried a hefty-looking book.
"Cedric!" she squeaked, her cheeks heating up with mortification at being caught at her wit's end, growling at inanimate objects.
Strike me down. Right here, right now.
Clearing her throat, she tried her best to act normally. "Hullo, Cedric. What are you doing here?"
He arched his brow and simply lifted the book in his arms in place of a reply. Willow wanted to smack her forehead.
"Ah, right. Of course," she mumbled, the barely receding blush returning with full force. "For an essay?"
"Mmhm," Cedric replied, joining her at the table. "It's for Potions, and we all know how brutal Professor Snape can be, so I want to make sure I've covered everything about the Draught of Peace."
Willow could relate. Snape was an utter beast when it came to marking his Potions essays. He would find any excuse to mark his students down, even something as petty as missing a single punctuation mark.
"You look better," he remarked, peering at her with relief painting his features.
"I feel much better," she assured him. "The chocolate you gave me was delicious, and it really helped. Thanks again for that."
Cedric returned her smile gently, waving away her thanks. "It was no bother. I'm just happy it helped."
He nudged his chin toward the pieces of wood and twigs on the table. "But you never did answer my question. What did that pile of twigs ever do to you?"
"They refuse to cooperate with me," Willow scowled.
He raised a questioning brow, clearly wanting more explanation.
She sighed despondently, slumping in her chair. "These are what's left of Harry's broom. After he fell, the broom just kept flying—and then crashed straight into Whomping Willow."
Cedric winced as he pictured the monstrous tree in action. "Oh, Willow, I'm so sorry. Harry must have been devastated."
"He was," she replied, a wave of sadness flickering in her eyes. "It was his first broom, you know? It meant a lot to him. I wanted to make something out of it so he could keep it with him. I thought about making a miniature version of his Nimbus 2000."
She gestured to some essential woodworking tools, glue and paint scattered across the table. "I got all these supplies from Hagrid, but it is proving much harder than I thought."
Cedric studied the items on the table thoughtfully. "Well, you have enough material here to make it. But you know, it would be a lot easier if you used a few spells. I know a couple if you'd like."
She shook her head. "Thank you, but I wanted to do it by hand. It might be because of how I was raised a Muggle, but there's something different when you use your two hands to build something." She paused, realising how ridiculous she must sound. "Sorry, that sounds a bit silly now that I hear it aloud. Especially when I am struggling so much."
"No, Willow," Cedric countered with an earnest smile and gentle eyes that, strangely, had her heart skipping a beat. "It does not sound silly at all. I dabble in woodworking, and it feels much more fulfilling when I do it without magic. So, I understand what you mean."
She felt her cheeks heat up under his kind gaze. She quickly looked away, pressing her hands to her face in a vain attempt to cool down. Cedric picked up one of the pieces and studied it carefully. "I think I see your problem here. The wood isn't smooth enough, so the parts aren't fitting well together."
"Oh, really?" Swallowing her self-consciousness, she leaned closer to examine the piece in his hand.
"You can also trim these bits here," he suggested, pointing to a few rough edges, "so that it would be easier to handle when you begin to glue it together."
Willow nodded, her eyes shifting between his hands and his face as he patiently explained what else she could improve. Without realising it, she had leaned closer to him, bringing his features into clearer focus. She could understand why he was dubbed the Hufflepuff Heartthrob of Hogwarts and why so many girls—Lavender and Parvati, just to name a couple—were always swooning over him. He certainly was handsome, with fair skin contrasting against his dark hair. His face was striking yet inviting, making you want to look twice. And his eyes—a cool shade of grey—were simply mesmerising.
"You know what? Let me help you out," Cedric declared suddenly, snapping Willow out of her daze.
"What?" She blinked, mortified that she'd been blatantly ogling him and hadn't heard a single word he'd said.
Oh, sweet Merlin, why am I acting like one of those fangirls?
Cedric, thankfully oblivious, shrugged off his outer robes and rolled up his sleeves, grabbing one of the jagged wood pieces and a file. "I've done woodworking before, and having another set of hands would get this done faster."
"B-but what about your essay?" Willow stammered, glancing at the hefty tome beside him. "I can't trouble you with this."
