Chapter 20) What the Princess Knew

Selected Listening: Hear the Bells- Vanessa Carlton

Anastasia and Albus returned to the castle around six in the evening. The sun had already set in the sky, and darkness lay over the grounds. As they entered the headmaster's suite, they found Minerva already there to greet them. She swept Anastasia into her arms.

"Oh, those low-life, good-for-nothing, double-crossing back-stabbing—" it went on for quite a while, and by the end, Anastasia was very clear of Minerva's opinion of the elderly Hufflepuff couple.

"Minnie, Minnie, I'm fine," she soothed the professor as she pulled away, placing one hand on the side of her face. "I'm here. Thanks to the Zabini's, of all people. If they hadn't seen me—"

"Yes, yes," she tried to dismiss it as the luck of the draw. That if any Hogwarts student had passed through the gate at the right time, they would have recognized her and stopped the Cambridge's from passing through. Anastasia didn't mention the handkerchief in her pocket that played a part. "I'm so glad you're alright—"

And then it was, "Happy Belated Christmas, dear." Minerva gave Anastasia a plaid scarf made of alpaca wool, that had been made in the village where her family still lived. Anastasia gave her a kiss on the cheek and gave Albus another warm embrace before leaving the suite, beginning the term and resuming their façade of a non-familial relationship.

Anastasia walked up the stairs to the Gryffindor landing, backpack slung over her shoulders.

She found Draco, coming from the portrait of Sir Cadogan, looking quite frustrated.

"Stupid, bullshit, overrated tin man…" he ranted, but when she stopped in his path he looked up.

"Anastasia," Draco said in relief. He stood in his school robes, slung hastily around his navy sweater and jeans as if he had just thrown them on.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, leaning against the banister.

"I..I was…um…" worry and embarrassment colored his expression as he leaned against the banister next to her, "mum told me what happened." He couldn't say more.

She nodded and they stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"Uh," he tried again, "thanks for the book. I think I'm on the brink of finding something."

Anastasia grinned and then remembered the journal she picked up that morning in her half-delirious state and balked.

"What?" he asked, brow creasing. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh, it's um…nothing," she said, now wanting to race inside to see what she had found in her mother's room. "I should have given the book to you when I first got it…"

"You shouldn't have…" he said, remembering the beginning of the year, "…suppose the sneakoscope wasn't much help?"

Anastasia shrugged, "not really, but um, this came in handy." She fished the handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it back to him. His fingers brushed the cloth, and then he smirked and stuffed it into his own pocket.

"What? Did you use it to wipe your tears at night?" he asked sarcastically. She shook her head and pointed to her hand.

"Your owl—" she started. He immediately turned apologetic.

"I felt that," he said. "I want to make roast with that bird sometimes."

"It's fine, it's better now," she lifted her hand. He took her fingers in his and turned her wrist this way and that. Her breathing hitched, and when they made eye contact, he let go.

"Anyway, I um, I'm glad to see you're alright." Draco paused as if he meant to do something else, but he hesitated too long. Anastasia's stomach knotted up. "I'll…I'll see you in class…" he stuttered and ran back down the stairs.

Anastasia smiled as she entered the common room. For once, the news hadn't gotten to her people before she had. The room seemed alight with her friend's joys of the holidays. Fred and George greeted her and shoved their new Zonko's products in her face. Percy waved hello, and the other Gryffindors seemed genuinely happy to see her. She expected to find her three closest friends in similar post-holiday spirits, but then realized that Ron and Harry were sitting by the fire speaking in hushed tones, and Hermione sat silently in the window ledge with her book and Crookshanks on her lap. Ginny sat a few feet away, also reading.

Anastasia looked discerningly at the boys and went to Hermione and Ginny.

"What's going on?" she asked. Hermione looked up from her book.

"Anastasia!" she said and skipped to hug her friend around the neck. "You won't believe what's happened!"

Hermione jumped into the story of how Harry was sent a mysterious firebolt, but she thought it might have been from Sirius Black so she told Minerva about it—

"—And now McGonogall is sending it to be stripped down and checked for jinxes!" Ron thundered as he approached with Harry. "Can you believe it! A Firebolt! We had a working broom for the seeker, and this one went and ruined it!"

"It could be dangerous!" Hermione shrieked back. Ron rounded on her again.

