(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix—Chapter 29: Career Advice)
"How'd you find that last Transfiguration lesson?" Fred asked Verity as he and George passed her on their way out from breakfast. He kept his tone light and conversational; Gryffindors and Slytherins filled the entrance hall.
"Interesting," she replied, equally noncommittal.
"I hear something's up at break," George said to Fred. "It sounded important." Without a backward glance, the twins walked away. Verity stifled a laugh. She loved having a code.
At break, as per the twins' message, she slipped away from the others and headed to the deserted Transfiguration corridor. They waited for her behind a statue of Griselda the Greedy, a witch clutching a bag of Galleons with a nasty expression. "Hello, boys," Verity said with a smile, slipping behind the statue with them.
"Hey." They didn't return the smile, and Verity's brow furrowed.
"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.
"Here's the deal," Fred began. "We've got a little bit of mischief planned this afternoon...well, it's actually a big bit of mischief, and we want you to stay away from the east wing after lessons."
"Why?" she asked. "If you're causing trouble, I want to watch."
"You can't," George said.
"We don't want you in trouble," said Fred.
"We don't even want you knowing what it is."
"So if Umbridge pokes her nose about, you'll have an alibi." Fred looked her in the eyes. She noted how strange it was to see him serious. "Promise you'll stay away. No matter what you hear."
"But—"
Fred put his hands on her shoulders. "You're good. I don't want you dragged into this. Promise." He saw her getting ready to protest again. "Promise. "
She hated to lie to him. "I promise."
Fred took her hand in his for a moment. "It's been great, Verity."
"We'll write," George said.
What? Verity's brain overloaded. Write? Were they saying goodbye? Were they leaving? They ran away before she could stop them or ask any of her million questions.
True to her word (though against her will) Verity went to her dormitory after lessons. Restless, she paced, straining for any sound of what she knew was happening in the east wing. Once she imagined she heard shouts far above, but no sound penetrated the dungeons so deep. Disappointed, she returned to pacing.
Pansy burst into the dormitory. The front of her robes was spattered with a foul-smelling, sticky green substance. "Those filthy Weasleys!" she spat.
"What'd they do?" Verity leapt from her bed. She accidentally betrayed her very strong interest, but Pansy was too busy examining her clothes to notice.
"Turned Gregory the Smarmy's corridor into a bloody swamp, that's all!" she said, scraping the slime off her front.
Verity's jaw dropped. "Did they get in trouble?" she asked, quickly making it sound more sadistic than worried.
Pansy made a noise of annoyance. "We had them cornered, but they Summoned their brooms and flew out the door." She stamped her foot. "Filthy blood traitors! They were about to get the flogging they've had coming for years. Ugh!" She stripped off her robe and flopped into bed, leaving Verity's brain spinning again.
Being kept safe felt suspiciously like being abandoned.
(Chapter 30: Grawp)
The first week after the twins escaped was miserable. Verity had grown so used to real friends that she struggled to readjust to living alone. However, one Saturday at breakfast a week later, a strange owl dropped a letter onto her plate. She slipped it into her pocket and crept away from the table.
Verity hid behind the centaur statue where she and the twins first met for lunch over a year ago. She tore open the unmarked envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper. Fred's crooked handwriting greeted her.
Hello then, miss. I had a thing to tell you, but a dragon, a flower, and a largish pink toad are lurking near you, and I didn't want to chance it. So, you can see it the same way as the map. Love from a redhead.
This took her a moment. Had he been in the firewhisky? (Not unlikely.) Then she remembered the argument she'd had with Draco their first year. He'd sworn up and down his name was in the Hogwarts school motto. She maintained the school had been founded long before he was born. A prefect finally explained "draco" meant dragon in Latin. It didn't answer the question either way, but it shut them up, which was probably why the prefect told them in the first place.
A dragon, Draco; a flower, Pansy; a largish pink toad...with a laugh, she realized Fred meant Umbridge. ...you can see it the same way as the map. Hadn't the twins told her about the enchanted map they found and how to work it? She tapped the letter with her wand and whispered, "I swear—no, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The short message faded, and a new, longer letter appeared in its place. Glancing around to ensure her solitude, she settled down to read his letter.
Hello then, Verity. Wasn't that clever? George is terribly good with this code sort of thing. He's come up with a plan so we can smuggle our products into Hogwarts without that crazy old bat any the wiser. Business is booming; everyone in London needs a good joke. You've got to come visit over the holidays.
