XV. I Never Thought I Would Owe My Life to a Professor, yet Here We Are

It was Dumbledore.

Voldemort's eyes widened, and the knife fell to the floor with a satisfying clank. I smiled in relief as he flew off and vanished into the air. After all, Dumbledore was the only person he was ever afraid of.

"Are you alright, Sadie?" Dumbledore asked as he rushed over to me. The use of my first name took me by surprise, but I had too many thoughts going to my head to care.

"Yeah, thanks," I said breathlessly. I stumbled backwards as the ropes around my feet came undone. "What was that? His ghost?"

"No, his soul," Dumbledore explained. "Now that he has no body to inhabit, he has to walk the world reduced to a husk of what he used to be. But, he'll spend every moment waiting to rise to power. I fear that we haven't seen the last of him."

I cringed at the thought that he was still out there, free to come back for me anytime he wished, and that he might return and kill hundreds of others after he's finished with me.

Dumbledore smiled reassuring smile. "Don't worry, his strength is wearing off as we speak." I saw him take something from the pile of ashes that was once Quirrell. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, handing me my wand.

I took it from his hand. "Thanks."

"And this?" He picked up the knife in confusion. "We didn't put 'lethal weapon' on the supply list."

"Wands are lethal weapons," I countered.

Dumbledore reluctantly handed me the knife. "Touché." His face quickly changed to concern as we both sat down on the steps. "What happened to your side?"

"I cut myself."

He raised his wand to the wound. "Vulnera Sanentur." The wound began to heal and the hole in my shirt started stitching itself back together.

"Thanks again," I mumbled.

"Anytime," he said. "And your arms?"

"Ropeburn."

"You can go to the hospital wing for that," he said. "Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are already there."

We sat in silence for a few seconds before Dumbledore finally spoke again. "I didn't know the Malfoys Cruciated you."

I stared at him, baffled. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you stabbed Quirrell," he said. "Which was pretty awesome, by the way."

"And you just waited until Voldemort attempted to kill me to do anything?"

"You were handling it well on your own," Dumbledore said simply. "It was entertaining. In all seriousness, though, if you need to stay at Hogwarts for the summer…"

"It's fine," I murmured, staring at my feet. I didn't want to cause him any trouble, especially since I didn't want him—or any of the professors—to know about my situation in the first place. Besides, how would the Malfoys like it if I stayed at Hogwarts without their permission? What would they do to me if I ever faced them again?

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked, bringing me back into the present. "People have done it before."

"It's fine, really."

"If you change your mind, let me know," he said with a sigh. "Now, Sadie, did you really just curse out Voldemort in two languages? Are you mad?!"

"It's not like he knows what chinga tu madre means."

"I think you just took seventy years off your lifespan. And the rest of the population's." A humorous glint appeared in his eyes. "Besides, I could theoretically give you detention for that."

"I literally just almost died, Professor," I joked. "Cut me some slack."

He shook his head with a smile.

"Where'd you learn Spanish, anyway?" I asked.

"I know seventeen languages; I lose track of where I learned them all," he said nonchalantly. Impressive. "But I know I learned how to curse from your mother. She swore like a sailor. I think she'd be proud of you." I didn't quite know what to make of that. "By the way, did you ever have any luck with that hypothetical mirror?"

I stood up and stepped towards the Mirror of Erised. Between the Stone, exams, and almost being killed by Voldemort twice, I had had no time to ponder the meaning of my reflection.

"I guess not," I replied.

"Do you still see the same thing?" Dumbledore asked.

I stared into the spotless glass, and found my reflection standing before me, unchanged except for the brown eyes. "Hypothetically, yes."

"Well, you would say your eyes are your most defining feature, correct?"

"I'd like to think it's my charming personality."

Dumbledore paused. "We better stick with eyes," he decided. "The mirror shows your eyes as brown, a common color. It doesn't stand out like purple does. With brown eyes, you'd hardly be recognizable unless you were to introduce yourself. You'd be treated as if you were any normal person. Is that something you truly desire?" He chuckled. "Hypothetically, of course."