"The essay isn't due for another week, so I'm all good." He waved off her concerns with a quick smile. "Come on, grab a piece and a file. I'll show you how to smooth the wood properly."
Slightly stunned, she followed his instructions, filing the wood as he demonstrated. Thanks to Cedric's expertise, she made much faster progress with his guidance. Once they filed down all the wood, he carefully dabbed glue on with a tiny toothpick while Willow assembled the parts to form the handle of the miniature broom. They even had enough materials to craft a small stand for the broom to rest on.
Cedric waved his wand, casting a charm to make the glue dry instantly. Together, they painted the handle and stand a sleek brown, covering any visible cracks before casting the charm again. They then attached the tiny footrests, crafted from the last few pieces of wood, and arranged the small twigs into a tail, trimming the ends to make it even. Willow fished a small piece of twine in her bag, tying it neatly to the broom's base, just above the tail. For the finishing touch, she carefully painted the twine and footrest gold and added the words 'Nimbus 2000' in steady strokes on the top of the handle, just like on Harry's original broom.
With one last brush stroke to complete the final '0', she leaned back and admired their work with pride.
"It looks brilliant, Willow," Cedric said warmly, casting the charm one last time to ensure everything was dry. "Harry's going to love it."
"All thanks to you." She beamed. "I honestly couldn't have done it without you. I'd probably still be struggling otherwise."
"Nah, you'd have found a way," he chuckled, his grey eyes twinkling. "But I'm glad I could help."
Willow glanced at her watch and gasped. "I'd better get this to Harry before dinner!" She quickly tossed the tools into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and carefully cradled the miniature broom into her hands.
"See you around, Cedric. Thanks again. I owe you one!" She flashed him a broad smile before hurrying to the Hospital Wing, unaware of Cedric's affectionate smile as he watched her disappear among the bookshelves.
Willow burst into the Hospital Wing, skidding to a stop as Madam Pomfrey shot her a stern look, eyebrows arching as if to remind her about the precious quiet of the infirmary. However, the matron relented with a begrudging wave, allowing her to slip further inside.
Harry was sitting upright in his bed, propped against carefully arranged pillows, though his expression was worlds away. His bedside table was laden with the evidence of visitors she'd missed while busy: a cluster of enormous, cabbage-like yellow flowers (from Hagrid, if she had to hazard a guess) sprouting from a blue vase and stacks of cards and boxes of sweets piled high in a cheerful jumble. But it all seemed to fall short—his gaze was fixed blankly on the far wall, eyes glassy with that familiar look of melancholy.
Her heart twisted at the sight of her brother's dejected expression. She adjusted her grip on the miniature Nimbus hidden behind her back before she cleared her throat. "Harry?"
Harry blinked out of his reverie at the sound of her voice, the hollow cast in his expression easing as he looked over. "Willow. Hey." He smiled at her, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
She flashed him a teasing grin. "Seeing as you're the only one in the Hospital Wing right now, I reckon I've come to visit you." She perched at the end of his bed, feeling the comfort of his chuckle as a faint spark returned to his gaze.
"I have a little present for you," Willow announced, her grin widening as he perked up, eyes trailing to her hands tucked behind her back with open curiosity .
"Ta-da!" Willow declared, pulling the miniature Nimbus 2000 from behind her back with a flourish. Harry's mouth dropped open, eyes widening as he took in the tiny replica, its polished handle and delicately bound twigs capturing every detail of his beloved broom.
He reached out, almost reverently, handling the miniature with such care it tugged at her heart. "Remember the remaining pieces of your Nimbus 2000? Well, I decided to use them to make a miniature of your broom."
"Wait, you made this? From the broken pieces of my broom?" His voice was filled with astonishment, his fingers tracing the delicate gold lettering she'd carefully painted.
"Well, Cedric had to help me out," she admitted sheepishly, wriggling her fingers to show her brother the little cuts dotting her hands. "Turns out I don't have much of a future in making tiny things. But yes, this is made entirely from your broom, from the handle right down to the stand."
Harry looked down at the miniature, his face brightening with wonder, then back up at her, clearly at a loss for words. It was as if he were trying to understand the depth of what the gift meant, how well she'd understood how much he treasured that broom—a piece of home to him since his very first year at Hogwarts. He gingerly placed the miniature at his side before reaching forward to wrap her in a fierce hug.
