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The next day, my first class was Transfiguration. Although I wasn't good at the subject by any means, it was somehow a relief to have Professor McGonagall standing there in all her strict glory, teaching us immeasurably complicated things. It was a wonder I'd made it into NEWT Transfiguration at all—the E on my report card had been a miracle.

I had a table with Selene and Luna Lovegood, the other two Ravenclaws in the class. Rhiannon hadn't made it in. For her, the P in Transfiguration had been a good mark.

"What do you think is up with the Carrows?" Selene whispered to me as we tried rigorously to turn our teacups into rats.

"Dunno," I whispered back. "They're Death Eaters, aren't they?"

"Yeah," said Selene, looking uneasy. "They were in the news the other day. Amycus, the bloke, he sent werewolves to rip up a whole Muggle neighborhood."

I shivered. "Bloody hell. Literally bloody hell for the Muggles, I suppose."

"Right," nodded Selene nervously. She turned to Luna. "D'you know where Harry Potter is?"

"No," Luna said simply, waving her wand. The teacup sprouted whiskers, but didn't do much else. "And I couldn't tell you if I knew. I don't think the Ministry is too pleased with Harry Potter right now, to tell you the truth."

"Got that right," Selene said fervently.

"Having fun?" came a cold voice from behind us. Slowly, I looked up to find Professor McGonagall's angry face. "As far as I can tell, Miss Lovegood is the only one of you three who's yet tried to perform the assigned duty. As for you two, Miss Bryce, Miss Watson—detention." The moment she said the word, her face went white with fear. "I meant… not detention, girls, but-"

"Hold on just a moment," came an oozing voice from the doorway. Slowly, Professor McGonagall turned around, as did the whole class. Amycus Carrow stood there, ugly as hell, with a wand in his hand. "I happened to be passing by looking for a… demonstration for my seventh years, Minerva, and I think detention is perfectly appropriate for these two miscreants." He paused. "I would be glad to take them to my classroom."

"I don't think that will be quite necessary, Amycus," Professor McGonagall tried to say commandingly. Her face was the color of parchment, and she looked very old all of a sudden.

"But you ain't being paid to think, are you?" said Carrow, baring yellow lumps that were probably teeth in a smile. "You'd better come with me, Miss Bryce, Miss Watson."

"I'll go too," Luna said clearly. "I was talking in class too. I deserve punishment."

"Don't be stupid, Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonagall said hurriedly and firmly. "You've done nothing wrong. You needn't go with Professor Carrow." She said the word Professor like it was a bad taste in her mouth.

"For now," Carrow said, grinning again, and left. Hesitantly, Selene and I followed him.

My hand found hers as our footsteps echoed down the corridor, and she squeezed it tightly. We were bright enough not to talk to each other. A demonstration was what we were to be, whatever that meant, and talking would probably make it worse.

Carrow led us to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which I found ominous. It was filled with seventh years from all the houses. I spotted Draco Malfoy, who rumor said had been up the tower the night Professor Dumbledore died, and those two thugs he kept around, Gregory Goyle and… something… Crabbe. God only knew how they'd even passed their OWLs.

"Well, well, boys and girls," Carrow said, grinning, "I've got a treat for you all. These sixth years," he indicated Selene and me, "talked out of turn. What should be their punishment? Abbot?"

A pink-faced Hufflepuff girl muttered something so quietly that I couldn't hear it. Carrow narrowed his eyes. "What was that? Louder."

"Cruciatus," said Abbot, looking close to tears. A sick feeling grew in my stomach. She was joking, surely. For talking out of turn, the Cruciatus Curse? It couldn't be. That just wouldn't be fair.

"Which of them do you think should have a turn first, Longbottom?" said Carrow in a sickly sweet voice.

A tall, round-faced Gryffindor looked positively paralyzed, then his hands clenched into fists. "I don't think either should."

I had a sudden, deep affection for Longbottom. Carrow glared. "I don't think either should, sir."

"Good, then we're in agreement," Longbottom said, then looked shocked that the words had come out of his mouth. Carrow growled and flicked his want. A deep gash appeared on Neville's forehead, and he staggered backward.

"Detention, Longbottom," Carrow snarled. "Here. After classes. Then you can learn the meaning of manners."

I realized that Selene had gone very pale, and that the sound of my own heartbeat was becoming louder than all other sounds. Carrow glanced at us. "If no one will step up, I'll do it myself," he said, sounding irritated. "Crucio!"

It was as if someone was peeling back my skin, one layer at a time, and setting fire to each layer as it was peeled off. My flesh was on fire, by bones were being squeezed in vises, my head was exploding… I desperately prayed for release, death, anything but the pain, the pain, the pain, the pain! the pain!

And then it was over.

I lay on some hard surface, which it took me some while to realize was the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom floor. Selene was bending over me, whispering frantically in my ear, "Callie? Can you hear me? Are you there? Please, Callie…" Carrow was laughing.