I paused to take all of this in. I couldn't believe I didn't see the deeper meaning before. How did Dumbledore know more about myself than I did?

"Merlin, I'm depressed," I muttered.

"I agree. Are you seeing a therapist?"

"No."

"I recommend you get one. For multiple reasons. Now help me carry Harry, would you?" Again with the first names.

"Sure," I said, walking over to Harry's limp body. As I helped Dumbledore pick him up, I became curious. "What do you see in the mirror, Professor?"

"I see myself with a brand new pair of woolen socks," Dumbledore explained, but I didn't think he was being quite honest. "You know, the fun kind, like the knee-high ones with dogs on them." I stared at him blankly, and he only added to my confusion when he pulled out his wand.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Apparating."

"I thought you couldn't Apparate in Hogwarts," I pointed out.

"I'm headmaster," he said plainly. "I can do what I want."

"Aren't there stairs somewhere?" I coaxed, trying to avoid the sickening experience of Apparation at all costs.

"Unless you want to scale the wall and break through the ceiling, no," he said. "Grab on."

I sighed and gripped Dumbledore's arm, trying to hold up Harry with one hand, and braced myself to be transported through the fabric of space and time just to get to the Hospital Wing. I closed my eyes and felt myself being ripped from the ground, spinning and spinning, until I finally felt smooth tile beneath my feet once more. My head pounded as I opened my eyes. I let go of Dumbledore's arm and helped him place Harry on one of the hospital beds.

"Sadie!"

I turned around to see Ron and Hermione rushing over to hug me. McGonagall stood next to the beds, a wave of relief washing over her face.

"Oh good, you're back," McGonagall said. "What happened to Potter?"

"He fainted," I explained.

Hermione finally let go of our embrace. "You have to tell us everything."

"Every. Last. Detail," Ron clarified.

"Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Basically, I single-handedly defeated Quirrell and stopped the uprising of Vol—You-Know-Who. Oh, and Harry was there, too."

"Quirrell?!" Ron and Hermione said in confusion.

"Plot twist, right?" I laughed and launched into an elaborate explanation of how Quirrell had been after the Stone all along, and Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and Dumbledore listened intently. It wasn't until I reached the part where I killed him that I had to stop.

"Keep going, Sadie," Ron urged.

"Yeah, what happened?" Hermione said, excited.

"I… stabbed Quirrell," I said hesitantly. "And he crumbled into a million pieces." I wasn't proud of murdering someone. That was what Voldemort did. Not me. Right?

"That's awesome!" Hermione praised. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to kill people…" I mumbled, sitting down on one of the beds. "Then I'll end up like…" I shook my head to rid myself of thought. "Nevermind."

"Oh, you can't possibly think…" Dumbledore sat down on the bed next to me. "You did that for the greater good. You stopped Voldemort, how could you end up like him?" Ron and Hermione cringed at the name.

"But I… he said…"

"You can't let him get inside your head like that, Sadie," Dumbledore lectured. "I knew your father, and trust me, you don't take after him much."

"You knew him?" I inquired.

"Of course, he attended Hogwarts while I was the Transfiguration professor," he said. "Sadie, when Voldemort came here, he tricked all the teachers and the old headmaster into thinking he was an angel. He won everyone over. But you… you're genuine. You're reckless and flamboyant and extremely annoying, and you're proud of it. And Voldemort was cunning and manipulative, but you can't lie for shi—"

"ALBUS!" McGonagall scolded.

"She's cursed me out in Spanish before, so I think it's only fair that I get to curse her out in English."

"You did what?!" McGonagall seethed, turning to me.

"I called him a son of a—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Silverwood." She muttered something about how I've got some nerve.

"But what if there is something…" I worried. "Something that makes me not so different."

"Well, have you stolen anything before?" Dumbledore asked.

How did he know?

"That's an oddly specific question," I said, trying to sound as unsuspicious as possible.

"Yes, an oddly specific question that you're avoiding."

"Um, Professor," I began, turning to McGonagall, "did you ever notice one of your spare quills was gone?"