"Thank you, Willow," he whispered, voice thick with gratitude.
She returned his embrace, patting his back tenderly. "Anything for you, Harry."
He pulled away, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips, a hint of lightness lifting the weary look that had clouded his eyes. Harry cleared a spot on his side table, placing the small Nimbus 2000 there with the utmost care, as if it were just as precious as the original.
"It's a smashing likeness to my old broom," he murmured, his green eyes taking in every detail of the tiny replica. "I can't believe you did all this without magic." His gaze shifted to her, one brow raised in curiosity. "And I didn't know you and Cedric were close."
She shrugged, keeping her tone casual despite the unexpected flutter in her stomach. "We're not, really. But Cedric saw me trying to piece it together by hand and offered to help. Thought he'd be better at it than I was."
He shot her a mischievous smirk. "You do remember you're a witch, right?"
Willow rolled her eyes, absently straightening out the rumpled sheets. "There's just something different about making it with your bare hands, alright? Besides, it turned out rather well, didn't it?"
"Mmm, if you count scarred fingers and what looks more like 'd' instead of a 'b' in 'Nimbus 2000', then yes, you've done a bang-up job."
"What?!" she screeched, jolting Madam Pomfrey from her evening routine inventory check. Willow barely registered the pointed tsk from the nurse as she lunged forward to examine the broom, panic flashing across her face.
Her fingers brushed over the letters, but, much to her relief, she found she'd indeed spelt 'Nimbus 2000' correctly. She glanced up, narrowing her eyes at her younger brother, who wore an all-too-innocent expression.
"Made you look," he grinned cheekily, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.
"If you weren't in the Hospital Wing because you fainted and took a spectacular nosedive from several hundred feet, I'd throttle you, Harry James Potter," she growled, setting the miniature Nimbus 2000 down on the table with a bit too much force.
A shadow passed over his face, his expression turning pensive. Willow instantly regretted her words, cursing herself inwardly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—that was tactless of me."
Harry shook his head vehemently. "No, it's not that. It's just—" He hesitated, biting his bottom lip, visibly struggling over the right words. After a quiet exhale, he finally asked, "Can I tell you something?"
Willow's brow furrowed in concern as she sat beside him again, her eyes searching his. "Of course, you can. You can always tell me anything."
He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "D-during the match, right before the dementors came onto the pitch and I fell from my broom, I saw a huge black dog in one of the stands." His voice dropped to a murmur as though admitting it aloud might make it all the more real.
He lifted his head, and his eyes—the same shade of green as her own eyes—were filled with a haunting fear. "Willow, I think—I think I saw the Grim."
Her heart pounded at his admission, an uneasy chill creeping up her spine. A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn't immediately think of the right words to comfort him. But Harry, clearly unable to keep it bottled up any longer, pressed on, the weight of his fear finally breaking loose.
"And do you remember when the Knight Bus almost ran us over? I saw the same black dog—the Grim."
"Harry—" she began, reaching out to him, but he was too far gone in his worry to stop.
"I've seen the Grim twice now, and every time I've seen it, something life-threatening happens to me right after." He paused, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Willow…I—I'm afraid. I am so, so scared. We know that Black is after me. Just last week, he slashed the Fat Lady's portrait because he couldn't get into the dormitory. What if I saw the Grim, and then Black actually managed to get his clutches on us? What if he hurts you? What if I die? What if—"
"Harry, stop. Stop," Willow cut him off, her hands grasping his shoulders as she forced him to meet her gaze. "You're not going to die."
His expression wavered with doubt. "You don't know that—"
"But I do," she insisted, her tone resolute. Her grip tightened just enough to steady Harry, her own voice unwavering. "Harry, we've been through so much together. We took down a troll. We walked through the Forbidden Forest. A three-headed dog almost mauled us. We defeated a basilisk and saved Ginny. We faced Voldemort and survived. In your case, three times."
Willow gently took his hands, holding his gaze firmly. "If there is anything I do know, Harry, we can get through anything and survive. Nothing—not even the Grim—could stop that."