"Oh! You're worried about dangerous things? Like that bloody cat of yours going after Scabbers!" he yelled. Anastasia stilled and examined the rest of the scene.

Harry stared in stony silence behind Ron. Ginny, who sat upright with her knees curled beneath her on the couch sat straight, hair on end, skittered away from the conversation before it could get any nastier. Hermione bristled.

"Ron, your rat is ancient! It's on its last leg. Crookshanks doesn't have anything to do with that!" Hermione cuddled the bored cat closer to her chest. The three friends now stared at Anastasia.

Anastasia realized that she was being asked to pick a side, and who she might talk to for the next…however long it took…to dejinx a high-end broomstick and see if a rat would die or not.

"I-I don't know…" she said, "I haven't been here long…"

"We just told you what happened!" Ron now shouted at her. "Hermione's a sneak who can't keep her mouth shut and her cat to herself."

"And Ronald's a selfish prat that doesn't realize that other people care about their pets and the safety of their friends—" Hermione continued and looked to her for backup.

Anastasia paused.

"Look, it's unfortunate about the broom, Harry, but it sounds like Hermione's acting in your best interest. We don't have a clue what Sirius Black will do. And as far as Scabbers goes, Ron, I know you care for him, but how old is he again? Like thirteen? He's as old as we are." she said.

"So, you're on her side?" Ron asked.

"I'm not on anyone's side…"

"Surely you agree with someone—" Harry started.

"Anastasia, I really didn't mean anything by it—" Hermione said.

"I don't agree with anyone!" Anastasia shouted. "I haven't even been here, because I've been with my horrible relatives, who, by the way, tried to smuggle me to France less than four hours ago, so trust that I really don't care about your petty fight right now," she said angrily, crossing her arms.

"They what?" Hermione said.

"Why would they do that?" Harry asked.

"Bloody hell, why didn't you say something?" Ron started.

Anastasia shook her head, and sighed, breaking past them, and went up the stairs. Hermione followed her with her book and Crookshanks and asked questions.

"What happened?" Hermione asked as they reached the girls dorm. They were alone.

"They drugged me with an obedience potion and took me to the airport. They planned on enrolling me in Beauxbatons," Anastasia said sadly.

"Why would they do that?"

"They don't want me around grandad, and Lucius Malfoy is paying their lawyers fees…he wants me out of Hogwarts…away from—"

"Oh…" Hermione said, now understanding. "Does he know about the lifeline?" she asked.

Anastasia stopped to think. For the longest time, she assumed Mr. Malfoy had known. Otherwise, why would he care if she left Hogwarts or not? Now she understood that there was a possibility that Draco's father hated her just because he found her annoying, and not because she was tied to her son.

"I'm not sure…" she said.

"Buckbeak's trial…" Hermione started, "it's gone poorly too. Hagrid is safe, but Buckbeak will have a sentence in April…it's likely…" Hermione didn't finish the sentence.

"That man is a menace," Anastasia decided. She closed herself away in her curtained bed, too upset to pull out the journal she had found that morning, and faded off to sleep.

"Goodnight, Anastasia," Hermione said quietly.

"G'night," she answered.

In the morning, Anastasia felt muddled and miserable. She couldn't do anything about the conflicts her friends now faced. She dressed alongside the others and went down to breakfast. Despite saying she wouldn't pick sides, she stuck close to Hermione. Two against one was never fun.

They sat at the table and the papers came. Anastasia wasn't front page news this time, but the story of her near kidnapping had been tucked away in the middle with no mention of the Zabini's. Anastasia assumed they'd paid for that. She lifted her head to examine the Slytherin table. Pansy was fawning over Draco, but this time, Draco bantered animatedly with Blaise and seemed to ignore the girl completely. Upset, Pansy left the hall.

Blaise looked up at that exact time. Anastasia passed him a half-smile of thanks. His chin twitched. Was that a nod? she wondered. And he turned back to Draco, who stared at her, faltered, and looked away. She looked back down at her food.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, throwing her gaze to the Slytherin table, but keeping her face hidden behind the newspaper.

"What was what?" Anastasia asked. She wasn't ready to explain the details of her rescue.

"That—you—" Hermione now sighed and shook her head in frustration, knowing if she picked another fight, she would lose the only friend she had. Anastasia pushed bits of dragon puffs around in her leftover cereal milk.