"No, I don't keep count," she said, confused.

I glanced at my feet. "Let's keep it that way."

A glare appeared on her face. "Wait, Silverwood, what did you do?"

"Nothing…" I forced an innocent smile.

"Silverwood."

"Okay, fine, fine, I took it…" I put my hands up in defense. "Look, I'm sorry, I was just upset and—well, it's a coping mechanism, okay?"

"There are million better coping mechanisms," Ron chided.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You might have kleptomania," Hermione suggested.

"Klepto—what?"

"Kleptomania," she repeated. "It's a mental illness that makes you addicted to stealing, and usually people who have it steal to deal with anger and stress. And most of the time, it's items of little value. Like a spare quill."

I contemplated the possibility. Everything seemed to be falling into place. There had always been some nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I was a terrible person for using my anger as an excuse to steal, and I always believed it. But the fact that it wasn't completely my fault, and that there were other people like me, reassured me that I wasn't beyond the point of fixing.

"That would explain a lot," I finally mumbled.

"Did you steal anything else this year?" Dumbledore asked.

"Just one other thing," I admitted, remembering the teacup I took from Hagrid. "I don't get upset that much here."

"Good to hear," he said with a smile. "Just return whatever you took, and you won't have an ounce of Voldemort in you."

"Now that we're done catching up," McGonagall interjected, "would the three of you like to explain how you got through our defenses meant to hold off You-Know-Who himself?"

"It didn't hold him off very well," I said under my breath.

"Oh, I'd like to see you do better, Silverwood."

And with that, we told Dumbledore and McGonagall all about the night's adventures.

"Well," McGonagall began after our tale was over, "I'll have to admit, you four do make a good team."

I might have gotten a bit too much into storytelling, because soon enough, the whole school knew about what happened with the Sorcerer's Stone. Fortunately, I had left out my conversation with Voldemort. I didn't need that to spiral into some rumor about me vowing to join him.

Harry didn't wake for another three days. Ron, Hermione, and I wrote him "get well soon" and "we miss you" letters, and Fred and George brought him back a haul from Honeydukes. They also tried to send him a toilet seat, but Madam Pomfrey confiscated it.

We hoped that Harry might have at least woken for the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw, but no luck. Without him, Gryffindor was bumped from second place to third, and Slytherin kept its winning streak for the eighth year in a row.

When Dumbledore told us that Harry had finally woken up, we ran straight to the hospital wing, neglecting to ask Madam Pomfrey for permission to enter.

"Harry!" we all shouted, suffocating him with a hug.

"Oh Harry, we were so worried…" Hermione said, exasperated.

"We thought you were…" I began. "Nevermind."

"Sadie told us what happened," Ron said. "In the dungeon, I mean."

"Well, wait till you hear this…"

Harry then explained that he was able to retrieved the Stone from the mirror because although it was his deepest desire, unlike Quirrell, he didn't want to use it. To avoid another catastrophic attempt to steal the Stone, Dumbledore had destroyed it. This meant Nicolas Flamel and his wife would die. We were appalled at this news, but Harry said the Flamels were sick of being alive anyway, at least according to Dumbledore.

He told us how his mother's love protected him from Voldemort, which is why his touch agonized Quirrell. The thought of how much I would give for my godmother to love me ran through my head, but I forced it out. This wasn't about me.

Harry also explained that Dumbledore had gotten the Cloak from Harry's father, and then passed it on to him. Apparently, his father was rivals with Snape at Hogwarts, and since he saved Snape's life once, Snape decided that by protecting Harry he would be repaying his life debt to his father. Then, he could get back to hating the Potters in peace.

"So what happened with you guys?" Harry asked once he was finished with his storytelling.

I told them about my conversation with Voldemort and how Dumbledore saved me from my second near-death experience of the year, trusting them not to spread the story.

"You cursed him out twice?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Are you mad?!" Ron shouted.

"Slightly, yes," I said. "Dumbledore said I needed a therapist."

Ron shook his head. "Both of you are off your rockers."

"Oh, and Sadie, do you know what happened to my hand?" He showed me his bandaged palm, and I remembered how I had cut through it so impulsively.