His shoulders relaxed slightly, the dark tension in his eyes replaced by a flicker of hope, yet something still lingered. "But the dementors…" His voice was barely above a whisper. "What are we going to do about them? I can't go through this again in the next Quidditch match." He looked away, his face etched with unease. "Willow, I finally know who I heard when I blacked out on the train." His voice trembled, quiet as a breath. "I heard mum."
Willow's heart clenched painfully, feeling the weight of his words as if they were hers. She could only listen as he shared the fragile memory.
"She was crying out, begging Voldemort to spare me. To take her instead." Each word fell from him like stones, and Willow could barely control her emotions.
She folded her trembling hands, careful not to let Harry see how much his words affected her. "I heard her too," she whispered, her voice quiet, laced with her own hidden sorrow.
Probably more than you know—more than I'd like to remember.
The horrible memories, long buried, clawed their way to the surface, memories she'd spent years suppressing. She clenched her fists, forcing the past back down. She couldn't let it consume her—not now, not again.
Harry's eyes flickered with sudden realisation. "You do? Willow—"
But before he could continue, she swiftly changed the topic, not wishing to linger on the memories they both were haunted by. "There must be a way to protect ourselves from the dementors," she proposed, her voice steady but her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "Remember Lupin kept them at bay on the train? Maybe he could help us so what happened during the match will never happen again."
She managed a comforting smile, gently reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll find a way together. We've managed worse, haven't we?"
A small smile bloomed on his face, some of the worry lifting from his features, though the shadow of it still lingered. Willow embraced him tightly, patting his back with a reassuring rhythm. Once he couldn't see her face, she let her smile falter, letting the weight of her hidden fears settle in the space between them.
༻⸻⸻⸻⸻༺
10th November 1993
Animagus (pl. Animagi ) refers to a wizard or witch who has mastered the complex and arduous skill of transforming into an animal at will. This process is notoriously challenging, involving intricate steps to be followed precisely. Failure to adhere to any part of this process or deviations from the exact conditions may result in catastrophic and potentially permanent consequences. For instance, a wizard in Mexico once misspoke the incantation by a single syllable, leading to permanent black scales covering his body and his head transformed into that of a dog. To ensure the safety of those attempting to become Animagi, the Ministry of Magic closely monitors all aspiring practitioners, requiring them to register once they have completed the transformation. Firstly—
Willow read the same paragraph for the thousandth time, willing for the information to sink in. But with her thoughts about Harry swirling in her mind like a destructive storm, it was no wonder her Transfiguration essay remained blank even after sitting in the library for the past hour.
Leaning back in her chair, she expelled a heavy sigh. The words Harry shared in the Hospital Wing weighed down her heart. She was by no means a superstitious person, but Harry had a knack for getting himself into perilous situations, which often dragged her, Ron, and Hermione into the fray. Yet Willow had meant what she said then: the Grim had nothing on them. Despite their inherent recklessness, she was certain they could handle whatever challenges lay ahead.
But then there were the dementors.
She shook her head violently, determined not to spiral down that rabbit hole. Clenching her fists tightly, she took deep, steady breaths to calm her racing thoughts. Thankfully, Professor Lupin returned on Monday, and he had been more than willing to teach her and Harry how to repel a dementor. Though he had never gone into specifics, she realised this with a pang of frustration.
Suddenly filled with curiosity—and eager for a distraction—she pushed away from the table and ventured towards the Charms section. She selected a book and thumbed through the pages, searching for anti-dementor spells or defensive charms. She moved on to the next book when nothing jumped out at her. And the next. And the next. Her frustration mounted as she frowned deeply, scanning the sixth book she pulled from the shelves—slightly disturbed by a suspicious stain in the corner of a page—but still, she found nothing of use.
She gnawed on her bottom lip, contemplating asking Madam Pince for help, when a sudden tap on her shoulder from behind startled her. She barely managed to suppress a yelp and wheeled around so abruptly that she lost her balance, smacking her head against the shelves with a dull thud.
She groaned and squeezed her eyes tightly against the pain erupting from the back of her head.
