A/N: Whoa. Remember this chick? Yeah, haven't updated since January, partly due to writers' block, partly due to schoolwork, partly due to the fact that I graduated this year, go me! But, yes, I've finally got this chappie done, mostly due to the fact that I'm nannying this summer and the kids don't wake up until 10am so I have about 2 hours of writing time each day,,,,I've also been working more on the larger plot so that it'll all make sense and I can tell you now, I can't WAIT until I get to write about something that was originally the whole entire point of the fic,,,,anywho, same as always, constructive criticism and smileys are very much appreciated!

Summary (for those who have forgotten): Michaela is now pretty much settled in at Hogwarts, just had a fight with Sirius, and received a mysterious note that said, "I'm sorry."

Chapter 12

"Crap!" Michaela's watch unmistakably read 9:36am. She was six minutes late for her weekly meeting with Professor Umbridge and since she had been late during the last week, she couldn't be late today. Much as she would've loved to irk Umbridge, this was not the way to do it, especially since she'd been promised detention the next time she was late.

Moving with superb agility, dodging students in the hallway, she made it to Umbridge's office in good time, even though it mattered little; it was now 9:39am.

"Sorry, sorry!" Michaela said breathlessly. "I, uh, lost track of time and was, um, deterred by all the students in the hallway."

Without turning around from her desk, Umbridge said, "Tut, tut. My dear, I'm sure you'll never lose track of time again as I'll see you in detention for the rest of this week."

Damn! Michaela thought furiously. Well, at least it's already Wednesday. Michaela took a seat.

"But on to more . . . pleasant subjects. What have you been doing in your studies?" she said, and then made a noise that sounded like a squeal rather than a laugh.

Trying to look unfazed, Michaela said, "Oh, it's great! We've finished stoichometry in Chemistry and are starting on how to balance covalent and ionic bonding equations. We—"

"That's quite enough; all I needed to hear about Muggle Chemistry. What I really want to hear about are your marks."

Grades, Michaela translated. "Well, I didn't do so stellar on that math test . . . but no one in the class did! I've got about a 3.7 culm, but you're more than welcome to check my quarter grades . . . but I don't think you'll be able to understand it, you know, the American grading system is much more complicated than the English and it might go over your head."

It certainly looked as though it had gone over Umbridge's head. As for the grading systems in England, Michaela truly didn't care much for them, but that might be just because she had grown up with the American system and preferred what was familiar.

"Yes, well, that will be all. I expect to see you tonight at 8:00 sharp!" The way she carried on, someone would've thought that Michaela and Umbridge were having a girls night out sleepover or something.

Never mind. "I'll be here, bye!" she said, mimicking Umbridge's tone. She couldn't get in trouble for acting like a faculty member, could she? Hearing nothing from Umbridge, she headed out the doorway up to her classroom.

Almost falling asleep halfway through her British literature class, her ears perked up when she heard her name.

"Where is Michaela lately? I don't believe we've had her in class for the last few days, is she sick, Serena?" Mrs. Cornall, her teacher asked.

Serena was one of Michaela's good friends. "I don't know, I—" she cut off as her eyes became glazed over. "Macbeth is one of Shakespeare's most tragic plays," Serena said, as though answering a question.

Remember me! Please! Michaela pleaded silently. But the class went on as if no one had ever mentioned Michaela's name. Come to think of it, everyone in the class had gotten that glazed look over them. Michaela knew that this was good because it would keep her whereabouts hidden, but all the same she longed for them to miss her.

She missed them . . . so terribly, Michaela realized. I'm homesick. After living for nearly two and half months in a place where nobody spoke like her or even did the same kind of schoolwork like her, she felt so cutoff. Nothing was the same and probably never would be again.

Michaela felt like crying. A knock came at her door, a distraction. Distractions were good; they kept feelings from rising up within Michaela. "Come in."

The door opened and Dumbledore came in. "I'm sorry to interrupt you—"

"No, it's fine!" Michaela said, with fake brightness in her voice. "We're just reading 'Macbeth' for the rest of the period, I think," she said, watching the holograms of her old life reading silently.

"Macbeth? I believe I've read that Muggle play. Shakespeare, isn't it?"

"That's right . . . I didn't know you read Muggle books! That's cool!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Unlike some of my fellow wizards, I have found much pleasure in reading Muggle literature . . . it's an interesting perspective."

"Yeah, though I can't say I've read much on Wizard literature," Michaela said sheepishly. "So anyway, what's up?"

"I've heard that you now report to Professor Umbridge about your schoolwork."

"Yeah, unfortunately. Why is she such a close-minded person?"

"I trust you're treating her with all respect due—"

"Of course!" Michaela cut in. Suddenly, all her pent-up frustration rose up. "Not that she's ever treated me with any respect, not that she thinks my schoolwork is worth anything, not that she thinks I'm worth anything, that my friends don't miss me, or that I have a life or—"

"Michaela."