I shrugged. "No idea."

He shot me a suspicious glance, but quickly changed the subject. "What about you, Hermione?"

"Well, I woke Ron up," Hermione began. "We went to the owlery to write to Dumbledore, but met him in the entrance hall. He just said 'They've gone after him," and dashed off to the third floor."

"Told you he was off his rocker," Ron muttered. "The end-of-the-year feast is tomorrow. You better be well by then. Slytherin won—you missed the last Quidditch game, Ravenclaw pulverized us without you—but the food should be good."

I hoped Ron was right about the food, because the decorations certainly weren't to my liking. Green and black banners hung from the ceiling of the Great Hall, and the Slytherin crest adorned the walls. The Slytherin table was bursting with gleeful chatter, and Snape sat at the High Table with a stern look of approval on his face while the other three Heads of House glared at him. Even the Bloody Baron came to the Gryffindor table to gloat to Nearly-Headless Nick about his winning streak. Draco was smirking amongst the celebrations, looking all happy and everything. I hated it.

Harry entered the hall, turning plenty of heads from everyone but the Slytherins. He hadn't been seen for four days, and after our story got out, he was even more of a celebrity than before. But everyone took their focus away from Harry when Dumbledore arose to the podium.

"Another year gone!" he wheezed with a hearty laugh. "And what a year it has been! But I'm afraid you'll have to listen to a few words from your old headmaster before you're able to enjoy your feast and your summer.

"Now, the House Cup needs awarding, does it not?"

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin table.

"Well, before we get to it," he continued, "I believe there are some last-minute points to be given out."

The celebration from the Slytherins died down. Was this our chance to end their seemingly eternal victory?

"First," Dumbledore began, "for the best game of chess played in Hogwarts history, I award Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor fifty points!"

This time, it was the Gryffindor table that was cheering. Hermione, Harry, and I congratulated Ron, who we knew truly was a knight.

"Second," Dumbledore continued, "for using cool logic in the face of fire, I award Hermione Granger of Gryffindor fifty points!"

More hollers came from the Gryffindor table. Tears of joy threatened to spill from Hermione's eyes as we praised her.

Gryffindor was now at three hundred and forty points. We only needed one hundred and thirty-one more to make it past Slytherin's four hundred and seventy. But that's easier said than done.

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence us. "Third, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Harry Potter of Gryffindor sixty points!"

Everyone at the Gryffindor table burst into applause, elated: we were just seventy points behind Slytherin now. Harry and I exchanged secret smiles, for only the two of us truly knew what happened in the dungeon that night.

Dumbledore raised a hand and the clapping died down. "There are all kinds of courage," he said with a wise tone. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. And so, I would like to award Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor ten points!"

The Gryffindors howled with excitement as the four of us gave Neville very apologetic smiles.

In the midst of the celebrations, Harry remembered I hadn't received any points. "I'm sorry, Sadie," he apologized.

"It's fine," I mumbled. But that was a lie. Look, I don't know who Dumbledore thought he was, but I didn't nearly die for him to fail to recognize me. I cursed out Voldemort. He was there. Who gave this two hundred-year-old the right to pretend like I don't exist?

So, you might think I'm overreacting here, and you would be completely right. But I wanted my points, okay? Some part of me wouldn't rest until Draco experienced what it's like to lose. And I couldn't stand being overshadowed by my own friends.

Apparently, Dumbledore had had his hand up for a very long time, and we had all failed to notice. Once the hall fell silent once more, Dumbledore continued.

"Last, but certainly not least," he said, "although it takes a great deal of bravery to fight both your enemies and your friends, it takes a great deal more to fight your family."

Dumbledore grabbed my full attention with those words. About time, Professor.

"And so, for telling You-Know-Who to go—nevermind, I won't repeat that… but anyways, I would like to reward Sadie Silverwood of Gryffindor with seventy points!"

That's more like it.