It took an enormous amount of energy for me to sit up. The echo of the unimaginable pain from the Cruciatus Curse was still ringing in my bones, as was the memory of Carrow's laughter. Selene looked relieved, and asked me quietly, "Are you all right?'

"Possibly," I whispered back, struggling to my feet. Draco Malfoy and his minions looked pleased. Longbottom and Abbot looked horrified.

"Goyle, perhaps you'd like to try next?" Carrow asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can return to class, Miss Watson."

I glanced at Selene. It was surely her turn now. Could I leave her here to be tortured? She widened her eyes at me and looked pointedly at the door. The message was clear: Go! I ran.

Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts any more, I realized as her screams echoed down the corridor behind me. It wasn't home.

Rhiannon was horrified by what Selene and I told her at lunch hours later. "Oh, Callie," she said, sounding as if her heart was broken. "I'm so sorry."

"You'd better be," I snapped. "It's your lot that got us in this mess, your damned parents and their Death Eater friends…"

Rhiannon jerked back, a look of utter shock on her face. I slumped. It wasn't Rhiannon's fault she'd been brought up to hate Muggles. She couldn't help it, just like I couldn't help having a Muggle dad. Thinking of my dad only deepened my sadness, and I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Rhi," I said. "I'm all wound up. It's not your fault we were Crucioed, you didn't bring the Carrows here."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," moaned Rhiannon, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. We were on the grounds, sitting under a tree by the lake in the blazing heat of very late summer. "I wanted the new order, I wanted blood to be pure here, but I didn't want you two to get hurt. I never wanted that."

"We know, Rhi," Selene said kindly, patting her knee. "We know."

But it only got worse.

I had my first Muggle Studies class the next day, praying desperately to whatever was up there that Professor Burbage was teaching. I'd always quite liked Professor Burbage. She was nice and got along with the students, accepting us as real people instead of machines you could feed lectures into and expect finished essays to spew out the other end. And she knew a lot about Muggles. She told us about machinery and odd Muggle things, but also about real people, people with ice cream shops and children and hopes and fears. It was her class that helped me to realize people were people, whatever they believed or could do.

The Carrow woman's class was decidedly different.

When I walked in the door, I was surprised to see all the Ravenclaws in my year sitting in desks, looking bored. I chose a seat next to Rhiannon, who normally took Runes, and hissed, "What the hell's going on?"

"They said it's compulsory now," Rhiannon whispered back. "Muggle Studies. Now shut up, she's already sent Colin Creevey to the hospital wing for talking out of turn."

Glancing around, I saw that we were indeed having this class with the Gryffindors. Colin Creevey was missing—probably in the hospital wing as Rhiannon had said—but I did spot Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter's old girlfriend.

The lesson began, and it was everything I had feared it would be. Muggles were dirty, according to the Carrow woman. Associating with them made you a blood traitor. Marrying one made you filth. Any witch or wizard who was the child of even one Muggle had polluted blood. The best thing to do for nonmagical people would be to put them down, like animals.

It shook my heart that she was feeding this tripe to everyone in the school, including innocent first years that didn't know better. I hated her at that moment, hated her more than I'd hated anyone before. It was like my second year, when dementors had swooped around the grounds, sucking happiness out of me whenever I got too near. Automatically, I fumbled in my book bag for my secret stash of chocolates, popping one in my mouth when the Carrow woman wasn't looking. It didn't work. It wasn't despair that made me feel sick and unhappy; it was anger at injustice, and frustration that I could do nothing about it.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Ginny Weasley. Her voice was calm, but I could see her hands clenched in tight fists below her desk. "I'd just like to know… when you talk about putting down Muggles, you're talking about monsters?"

"Exactly, Miss Weasley," the Carrow woman said warily. My gaze flicked from one to the other. What was Ginny trying to do here?

"Can we put down you?" Ginny asked innocently. A flash of light, and she was on the ground with a yell of pain.

"Miss Watson, kindly accompany Miss Weasley to the hospital wing," the Carrow woman growled. "She needs to learn respect." Shaken, I helped Ginny up. Her hand was on her cheek, and her eyes were full of fire.

"It's not right, what they're doing to us," I said quietly once we were out in the corridor.

"Too right it isn't," Ginny said bitterly. She took her hand away from her cheek, and I saw it was sticky with blood. "If only Harry were here."

"If only Harry were here," I echoed her sadly. "Have the Ministry got him, d'you know?"

Ginny gave a laugh. "Those Voldemort-run idiots?" I winced at the name. "Sorry," Ginny apologized, "but they couldn't find a Dementor in a field of sunshine and butterflies." She grinned, a fierce, angry grin. "He's on the run." The grin disappeared, but the pure fire in her expression was still plain. "Harry's our only hope… Calpurnia, isn't it?"

"Call me Callie," I said.

We'd arrived at the hospital wing. Ginny dug something out of her pocket and pressed it into my hand… a gold Galleon. "Keep this safe, Callie," she said, looking intently into my eyes. "Don't tell anyone you've got it. Trust me."

And she was gone, leaving me armed with the only weapon better than chocolate: hope.