Michaela stopped in mid-sentence. "Dammit, I'm sorry, uncle. It's just . . . during class today, my friends asked for me; they remembered me, but then of course they were made to forget me for security measures, but just for a few seconds they did. Uncle Albus, I miss them. I miss my whole life! Not just mom and dad, but everything! I want to go back where people know me, where people do the same sorts of things that I do, hell, even just to have people who understand American things."

Dumbledore put his arm around her.

"And it's just that: I am a stranger here and it's just hard when one of your daily contacts openly despises you and vice-versa. I shouldn't complain, I know. But I just can't help it sometimes, it seems like."

Dumbledore was silent for a few moments after Michaela was done venting. When he spoke, he said, "It's only natural to feel a lone and stressed in a foreign country, Michaela, and there's no need to feel shame for that."

"But when can I go home? Have you heard anything about my parents?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot send you home right now because the Death Eaters may come and kidnap you. When can you go back? I honestly don't know at this point, Michaela. I'm sorry. As for Professor Umbridge, I agree that she is rather difficult, but as she is the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, she has every right to keep updated on you."

"I s'pose." Michaela sighed.

"Good." Dumbledore stood up and headed to the door when Michaela said, "Wait! I forgot to ask you, can you sign this for me?"

She handed him a piece of parchment that read,

I, Professor Dumbledore, uncle of Michaela Woodburn, give her permission to go to Hogsmeade.

Michaela handed him a pen to sign with and he did, though he seemed to hesitate a bit before signing it.

"I've never seen so many different types of candy before!" Michaela said, as the quartet headed out of Honeydukes. "Some American shops would kill for half of them"

"Muggle shops, you mean," Hermione said. "I imagine there're plenty of Wizard candy shops in America."

"Well yes, of course," Michaela said sheepishly. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were showing Michaela around Hogsmeade and Michaela was finding out just how little exposure she had to the Wizarding world.

She felt as though she was a sailor who had seen a small iceberg and had just realized the true size of it.

"C'mon, we need to be getting on . . . we'll be late," Hermione said, and they hurried across the rest of the town.

They came to a very old pub that was stingy and dirty. When Hermione ordered some Butterbeers, Michaela declined. If the glasses were as sanitary as the pub was, Michaela didn't want her lips to go anywhere near them. Slowly the pub filled up with Hogwarts students which seemed directly proportionate to Harry's nervousness until Hermione assured him that she would speak to them at first.

What Hermione was proposing was a sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts club, led by Harry, that would meet weekly to learn practical defense, especially since Umbridge wasn't teaching or allowing them to practice any in her classroom.

The students were a little slow to take to the idea, especially one kid, Zachariah Smith, who seemed to have it out for Harry.

Michaela was half-listening to the chatter because most of it didn't concern her—she couldn't practice defense magic even if Umbridge did allow it in her classroom. Instead, she focused on her surroundings and noticed one girl, Cho was her name? and how she kept looking at Harry. Not just looking, her eyes told that of something else: she had a crush on Harry!

Wow, Michaela thought. Wonder if Harry notices? By the way that Harry kept trying to avoid her eyes, he knew something Poor guy! He must be so nervous! Michaela knew how that was; she'd asked out a few guys who had admitted afterwards that they wanted to ask her out, but were too nervous. 

After the meeting, Hermione and Harry showed Michaela the rest of Hogsmeade while Ron became increasingly indignant over the news from Hermione that Ginny, Ron's little sister, had a boyfriend. The rest of the weekend passed peacefully enough until came with some unexpected sour news.

"Someone must've blabbed to her!" Ron said, as Michaela and Hermione read Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.

"They can't have done," Hermione said in a softer tone.

"You're so naïve, you think just because you're all honorable and trustworthy—"

"No, they can't have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," Hermione said.  "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they'll really regret it."

As Hermione was telling Ron exactly what would happen to the perpetrator, they all headed for breakfast where the chatter was a bit higher and more intense than usual. Harry decided to continue with the Defense club as breakfast continued and they went their separate ways to classes.

Michaela found out later that day that Hedwig, Harry's owl, had been attacked. The note that she had been carrying had been from Sirius which read, "Same time, same place."

The trouble was that they believed that Hedwig had been intercepted by the Ministry and McGonagall had told Harry herself that they were probably being watched.

"We'll have to tell him tonight not to contact us again; it's too risky." Micahaela told the other three.  Inside, she felt a twinge of guilt. She could contact Sirius without anyone knowing; should she share this with the others? And lose Sirius' trust?

She debated telling them all night while they waited in the common room to clear out and for Sirius to come. Unfortunately, like Ron, she started to doze and didn't wake up by the time Sirius appeared.

After greetings, he noticed Michaela curled up in an armchair, still asleep. "How is she doing?" he asked in a higher voice. Hermione may have picked up on this, but Ron and Harry certainly didn't.

"Michaela? She's fine," Ron said dismissively. "But things aren't so great at Hogwarts . . ."