Every house except Slytherin exploded into a standing ovation. We had put their winning streak to an end: four hundred and eighty to four hundred and seventy.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were congratulating me, but I was too dazed to clap. Seventy points. All to myself. I'm sure Voldemort never got seventy points in his time here, especially not for flipping himself off.

"What did you do?" asked Fred, who was sitting diagonally from me with George.

"Oh, just cursed Voldemort out twice," I said, smirking.

Fred seemed impressed with this. "Twice?"

"In two different languages."

"Are you mad?!" George added.

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I questioned, mostly to myself. "They already know the answer is yes."

Dumbledore's voice filled the hall again. "I believe this calls for a little change in decoration."

Red and gold overtook the green and black banners. The Slytherin crests were replaced with Gryffindor crests. And this time, it was Nick who was gloating to the Bloody Baron.

I felt as if I were walking on a cloud. I had just won something. People were cheering for me. I had made a difference, even if that difference didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. In that moment, I felt useful. Powerful.

I became even more overjoyed when I saw how crushed Draco looked. He was absolutely devastated. It filled me with determination.

Just when I thought that evening couldn't get any better, a glorious meal appeared on our table, even more impressive than the start-of-term feast. The scent of ham and turkey wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. Platters of fish, pasta, meats, mashed potatoes, and every other wonderful food you could think of filled the table. As much as I wanted to devour the feast in front of me, there was other business to attend to. I had brought McGonagall's spare quill and Hagrid's teacup in the pockets of my robes, fully intending on returning them. Unfortunately, Hagrid hadn't come to join us for the feast, but McGonagall was at the High Table, giving me an opportunity to return her stolen possession. More unfortunately, Snape was right next to her, and he would definitely question why I had her quill. But McGonagall would defend me if that happened, right?

I got up from my seat and began walking towards the High Table. I took the quill out of my robes, relieved to see it was still in perfect condition. Nevertheless, I nervously twirled it in my hand, dreaming up all kind of worst-case scenarios.

What if Snape tries to get me expelled for stealing? I worried.

No, he'd have to go through Dumbledore and Dumbledore's on your side, I told myself, but the fear stayed prevalent in my head.

It wasn't until I reached the High Table that I realized I hadn't prepared what I was going to say. But I couldn't just stand against the wall rehearsing an apology under my breath. I'd have to wing it.

I approached McGonagall, who was eating her meal with much more poise than any of the other professors. "Um, hi, Professor." I held out the quill. "Here's your quill… Sorry for taking it and everything."

"Thank you, Silverwood," McGonagall said, taking the quill from my hand. "I trust you won't be stealing again anytime soon, correct?"

"Stealing?" Snape chimed in before I could respond. "I believe that violates multiple school rules."

"It's a mental illness," I explained hesitantly. "Kleptomania."

"Now you can't just go around making up words, Silverwood."

I clenched my fists. "I'm not—"

"You know, Minerva," Snape said, turning to McGonagall, "this would be the perfect time to deduct points. How about eleven—"

"We won the House Cup, okay?" I blurted. "Get over yourself already, you soggy waffle." Mortified at what I had just said, I quickly added a "have a nice summer" and sped off.

I could've sworn I heard Dumbledore say, "You heard her, Severus." I suppressed a smile.

As usual, the splendid desserts washed away all my worries. Pies enchanted to be whatever flavor the eater wanted appeared on golden plates. Mine always tasted like peach, sweeter every time. Alongside the pies were assortments of fruits, cookies, brownies, cake—you name it. And of course, they had ice cream of every flavor. I gladly helped myself to a scoop of salted caramel.

I tried to make the feast last as long as possible. Everything about it was perfect: winning the House Cup, the food, crushing Draco's dreams… I never wanted the fun to end. The thought of leaving Hogwarts was unbearable to me; after just nine months of being there, I almost forgot I had to go back to Malfoy Manor. A small part of me wanted to spend the summer at Hogwarts, but I didn't want to burden Dumbledore.

Luckily, I only had to stay at Malfoy Manor for three months, because I had passed into second year with flying colors—even in Potions. I was a bit disappointed about my Charms exam score, though: Hermione got a one hundred and fourteen percent, while I only got a one hundred and twelve.