Anyway, how's life at the castle? You can be as rude as you like if you write on this paper. You can erase our letter and write your own. Then clear it and you can write on the blank bit the message Umbridge will see. She can search all she wants and she'll never figure it out.
Now George and I are living the bachelor life, we appreciate good cooking. And clean laundry. We haven't had much of either since we left. Mum said in no uncertain terms she wouldn't support us once we moved out. "Bill and Charlie managed alright, you don't see me sending laundry to Egypt and Romania every week, so why can't you make it..." you know the drill. Could you owl me something decent to eat? I'm starving half to death. George burns everything and everything I make comes out in suspicious colors.
Since I wrote the last paragraph a few seconds ago, I remembered what I miss even more than food and clean clothes. You. I wish you were here. If Umbridge gives you trouble, send us an owl and we'll bust you out too. Don't let Malfoy get you down (and if he does, think of him as a bouncing white ferret). Tell Peeves hello and to keep fighting the good fight. Love, Fred.
Verity hugged the letter. After the twins escaped, her friendships with the D.A. disappeared. Ron remained convinced that she was a shameless flirt toying with his brother. The rest were skeptical of her as well; the same people who greeted her cordially at meetings now responded with sideways glances. Even Lee grew guarded, a change that pained her. She had hoped he, of all the boys' friends, trusted her. Apparently he'd been putting up with her for their sake.
She sneaked inside. The sooner she replied to Fred's letter, the sooner she got one back. "Dragon's fire," she said to the stone wall, and slipped down the passageway.
Luckily, her dormitory was deserted. Pulling out ink and a quill, she slipped into her desk chair and wrote as fast as she could. She listened intently for the slightest noise. Her words wouldn't be appreciated by her classmates, or Professor Umbridge, for that matter. After a few uneventful minutes, she relaxed. She had just signed the letter when a voice startled her.
"What's this, MacLaren?" asked Pansy Parkinson. She lunged over and snatched the letter off the desk. "Letter to your mum? Oh, I forgot. Owl post doesn't deliver to the afterlife, does it?" She laughed, dangling the letter inches above her classmate's outstretched fingers. Verity thrust her hand in her pocket for her wand, but Pansy moved too quickly. "Accio!" she yelled, and Verity's wand flew through the air into her hand.
"Give me my letter, Parkinson!" Verity cried.
"I want to read it first." With a gasp, Verity realized she hadn't hidden her message. Pansy glanced at the heading. "Fred who?" She continued without an answer. "We should share this!" She ran toward the common room.
"Draco!" Pansy sang out, and a wicked smile spread across his face as he saw her brandishing a letter and two wands, with Verity behind her. Pansy cleared her throat. Verity's stomach lurched. All of Slytherin House was in the common room, and they were all staring.
"Dear Fred," Pansy read in a high voice. "Everything's horrid as usual, except worse because you aren't here to make me laugh." The crowd sighed. "So romantic. That old bat has cracked down on us worse than ever. I wish I left with you."
"Were you writing to that Weasley?" Draco said, in a voice calculated to the perfect volume to catch everyone's attention. "You've always had poor taste, but a blood traitor who's desperate for attention and lives in a barn? He seems low, even by your standards."
"You'll be proud to know DADA attendance has plummeted. Umbridge-itis is spreading like wildfire. The new Gryffindor Beaters are pathetic, but your Ginny's good. You'd be proud. Draco still thinks he's so wonderful, but honestly! If I looked like him, I wouldn't swagger and flirt. I'd drown myself and consider it a humanitarian act." The others laughed, and Draco fumed.
"I'm not a hundred percent sure why he's flirting with Pansy, of all people. Either he's stringing her along for the pleasure of seeing her heartbroken, or he is painfully desperate. You've seen her face." Pansy threw Verity a venomous glare. "Oh well, better her than me. He must have learned not to try very high when Granger hit him third year. He sulked horribly for weeks. At any rate, I can't wait for the holidays—and you. Unless that she-devil takes summer away too. If she does, maybe I'll take up your offer. Lots of love from your Verity."
Verity swallowed back tears of shame and anger. Most of the Slytherins were dying of laughter (bad enough), but Pansy and Draco were contemplating murder. The only real question was who would hit her with the Cruciatus Curse first.
A sadistic smirk appeared on Draco's face. Verity's heart dropped. "I think," he said, "the High Inquisitor would be interested to hear this letter."
