In a woods, with trees withered by the absence of summer’s warmth, a man stumbled out of the air and sprawled across the ground. He lay there for a moment before sitting up and spitting out the dirt in his mouth. ‘Out of practice,’ Cedric thought as he stared up at the barren tree branches that grasped at each other with skeletal fingers.
As he looked upward at the grey sky, a different scene entered into his mind. In a dense fog, he wandered beneath low hanging branches that scratched at his head. He would come across grey tree trunks, but he could never climb them to find shelter in their branches. They only scraped at his head and made it itch, and he would scratch . . . scratch . . . scratch . . .
With a shudder, he turned his head away from the sky and stared at the carpet of brown leaves. ‘Get moving,’ Cedric told himself as he stood up and pulled the coat closer to his body. Now, it didn’t seem to matter much that the old coat smelled of moth balls.
As he came to the crest of a hill, Cedric saw the familiar cottage in the glen below. The house blended with the brown, yellow, and gray surroundings so well it seemed to have grown out of the ground like any of the trees. ‘I forgot what it looked like in autumn because I was always at school,’ Cedric realized as he rubbed his sweaty palms against the coat.
He descended the slope and stopped behind a large oak at the edge of the tree line. Across the green lawn, speckled with fallen leaves, stood the house, and even though it was only several paces away, Cedric could not bring himself to cross the distance. He eyed the squat, stone chimney that jutted out of the thatched roof. ‘It looks quiet.’ Cedric stared at the dark windows and smokeless chimney. ‘If mum were there, she would be cooking,’ Cedric told himself, but he remained hidden behind the tree trunk.
After several minutes of watching the house, he stepped out from behind his shelter. As he shuffled across the grass, the leaves crunching under his feet, he couldn’t ignore the little, nagging voice that said, ‘Terrible idea. What are you doing here? You can’t explain this one. Don’t bother trying.’
Before going to the door, Cedric tried to peer through the living room window. ‘I can’t see anything because the curtains are drawn.’ Cedric resisted the urge to press his face against the glass to get a better view.
Turning away from the window, Cedric approached the door and raised his hand to knock. He tapped lightly on the wood, and the sound seemed to echo through the entire forest, so he stopped and waited. When only the scraping of the branches in the wind answered him, he pounded his fist against the door.
‘No one really is home.’ Cedric’s eyebrows shot up at the thought. ‘Did I get lucky? I’m not even sure.’ He turned the knob, but it didn’t budge. ‘I guess that would be too much to hope for,’ Cedric thought as he turned away from the door and began to kick up stray leaves.
As he paced across the lawn, an idea made him snap his head back to the door.
‘I wonder . . .’
Cedric strode back over to the door and reached underneath a stone in the wall. As he began to wiggle it out of place, his mind jumped back several years.
Summer still blanketed the forest in an emerald dress, and just thinking of the warm air beneath the cool shade of the trees allowed him to forget the biting autumn chill. “A friend at Gringotts told me how to fix a lock like they do with some of their vaults,” Cedric had told his dad as he shut the back door behind both of them.
“Planning on storing a lot of gold in the house?” his father teased as Cedric picked a safe distance from the door.
“No, I’m starting my own bank,” Cedric joked as he aimed his want at the door. “Alohomora! Incendio! Confrigo!”
Explosions and fire shot out around the door, but the door stood firm. “I didn’t know you wanted to destroy the house,” his dad snapped, but Cedric only laughed and pointed to the door.
“It works. You can’t open it with magic,” Cedric had told his dad, who, despite trying to be angry, had a grin on his face.
“Then how are we supposed to get into the house?” his dad asked.
“With a key, of course,” Cedric mouthed the words he said ages ago as his fingers groped behind the brick. When he touched the tiny, metal object, he laughed with relief, but hearing his voice killed the sound in his throat.
The key slid into its spot, and after a turn, the tumblers gave. When Cedric tried the knob again, the door swung open with a light shove. After replacing the key, he paused on the edge of the doormat and wiped his feet before stepping into the dark, silent house. He kept the door from making a sound when it locked. He took his coat off, but decided not to hang it up on the coat rack.
He kept the shoes on, too, even though they clunked across the floorboards. Glancing into the living room, Cedric noticed the same photographs on the mantel and on the coffee table. He went over and picked up the picture of his dad and him from the Quidditch World Cup. When he tasted blood, he realized he had been gnawing on his lower lip. He set the picture down to wipe his mouth. ‘I hope this cracked, bleeding lip business stops sooner than later,’ Cedric thought as he turned to go into the kitchen and rinse out his mouth.
Clunking across the floor, Cedric moved with less caution in the familiar environment. ‘Not much has changed,’ Cedric thought as grabbed a glass of water. With the metallic taste of blood gone from his mouth, he looked around the kitchen and noticed dishes stacked up in the sink and on the counter.
‘Mum hasn’t cleaned in a while,’ Cedric thought as he leaned down over the kettle sitting in the cold fireplace. He wrinkled his nose when he smelled the cold, rotting stew sitting in it. ‘Maybe . . . why . . . I’ve never seen mum let the place get this messy,’ Cedric realized as he finished the glass and added it to the pile in the sink.
He frowned and pulled his hands down his face. ‘Right, I need to shave,’ Cedric remembered as he touched the scraggly beard. He made his way up stairs, and the odour of soap greeted him in the bathroom. He found the razor and scissors easily enough, and then, he looked up into the mirror.
Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, Cedric chopped off all hair below his ears before running a comb through it. Then, he slowly began to shave over the unfamiliar facial features. With each slow stroke, more of the shaving cream disappeared to reveal the freckled, pasty white skin underneath. When he was done shaving, Cedric went back and trimmed the edges of the fine, flaxen hair until it suited him.