"You guys have to come and stay this summer," Ron urged as we gathered our belongings. "I'll owl you."

"You have to visit me, too!" Hermione said. She pulled a sheet of parchment out of her bag, tore it into threes, and scribbled down her address on each before distributing the slips to us.

17 Heathgate, Golders Green, London

"I don't think you'd want to visit Malfoy Manor," I said with a fake chuckle. "It's depressing there. But I'll write."

"Same here," Harry said.

"Oh, and you'll get to meet my parents at the train station!" Ron said, changing the subject.

"Right," I mumbled, remembering how he mentioned his parents weren't too fond of me. "Is it too much to wear my Weasley sweater? You know, to subconsciously win them over?"

"Trust me, you'll win them over without it," Ron assured me. "And yes, it's too much."

The next morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I said our goodbyes to the castle and made our way to the Hogwarts Express. But Hagrid stopped us to get in a last word.

"I'm gonna miss the four o' yeh," he said, sniffling. He pulled us all into a giant hug, nearly knocking the breath out of us.

"Don't worry, we'll be back next year," Harry assured him once he let us go.

"Yeah, we passed," Ron confirmed.

"Can' wait," Hagrid mumbled, his eyes watering.

"Neither can I," I said, remembering the teacup I took from him. Earlier, I had changed out of my robes and put the cup in my moleskin bag, knowing it wouldn't be damaged there.

"Teacup," I whispered to my bag, and sure enough, the white porcelain cup I had stolen months ago appeared in the palm of my hand. "Oh, and Hagrid," I started, "well, long story short, I kind of steal things when I'm upset—it's a mental illness, apparently—but anyway, when Ron and I were fighting in your hut, I kind of took your teacup, and I'm sorry…um, here." I handed him the teacup, and he took it with glee.

"That's where that wen'!" he exclaimed.

I noticed the teacup had a slight dent in its rim, and my remorse immediately doubled. "Oh, no, it's chipped…"

"Don' worry," Hagrid said, "that chip's bin there long as I can remember." He smiled. "Yeh better get on the train now. I'll be waitin' for yeh next year."

"Bye, Hagrid!" we shouted as we boarded the train.

The train ride went by all too quickly. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shared a compartment and recalled the wonderful stories of the year over a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. We laughed at our petty fight and argued over who defeated the mountain troll—we all knew it was Ron, but Harry, Hermione, and I refused to swallow our pride and admit it. Of course, Snape became a popular topic of conversation, and we ultimately agreed that we still hated him despite the fact he was protecting Harry. He could've done a better job.

It felt like mere minutes had passed when we pulled into King's Cross. I gathered my belongings as slowly as possible, and when I couldn't stall anymore, I exited the train with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

We found ourselves in the familiar platform nine and three-quarters. The platform was bustling with students from Hogwarts, and the sounds of laughter, trunks rolling, and owls chirping filled the air. A conductor waited by the brick wall, directing each student out in order to avoid too many people bursting out of a wall at once and confusing the Muggles on the other side.

I let Harry, Ron, Hermione, and some girl I didn't know exit the platform before me. I imagined Lucius's ice-cold glare of disapproval, pictured him Cruciating me over getting into Gryffindor… how could I face him?

"You have to run at it with no fear in your mind, or else you'll crash," Mrs. Weasley had told Harry at the beginning of September. I forced my fears of the Malfoys out of my mind as best as I could, and ran into the wall. Once I appeared back in the Muggle station, I didn't look around for Lucius; I wanted to stall seeing him as much as possible.

"Took you long enough," Hermione laughed once I caught up with her. She was standing with her parents, whom I recognized from Diagon Alley, and an older boy who showed great resemblance to Hermione. Her father was still sitting in that strange black chair with wheels.

"These are my parents, and my brother, Henry," Hermione said. She turned to her family. "This is my friend Sadie."

"Sadie Silverwood," I said with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

"'Silverwood,' that's the most wizard name I've ever heard," Henry replied. "Wait, are you the girl who gave Hermione those jelly beans?"