Classes went on as usual. Anastasia participated as much as she could, but found her thoughts wandering back to all that had happened to her in the past three weeks and the journal she had found in her mother's things. It had been so odd, sitting there as if waiting for her to open the drawer. She tapped her quill during lectures, impatient for when she could be alone again and rip open the cover to discover the contents.

At one point during lunch, the Hufflepuff crew came around to offer their condolences about the incident.

"We're so sorry that happened to you," Zacharias said.

"My Aunt's just kicking herself for letting you go back there—" Susan offered.

"Really, they were never that horrible before," Hannah said gently. Anastasia thanked them for their concern, but reminded them there was nothing they could do, and they went on. She smiled bitterly as they left. There was a part of her that wished her grandparents could have truly loved her, but realized that simply wasn't possible.

When she finally made it back to the dorms that afternoon, she found herself tired, and not wanting to talk to anyone. She jumped on her bed, zipped the curtains shut with a spell, and began pulling things out of her packed rucksack. She found her Christmas candy, the scarf from Minerva, and the diamond snowflake ornament Narcissa had given her. It twisted this way and that on the tread between her fingers, she smiled.

No one had gotten her something that shiny and new before…

Anastasia put that aside and pulled out her mother's journal. It was made of a thick ochre leather. She opened it and found curled handwriting…

Holly Cambridge had written of many things. Of being sorted into Hufflepuff, of not getting along with the Hufflepuffs because she was tired of them after homeschooling, of spending most of her time alone in the greenhouses or choir rooms.

Of how one day in third-year, she found a gloomy girl in the practice room…

It was one of the Slytherin girls, the blonde one in my year, she was crunched into the ball, staring out the window at the rain with a tear-stained face. I asked her what she was doing, because she wasn't in choir. She asked what it was to me. I told her, it wasn't, but I was going to practice singing, and she should leave if it would bother her. She shook her head and kept staring out the window.

After I finished practicing, I began to pack up.

"That was beautiful," she said. "You're really that good at singing? There's no spell, or potion?"

I told her there wasn't and asked why she was alone.

"Oh, it's nothing…my sisters really hate each other…it gets worse when our parents take sides…my sister's dating a half-blood Hufflepuff…" she explained, "…boils their blood."

And then I knew exactly who she was. One of the Black sisters…the middle one had been hanging around the Hufflepuff table for a while now with one of the older boys. She was very pretty, which was maybe the only reason any of the sixth-year Hufflepuffs put up with her.

"That's awful," I offered.

"Every time something like this happens, they take it out on me…Bella threatens that if I try something like Dromeda, she'll put poison in all my makeup, and Dromeda says she'll steal all my jewelry if I tell on her for sneaking about."

In that moment, I felt sorry for her. I walked over and sat across from her.

"Well, if you don't like either of your blood sisters, maybe I could be like your sister—"

"That's ridiculous, Cambridge—" she sputtered, "—I don't even know you."

"You just said my name…"

"That's beside the point…"

"I'm an only child," I told her, "I don't even know what it's like to have siblings, and I would love to have a sister. I can't be jealous because we don't live in the same house, and I don't care about blood status, so I'll never get mad at you for hanging out with the wrong person—"

"You're not the wrong person, are you?" she asked fearfully, "You're pureblood, right?"

I nodded, not quite sure why it mattered so much, but obviously it did to her and her family.

"Fantastic," she said and offered her hand, "Narcissa."

"Holly."

The journal went on to describe their hijinks at Hogwarts from their third to seventh year. When Lucius began to hang around Narcissa more seriously, and found Holly's presence annoying, Narcissa stood up for her. When Narcissa's mother died in their sixth year and Lucius left after his own graduation, Holly comforted her. Then, Holly began to date Francis, who she found exciting compared to life with her own parents.

It was in her description of their seventh year—over the Christmas holiday—that Holly received a letter from Narcissa.

Narcissa's told me that she and Lucius are engaged. It's happened so suddenly…I really don't think he's right for her, but there's nothing I can do. She's been on about him since fifth year. She said she's still thinking about it because she might want to go to healing school…there's all these rules she has to follow if she joins that family, and I don't think it's any healthier than her own, but she begs to differ.

Holly described her holiday, most of it spent going on dates with Francis and visiting family that Anastasia couldn't care less about, until she reached the end.

