Wesley faced the wooden door, biting her lip and trying hard not to run away. As she stood there, left hand securely resting over her hip holster, Wesley was reminded of last year and the Saloon; how she had horribly failed.

BUT THIS YEAR WOULD BE DIFFERENT.

Because Wesley had come prepared.

After some serious reading up on Cornish Pixies, Wesley had decided the Locomotor Mortis spell would have no affect, seeing as pixie’s could fly and where not dependent on their legs. So, she assumed that her only reliable curse would be Petrificus Totalus and had practiced it almost obsessively. The Hufflepuff had also run through drawing her wand, and, the part she was most proud of, borrowed a set of earmuffs from a fellow badger.

Ears feeling especially warm, Wesley turned the door knob with her shaking, sweaty hand.

The door closed with a bang, causing Wesley to jump. Looking around her surroundings, she took in the large, empty cage, and jumbled mess of furniture and objects.

Something seemed off, and it wasn’t just the fact she couldn’t hear anything under her furry apparel. It was more like- the pixies where missing.

Taking a few tentative steps, Wesley began to search, starting to become even more flustered after peeking behind chairs and under tables. Feeling like she was going to cry –she had been determined to do it right this time- Wesley opened her mouth, high voice calling, “Helloo-OH!”

Her call ended in a harsh upward note as she felt her ear-muffs being tugged off; the room filling with high-pitched babble.

Letting out a small yelp of victory, Wesley turned her head upward while simultaneously drawing her wand. There they where! Clustered near the ceiling, the electric-blue pixies squabbled, looking at the fuzzy black ear-muffs with confusion, probably wondering why they weren’t attached to the now grinning Hufflepuff.

Taking advantage of the situation, Wesley quickly jabbed her wooden wand at the nearest pixy, yelling, “Petrificus Totalus!”

The flying creature dropped like a rock, landing with a solid smack. Stepping back, the 12-year-old was stunned by the shear mass of it. The Cornish Pixie was practically the same size as she was!

Wondering at its largeness, Wesley was caught off guard by a flying book that hit her in the side of the head. “Oh!” she screamed, joining her dropped pixie on the ground.

As a lamp went sailing by and crashed into the wall the second year realized she was in trouble. Scrambling under a table, Wesley peered over the top of it, ducking as a bottle of ink went soaring straight at her. It appeared that the pixie’s had realized picking her up by the ears probably wasn’t going to work, and they had turn to throwing objects. Taking a deep breath, Wesley popped up, randomly directing the little d and sending an Expelliarmus in whatever direction she was facing. The spell worked, causing one of the pixies to loose a chair. Realizing that this was her chance, Wesley finished it off with another Petrificus Totalus.

In the following minutes…or hours, the girl managed to take out the remaining pixies. By the end of the trial her voice was hoarse, and she had a massive headache from being smacked in the head too many times.

Shakily crawling out of her hiding spot, Wesley surveyed the motionless pixies, immediately feeling overwhelmed with guilt. This wasn’t like last time. This wasn’t card board cut-outs. These where real creatures and she had hurt them. Guilt mixed with confusion. She had done it. She had finished the task, just like she was supposed to. She had done everything right. But where was the feeling of joy? The feeling of success? It wasn’t anywhere. It was gone. It had only existed in the anticipation, and now, it was as if it had never been.

Maybe it was the headache, maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was the hollow feeling deep inside, or perhaps it was all three, but whatever it was, Wesley couldn’t stop from crying. Snot dribbling down her nose, she began to slowly drag the pixies towards their cage, stopping periodically for breaks and breathing heavily from over-exertion.

At last, pixies lying haphazardly in their huge cage, Wesley locked the door, and slumped to the ground, hoarsely whispering, “Finite.”

The Cornish Pixies came to life, standing up and angrily hitting the walls of their cage. Their high pitched voices seemed to accuse her angrily.

“S-sorry!” Wesley pleaded, small hand moving to unlock the cage. “I-i’m sorry! I r-really am!” Hand over the latch, just about to open the door, she stopped, realization hitting her. Certainly Professor Lawson would return them to their home. They would be free. He was a nice man; he had sat with her and Jake at the Camp Out last year. She trusted the DADA professor. Knowing this was the truth, Wesley pulled back her hand.

“It’ll be all right. I promise,” she told them before leaving, “You’ll be okay. It’s all over.”