After doing his best to clean up the mess, Cedric looked at himself in the mirror again. The stranger’s face frowned in union with him. ‘I wonder how old this person is, or is it how old I am?’ he asked himself as he ran his fingers down a face that seemed too long and too thin. The grey-blue eyes mirrored the doubts in Cedric’s mind. ‘I might be thirty? I hope I didn’t come back too much older.’
‘Everything about this body seems too gangly and bony.’ Cedric ran his hands over the narrow bridge of his nose and down to his lips. ‘Where did these come from? I’ve never seen scars like this. Cedric pulled down his lower lip and traced a scar from the gum line to the outer lip. Inserting a finger into his mouth, he felt thin lines covering the tongue, the cheeks, and the roof of the mouth.
‘Did a bundle of razors get pulled out of his mouth?’ Cedric wondered as he wiped the blood off his lip when one of the scabs broke and bled. After the infatuation with the scars passed, Cedric left the bathroom and went back down the hallway. He paused at one of the doors on his left and gingerly fingered the doorknob.
‘I wonder if they changed my room. Is everything in boxes? Is it another guest bedroom? No, I don’t think they would “ ’
The door opened downstairs, and everything inside of Cedric froze. When the door shut, he realized he was holding his breath. His heart hammered against his rib cage and began to climb into his throat. He listened to the footfalls as they went from the front entranceway into the kitchen.
‘Terrible idea. Good plan. Time to explain this,’ the little voice in his head now dominated his thoughts. ‘Get out. Get out. Get out!
Cedric listened to the noise in the kitchen, and he slid his feet out of the clunky shoes so he could sneak down the stairs. ‘I can get to the backdoor if they’re in the kitchen.’ On the bottom step, Cedric froze as he thought, ‘My mum or dad is probably in the kitchen.’
The nagging voice screamed for him to run, but the pulling in his gut stopped him from slipping out the backdoor. ‘Could they know me . . . anyway?’ Cedric wondered as he wiped his sweaty palms on the jacket and ignored the panicked voice telling him to run while he still could.
He crept down the stairs and back into the living room. With his heart pounding in his throat, Cedric rounded the corner into the kitchen. His father was hunched down by the fire place cleaning the kettle.
Cedric couldn’t think of anything to say.
His father turned around before Cedric could react. For a moment, both of them stared wordlessly at each other.
“What the “”
Amos’s face went from shock to rage and kept contorting between the two. “You! Get “”
Cedric found the ability to turn and sprint out the back door. He heard footsteps behind him, but he forced himself to the Apparation boarder. As he stood there, gasping in ragged breaths, Cedric thought of where he needed to go.
‘Someplace safe . . . come on . . . where no wizard knows me . . .’
With a crack, Cedric left the forest and found himself stumbling across pavement. He steadied himself and stared up at the sandstone building.
‘A church? I’ve only been to one in my entire life . . .’
It had been the only church he ever went inside, and the trip was his mum’s idea. “It’s a lovely piece of Muggle work. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how they build such things! I grew up around here, in Carlisle, Cedric,” she told him as she took his hand. He thought he might have been seven.
“Muggles need religion because they don’t know any better,” his father grumbled.
“I know, I know, but it’s still a lovely place,” his mother had replied.
‘I just always assumed Muggles were superstitious to believe in some god that sounds like nothing more than a wizard with an ego,’ Cedric thought as he strode up the steps and pushed the door open. The silence of the large stones and heaven reaching arches pressed upon him as he shut the door and shuffled down an aisle. ‘Mum always tolerated dad and I joking about Muggle superstition . . . I guess she never took me to another church because she realized I already agreed with dad.
As he let his fingers slide over the stone pillars, Cedric made his way into the main area of the cathedral. He craned his neck and looked up at the replication of what seemed to be an unmoving sky. The royal blue ceiling seemed like the bright, noonday sky bedazzled with a thousand golden stars.
“Our tour hours are going to be over soon.”
Cedric snapped his head down to stare at the petit Muggle woman. “Uh, I’m sorry,” Cedric muttered and rubbed his throat.
“Can I help you with something? Did you lose the tour group?” she asked, and Cedric shook his head.
“My mum, she used to live around here. I wanted to see the place again.”
‘It’s like hearing someone else talk for me,’ Cedric thought as he rubbed his throat again, and the woman seemed to have picked up on how uncomfortable he was.
“That’s nice, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to come back tomorrow.”
“Do you believe in God? A god?”
The rapid question seemed to shock the woman a little, but it stunned Cedric even more. The woman composed herself and replied, “I do. I grew up in the Anglican church, and I believe in God and his son, Jesus.”
Cedric shrugged. ‘Hmm, didn’t see either of them.’ “What, what do you believe happens after you die?” Cedric asked the woman, who gnawed on her lower lip for a moment.
“I think you might want to talk to a priest about “”
“No, I want to ask you. I . . . I, uh, don’t care if you don’t consider yourself an expert on the subject.”
“I believe, if you believe in Jesus and live a good life, you will go to heaven,” the woman said with a slight blush on her cheek.
“If you live a good life?” Cedric asked. “What if you just don’t . . . what if your life wasn’t good enough? What happens?”
“I . . . some people believe in purgatory, but some people believe you go to hell,” the woman replied softly and shuffled her feet. “Listen, I still think you should go “”
Cedric saw the man in red robes turn a corner and point his wand. He ducked and the spell hit the Muggle woman.
Before he could react, he heard a shooting breeze behind his head. The next moment, he collapsed on the cold stones.