Married. Can you believe that? She came back from break married. Apparently, her sister's gone off and married Ted, and her father didn't want Cissa getting bad ideas. She didn't even have a proper ceremony! I'm so devastated for her. And Malfoy, he can take a hike for all I care.

Francis said it was bound to happen. Old families are like that. But Narcissa deserves better. Not to mention…worse things are on the horizon…and I think her family is involved.

For the last semester, Holly described how Narcissa smiled. Though she still planned to go to healer's school, her demeanor had changed to that of solemnity. Holly also talked about how much she loved Francis and how he wanted to be an auror, but for herself, she wasn't sure. The journal ended at their graduation.

Anastasia put the journal in her nightstand. No wonder Narcissa was stuck with Lucius. She was barely old enough to decide when it was decided for her, and then the war happened.

Over the next few days, Anastasia wondered if she should give the journal to Draco, if maybe it would help him understand his mother's situation. She waited for him at their table in the library on Sunday, but he never showed. She supposed that now that he had Blaise back, he was less in need of her company.

As she waited, she pondered their interaction the week before. Obviously he was concerned for her, or he wouldn't have come to see her. Still, he hadn't said anything to her since. She waited as long as she could, but then had to leave for her weekly dinner with Albus.

When she reached the dining room in the headmaster's suite, she was surprised to find an hunched woman, even more shriveled than grandad, staring back at her from the dining room with an old twinkling smile.

"Anastasia, meet Bathilda Bagshot," Albus gestured grandly to the woman across the table, and then stood to allow Anastasia a place on the bench beside him.

"Oh," Anastasia said, cautiously eyeing the woman's hovering quill and open, blank notebook, "Hello, Ms. Bagshot."

"Hello, Anastasia. Feel free to call me Bathilda, and don't look so worried about my quill. It's much tamer than Skeeter's. I've trained it to record the truth, not the spiced-up version."

Anastasia tucked into the bench on Albus's side, and he resumed his place beside her.

"I've asked my very dear friend to record our story…the real one…and I trust her in her commitment to accuracy," said Albus.

Anastasia nodded.

"Nice to meet you," she said politely.

"And you as well," said Bathilda, "I've known Albus since he was running around Godric's Hollow—we grew up together you know? And now I'm more than happy to meet his wonderful daughter and hear your story."

"Oh," Anastasia said, suddenly nervous. There was so much about her she wasn't sure she could talk about, things she would rather hide in a journal for decades in a magic drawer than let anyone know.

"We believe this will help with the court case as well," Albus added, "the news did us no favors in the beginning, and I trust in investigative journalism to set things straight."

Bathilda nodded.

"Right you are, Albus. Let's get to work now—"

The woman asked her many things about her childhood. Growing up in the castle, her past times, the elders who served as her friends, but eventually she did get around to the point of the whole thing.

"Now, everyone knows you were plagued by an obscurus…what triggered it?" she asked.

Anastasia shrugged.

"I don't remember."

Bathilda frowned. Anastasia felt Albus stiffen beside her.

"Surely, you would remember a thing like that?" she asked concernedly.

"Obscuri run in our family, Bathilda, you remember—" Albus started.

"Of course, I remember Arianna, but inherited or not, the predisposition does nothing without a severely traumatic event. You know Arianna was badly bullied by the muggle children nearby…are you sure you don't remember, dear?"

Anastasia squirmed in her seat. This was the part she didn't know, the part Albus was hiding from her in the pensieve.

"I-I'm really not sure—" she began.

"There are some things it is best she doesn't remember, Bathilda—" Albus fired off rapidly, at which point, Bathilda raised her eyebows and looked between the father and daughter. Anastasia drew away from him, hurt.

"I see," she said critically, "and what do you think people are going to ask if they read that the healed host doesn't remember what started her obscurus in the first place?"

Albus quieted. Bathilda opened a small black case, into which her quill jumped, and she closed her large parchment book of notes.

"I can't write the truth unless she knows it, Albus…she's thirteen…and from all I've read that she's been through…her handling it is not the issue."

Tears jumped to Anastasia's eyes as Albus showed Bathilda the way to the floo.

"Don't waste my time again, Albus," she said, "next time she needs to know—"

And though, Albus did not intend for her to hear, Anastasia heard him whisper—

"I can't lose her like…"

"Albus," Bathilda said in a compassionate tone, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's not for you to decide."