"No," she gasped.
"Oh, yes." His eyes gleamed. "MacLaren, if you'll accompany me." Draco stood, took the letter Pansy handed to him, and grabbed Verity's wrist. He pulled her after him, out of the common room, away from the other Slytherins' stares, and into the corridor.
"Please, Draco. Please. Don't." Verity pleaded with him. Far too soon, they arrived at Professor Umbridge's office. Draco knocked smartly before dragging her through the door to face Umbridge.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" she said, smiling at the sight of her favorite pupil with a guilty girl in tow.
"Parkinson caught her writing a letter," Draco said. "You ought to read it, Headmistress. It's…interesting." He handed over the letter. Umbridge's penciled-in eyebrows rose alarmingly.
"Thank you very much, dear." She bestowed a foul grimace on him. "Twenty points to Slytherin for your good work. You may go." Draco bowed obsequiously and left the office.
"So." Umbridge leaned in. "You are corresponding with those disrespectful twins that escaped me last week. How much did you know about their plans?" Verity rubbed her arm. "How are they connected with the students leaving my classes?" She bit her lip. "You-will-answer-me-when-I-talk-to-you," Umbridge rattled off, galled but making an impressive attempt to remain calm. "You said he would be proud to know attendance has dropped. What part are they playing in it?" She twisted a strand of her hair and stared at her shoes.
"Very well," Umbridge said sweetly, but her face was cold and hard. "Sit." She gestured to a chair by a small, lace-doily-covered table. Verity sat. "Sweetheart, you are in detention. Remember, you may leave as soon as you tell me everything you know about those boys. You will write 'I must not speak to blood traitors.'"
A piece of parchment and a sharp black quill sat on the table. Verity couldn't find any ink, so she wrote dry. I must not—she screamed. The words appeared across the back of her hand, shiny red against her pale skin, and pain shot up her arm. The words faded, but her hand still ached.
"Keep writing!" Umbridge said without looking up from her grading. …speak to blood traitors. Three more times, and her hand stayed raw once the words faded. A few more times, and the cuts broke skin. She gagged. Blood might be one of the most common potion ingredients, but her own blood made her sick. She wondered how many more times she had to write before it didn't heal. She stared out the window at the twilit sky over the Quidditch pitch and tried to ignore the blood beading from the slits in her hand.
Out of the blue, a Fred and George idea occurred to her. She wasn't sure whether they had been a good influence or not, but she was about to defy authority. If she had to scar something into her hand, it ought to be more truthful.
I AM A BLOOD TRAITOR.
The old message that just healed over was replaced by her new one. It too healed, but barely, waiting just below her skin to be cut open again.
I AM A BLOOD TRAITOR.
She bit her lip as the words sliced into her skin, but she kept writing. This was her defiance, however small.
I AM A BLOOD TRAITOR.
She shut her eyes as if that kept the pain away. Tears streamed from beneath her lashes as blood stained the paper. Minutes passed, hours passed, second by agonizing second of her hand throbbing and stinging and blood trickling down her wrist. Umbridge never looked up.
I AM A BLOOD TRAITOR.
I AM A BLOOD TRAITOR.
After hours of silence, she heard Professor Umbridge's voice. "Come here, girl." She stood, carefully pushed in the chair, and walked to the large desk. "Let me see." Verity held her breath and showed Umbridge the back of her hand, which bled freely from the letters slashed across it. Umbridge's face hardened, though she replaced it with her most saccharine manner, her toadlike mouth stretched into a sickly-sweet smile.
"What is this?" she asked. "What did I tell you to write?" Verity returned to her innocent demeanor. "I see you are as stubborn as your friends. Fifty points will be taken from Slytherin, and let that be a lesson to you." Verity gasped. Experience taught her if she didn't look properly horrified, more punishments would be piled on her. "It is a shame; you were such a good girl. You may go."
Verity rushed from the room. If she had any tears left to cry, she would have been sobbing. Half proud and half afraid of her own bravery, she wanted to crawl in bed and stay all week. Halfway to the Slytherin common room, she ran straight into someone. "Sorry," she muttered, and moved to pass him.
"Hold on a minute." Harry Potter. He took her burning hand. It struck her how much gentler he was than Draco. "Try essence of murtlap." He showed her his own hand, where the words I must not tell lies were cut in spidery white lines. "It takes the pain down."