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" Apologies spilt from the person's lips, and Willow felt a gentle hand in her hair, rubbing the sore area delicately. She sighed, the pounding in her head easing considerably under his soothing touch. With a reluctant effort, she pried her eyelids open to find an apologetic Cedric looking down at her, concern and relief mingling in his expression.
"I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Cedric repeated, his grey eyes darting from her eyes to the spot on her head worriedly.
"I'm fine. It's just a small bump," Willow reassured him, a playful smirk creeping onto her lips. "And considering that I did tackle you and cause bodily harm the first time we met, I'd say this isn't as bad."
Cedric chuckled lightly, visibly relieved to see she was indeed alright. He withdrew his hand from her head, the gentleness of his touch lingering in her thoughts longer than she cared to admit.
So," she began chirpily, an internal frown crossing her mind as a sense of disappointment washed over her at the absence of his touch, "is there something you need, Cedric?"
"I've actually been asking you that question for the past five minutes," he replied, picking up the book she had dropped on the floor. "You've been glowering at this book so fiercely, I was almost worried it would erupt into flames."
"I wouldn't go that far," she sniffed, receiving the book with a grateful smile. "Madam Pince would kill me on the spot, and don't even get me started on what Hermione would do to me."
Cedric laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "Nice to know you fear your friend more than the librarian herself."
"Well, you've never seen her with her wand," Willow muttered.
His lips quirked in amusement at her petulant huff. "So, what's troubling you? Trying to find something for Charms?"
"Not exactly," she hedged, her eyes flickering from his chest to his face in uncertainty.
He peered into her eyes, a friendly smile spread across his features. "Come on, tell me. I can probably help you find whatever you are trying to find."
Willow stared at his earnest face for a moment longer before she relented. "I'm looking for a book that explains how to defend yourself from dementors. I thought perhaps there was a charm or spell for it."
"From dementors, you say?"
She winced, partially regretting her decision to open up. Glancing up, she braced herself for more probing or a look of pity. Instead, she found Cedric tapping his chin thoughtfully, his expression turning serious. "It's outside the Hogwarts syllabus, so it wouldn't be in the usual books, but I know just the charm you're looking for."
He moved down the shelves, his pointer finger skimming across the spines of various tomes until he stopped, a triumphant look lighting up his face as he found what he was searching for. He pulled out a thick, dusty volume and flipped to the relevant page. "Here you are," he said.
"The Patronus Charm?" she read the page heading when Cedric passed her the book.
He nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement, reminiscent of Hermione when she was about to share her wealth of knowledge. "It's one of the very few ways to deter dementors. It's one of the most powerful defensive spells a witch or wizard can cast but also one of the most difficult."
"How so?" she questioned, her curiosity deepening further.
"It is based on a happy memory—the happiest memory that you can think of—during the incantation. It may sound simple enough, but that memory must be powerful enough to fuel the spell. If done right, a corporeal form would take shape."
"A corporeal form?"
"A solid form. A Patronus Charm would invoke a guardian—an animal—to protect you. It can sometimes be incorporeal, with no distinct shape or form—just silver wisps from your wand."
Willow scanned through the text, muttering, "Well, that sounds like what Lupin did to repel the dementors back in the Hogwarts Express."
She looked up at the dark-haired Hufflepuff, a thought suddenly occurring. "How did you know about the Patronus Charm? You mentioned it was outside of the syllabus."
He shrugged, his smile turning sheepish. "I honestly like learning about Charms, so I tend to ask Flitwick for recommendations for extra material, and I branch out to other books from there."
She nodded, amazed at his genuine interest in learning more, much like Hermione when Willow thought about it. "Thank you, Cedric." She flashed him a rueful grin. I feel bad. It seems you're always helping me without question, but I've never done anything for you in return."
"I wouldn't say that," he murmured, much too faint for her ears.
"What did you say?" she cocked her head, brows furrowed.
"Nothing," Cedric flashed her a charming grin. "I'm always happy to help. But if you truly want to repay me, I do have a question…"
She sucked in a breath, eyeing him warily. He held her gaze solemnly, his face unreadable, before finally asking, "How is it that you and Harry are in the same year when I'm pretty sure you're not twins?"
Willow blinked once.
Twice.
Thrice.
And then she burst into laughter.