The next day, Michaela couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork at all. Hermione had filled her in on Sirius' conversation but had no time to speculate with her as time ran out and the bell for classes had rung. Finally, during her lunch break, she couldn't take it any longer.

Dashing up to her rooms and finding it completely deserted, she took out the mirror that Sirius had given her and called for him. "Sirius?" No answer. "Sirius?" she called again, this time a bit louder. When she got no answer for about five minutes, she was beginning to become a little worried. Suppose Umbridge had caught him? Suppose that—

"Michaela? Is that you?"

Relief flooded through her. "Sirius! I'm so glad you're here, how are you? Are you okay?"

He smiled. "Umbridge will have to get up faster than that to catch the likes of me!"

"Sirius, please be careful! If anything happened to you, I don't know what I—I mean Harry would do." They were silent for a few minutes. Jeez, that was a close one!

"Michaela," Sirius began, "I just wanted to say how sorry I was to get so defensive with you a few days ago—"

"I know, I got your note, thank you for it."

"Note? What note?"

"You know, a note that said 'I'm sorry' on it?"

"Michaela, I didn't send you a note, only that one to Harry about talking through the fireplace last night."

Michaela was puzzled. Who could have sent her that note? Who, and why? She barely knew anyone here at Hogwarts and she couldn't think of anyone besides Sirius who owed her an apology. "That's weird . . . because I got a note that said, 'I'm sorry' on it and I thought it was from you."

"Who's it from then, do you think?"

"That's the thing, I have no idea. They didn't leave a name either."

"Hmm, well it's done no harm, right? Maybe you'll find out who it is later."

"Never mind, what I really wanted to talk to you about was this mirror, actually. Shouldn't we tell Hermione, Harry, and Ron about it? So that you can talk to them without Umbridge knowing about it?"

"No! Harry'll be furious with me if he thinks that I'm using you to spy on him—"

"But what about the consequences if you get caught?"

"I won't get caught I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Michaela sighed. "Well, here's hoping anyway." She put the mirror away and headed down for lunch.

That night, the first meeting for the defense club met and Michaela went along to see it through. All was going well until Zacharias Smith raised his hand after Hermione had finished talking.

"Yes?" Harry inquired.

"I have a question: why is she here?" he said, jerking his thumb in Michaela's direction.

Michaela felt twenty-eight pairs of eyes fall upon her and her cheeks started to burn.

"I mean, she's just a Squib; she can't do anything—"

"Like yourself?" said one of the Weasley twins. "Can't keep your mouth shut when you need to?"

"It's true!" Smith said, standing up. "She's no better than a stupid Muggle, in fact, she's worse at that because she's stuck in the middle of two worlds. She's only a liability to us—one more person than necessary that could turn us all in to Umbridge."

Michaela could see some of the other members nodding, agreeing with Smith. That, if anything, made it all worse. Ron and the Weasley twins started to stand up, but before they could do anything, Michaela stood up and said, "You're right. I'll leave."

Mouth clenched tight, she walked with perfect poise out the door and shut it behind her. Only then did she collapse—in tears.

"No-good Squib! Good-for-nothing! You don't belong here!"

Voices in her head taunted her.

"As useless as Muggles!"

Memories from her childhood that she had managed to suppress all these years were suddenly unleashed in her mind once more. She started to run. Run, run anywhere! her mind thought.

She found a bathroom that was thankfully empty. She fell down on her knees, gasping for breath and crying harder still. For an immeasurable amount of time, she was like this.

"Oh, what could be so dreadful?" cooed a soft voice.

Michaela picked up her head a little, crying a little softer now. She saw a ghost who was a young girl. "I'm—hiccup!—sorry," she said. "Someone . . . said some very mean things to me."

"Ohh," breathed the ghost. "How awful. I'm Myrtle. People used to tease me too. But now," she smiled wickedly, "I tease them!"

"That's not very nice," Michaela said, now blowing her nose with some toilet paper.

"But they still tease me!" Myrtle continued, as though Michaela hadn't spoken. She started to wail and went through the bathroom stall.

Michaela backed away as the water started to flood everywhere. Heading out the door, she went up to one of the towers she had discovered when trying to find her way around the castle. She sat near the ledge, looking up at the star-lit night.

Her father had taught her the names of the constellations and it gave her comfort to look for them.

"Never pay attention to what other people might say about you being a Squib, sweetheart. You are special, you are loved, and you most certainly are important to both worlds and that makes you a very lucky girl."

Her father's words echoed from within her when she was five years old and had come home crying. "Look at the stars, Michaela," he had said. "They're as close to eternal as you can get and my love for you will last longer than that . . . if that doesn't make you special, I don't know what does."

"Daddy!" she had squealed, as her father had wrapped her up in a bear-hug and started to tickle her.

Michaela had never felt so loved in her life during those distant moments, though she had only been five years old.  The memory not only comforted her, but gave her strength. Strength to tackle any new challenges or taunts that came her way.

"Good-night, daddy," she whispered. "I love you."

I liked this chapter and spent a good while to make it sound realistic. Did I succeed? You tell me!