"Yeah, why?"

He glared at me. "She put all the tan ones in a jar and gave them to me." Hermione blushed and looked away. "She said you told her they were the best ones."

I laughed and turned to Hermione. "When I told you to give them to someone you hate, I meant a next-door neighbor with annoying dogs or something."

Hermione suppressed a smile. "Up to interpretation."

"We've heard so much about you," Mrs. Granger beamed.

"Good things, I promise," Hermione assured me.

"This is Hermione and Sadie," said Ron's voice. I turned to see him and his large family of gingers.

"Hi," I said timidly, remembering how Ron said his parents hated me. But they simply smiled back, a genuine smile.

"Busy year?" Mrs. Weasley asked us.

"Very," Hermione and I both said.

"Oh, and thank you for the sweater and the fudge, Mrs. Weasley," I added.

"Of course, dear."

Harry came to join our large social circle. "I don't want to leave," he mumbled to me.

"Wow, we have so much in common," I said.

"Right, you have to live with Malfoy," Harry grimaced. "I'm sorry." He noticed Ron's family. "Oh, um, thank you for the sweater and the fudge, Mrs. Weasley."

"It was nothing, dear," she replied.

"Ready, boy?"

A man with a ridiculous-looking lampshade mustache approached Harry, his face a bright red. A pale, overdressed woman and a blonde boy with a sneer on his face followed. I could tell from Harry's sullen expression that this was his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and I hated them already.

"You must be Harry's family," Mrs. Weasley said with a fake pleasant tone.

Vernon sighed. "Sure," he muttered. "Hurry, we haven't got all day." He nudged Harry with his elbow and strutted off, expecting Harry to follow.

"They seem delightful," I said sarcastically.

"Aren't they just?" Harry replied through gritted teeth. "I'll see you over the summer, then."

"Have a good holiday," Hermione said, staring at Harry's uncle with disgust.

"Oh, I will," Harry said with a smirk. "I'm going to have lots of fun with them this summer—they don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. Oh, and Sadie, keep Malfoy miserable for me, okay?"

I grinned. "You bet."

Hiding a mischievous smile, he waved goodbye and caught up with his "family."

"You should give me your address, so I can write to you," Hermione suggested.

"But you haven't got an owl," I said.

"I know. I'll send it to your mailbox."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "What's a mailbox?"

Hermione sighed. "Nevermind."

"What's Garlic Storm?" Henry asked, staring at my shirt. I bought it at their concert Manuel took me to on his holiday, one of my favorite memories.

"It's a highly underrated Irish band," I answered. "They're all vampires."

"You mean the highly underrated Irish band Gaelic Storm?" Henry said, confused. "That's not made up of vampires?

"No, I'm pretty sure they're vampires—"

"Hey!" someone snapped. I didn't have to look to know it was Lucius. He grabbed me by the arm and turned me around, forcing me to face him. "What did I tell you about speaking to people of their sort?" He nodded at Hermione and her family.

I wanted to stand up for them, or at least punch the smug look off of Lucius's face, but all that came out of my mouth was a weak, "Sorry, sir." I diverted eye contact.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his right hand. I braced myself for what was going to come, but it never did.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" It was Ron's father, speaking through gritted teeth. I looked up to see him holding Lucius's hand by the wrist.

Lucius ripped his hand from Mr. Weasley's grip. "I think I have a right to keep my goddaughter in line, thank you very much."

Hermione's mother stepped forward with an expression of concern on her face. "Sadie, dear, do you want to come over to our house for dinner? We've, um, been looking forward to getting to know you."

"No, she does not," Lucius snapped. "Now come on, girl, I have places to be." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me away. I mouthed a quick "sorry" to Ron, Hermione, and their families.

"Sorry you had to see that," I whispered to Firefly, earning a glare from Lucius.

We met Narcissa on the other side of the platform. Draco was already with her.

"You could've left her with the Mudbloods, Father," he teased.

"I wish I did," Lucius muttered, and with a wave of his wand, we were back in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, the place I hated most.

I couldn't wait to go back to Hogwarts.