Chapter 16
Letter to the Editor
Charity had read about Zombies. Creatures that walk around stiffly, looking somewhat human but without feeling, numb. That's exactly how Charity felt in the days leading up to and including Dumbledore's funeral. The world around her was a haze, yet she continued to move along in it. Her parents had come to Hogwarts the night before the funeral, and they were something of a comfort, except that Charity could hardly bear the 'I told you so' look in her father's eye. Bless him for not saying it out loud. Of course he had been right about Snape. That much was clear. What he didn't need to know was how close his baby girl had gotten to the evil man the very night he'd done what he did.
She and her parents shuffled into their seats among the hundreds of other wizards and witches that came to pay their respects to the great Dumbledore on this gloriously beautiful day. Bright sunlight glinted off the lake, and its surface was rippled by the pleasantest of breezes. Legions of all manner of magical species turned out for the funeral - a mournful song in Mermish arose from the lake, and a herd of centaurs, hidden among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, fired off arrows in salute; it was a true show of Dumbledore's influence in the magical world.
For Charity, the most jarring moment of the funeral was when Hagrid appeared at the back of the aisle holding Dumbledore's body, which was wrapped in purple velvet. The headmaster looked so small in the prodigious man's arms, yet the pain that the lifeless body caused was enormous. Intense sorrow was carved so deeply into Hagrid's crumpled face that Charity had to look away before she felt too much. In the end, Dumbledore's body was sealed in a glorious white tomb that would remain by the edge of the lake.
Sorrow was not the only emotion that rippled through the crowd that day. There was also fear. Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort was ever said to be afraid of. Now he was gone.
Although Charity's thoughts stayed with Dumbledore the entire day, she was also thinking of Snape. On the night he killed Dumbledore, she had thought that she'd finally broken through an impenetrable barrier with him, and she'd glimpsed a future of his walls coming down, one-by-one. She had told him - she had honestly believed - that he was a good man! Now the person she had thought Snape was was as dead to her as Dumbledore.
After the funeral, Charity returned to her parents' home for the summer. There would be no trips abroad this year. The current climate of evil in the wizarding world called for staying put and keeping a sharp eye out. Charity remained in her fog of sadness during her first few days back home. She spent much time alone in her second floor bedroom looking out at the ash and fruit trees that lined Highbury street.
Mrs. Burbage was an excellent housekeeper, so every rug was swept, every wooden surface of floor and furniture polished and gleaming. Charity would have been glad of some dust and cobwebs with which to join forces in her misery. She longed for a cold, dark day in one of her vacant towers. Her mind fluctuated between thoughts of dear, dear Dumbledore and that polar opposite, Snape. She had felt an undeniable connection to Snape, even while he was pushing her away. Why? For her part, she knew she had a perpetual soft spot for the underdog. It was perfectly natural for her to want to strengthen the heart of a man who had so obviously been wounded at some point in his life.
But what was his attraction to her? Did he sense something evil in her? Why had he come to her that night? Did he know what he was going to do? Did she somehow give him the strength to do it? Was there some horrible part of her lying dormant, waiting to be awoken?
Charity pushed these unwelcome thoughts from her mind by returning to Dumbledore. Dear, dear Dumbledore. She thought back to her interview with him and remembered how kind he was, how much he believed in her and her grand purpose. Her grand purpose…to defend Muggles…to bring a better understanding of Muggle culture to the wizarding world, so that one day they could live in unity. Yes, this was a worthwhile and good purpose! She became determined to focus her energies in this direction. And thus, the fog lifted.
Unfortunately, Charity's renewed sense of purpose resulted in much arguing with her parents. The atmosphere around them had turned distinctly anti-Muggle, and Charity's mother and father did not want their daughter returning to Hogwarts to teach a subject that would be most unwelcome.
"But, Mum, that's exactly why I should return," was what Charity found herself repeating over and over again. "It's wrong to think that Muggles are not just as human as we are, and I need to get this message across to the students. If I don't, then the Death Eaters will be free to send whatever message they want."
"Well, what have those Muggles ever done for you?"
"Mum!" Charity would shout. Such an outburst was usually followed by a sigh and another attempt to reason with her mother from a different angle. "Look, I'm not a spectacular witch…"
Pre-empting her mother's protest, Charity would add, "Mother I know I'm not gifted magically, and I'm okay with that. What I'm saying is that my gift is understanding Muggles. Teaching the wizarding world about them and bringing closer relations between all humans is the one thing I can do for this world. Please don't try to stop me from trying to do the one worthwhile thing that I am capable of."
Perceiving resignation in her mother's features, Charity would soften and try to comfort her with something like, "Come on, Mum, it's not like I'll be marching in the front lines."
"What?"
"Oh, Muggle military reference. What I mean is - think about where I'm going – Hogwarts. There won't be any place more protected than that, even with Dumbledore gone. And I'm just a stupid teacher; no one's going to care about me."
These repeated arguments seemed to pacify Mrs. Burbage until Mr. Burbage came home one day with the Daily Prophet. He set the newspaper on the table and said, "Interesting letter in the editorial section today."
Charity's head snapped up, and she saw that her father was looking directly at her. He wore the same expression he'd worn when Charity was a little girl and he'd discovered that she'd built a small wooden amusement park behind the shed in their garden to attract more garden gnomes. He'd been impressed with her spirit but dismayed at the terrible mess she'd made.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Burbage had snatched up the paper and read the letter aloud:
Dear Editor,
I am very disappointed by the distinctly anti-Muggle stance this newspaper seems to be portraying of late. To suggest that non-Magical people are somehow beneath Magical people is entirely unfounded. We are all human after all – different, yes, but EQUAL.
Try as many have to keep our two worlds distinct and separate, Muggles and Wizards are constantly and inevitably drawn together. I cannot pretend to ignore the horrendous treatment of Witches and Wizards by Muggles during the Witch Burnings of the Fourteenth Century (although really, what harm did it do?) but I do believe that with the right approach, Witches, Wizards, and Muggles can live in harmony, side-by-side. Not only do I think it's possible, I wholeheartedly believe it is DESIREABLE.
I know the wizarding minority, which promotes the preservation of Pure-Blood lines, would have the world believe that mixing Muggle blood with Magical will lead to the watering down and weakening of Magical abilities; however, I propose that the EXACT OPPOSITE is true!
You don't need to look so very far back in history to understand my point. Look at the offspring of Lily Evans, a Muggle-born, and James Potter for example – this child single-handedly brought down the most evil force ever known to mankind as a baby and has gone on to elude the dark one on at least two occasions since. No diluted Magical ability there.
Hushed rumors have been circulating for years that You-Know-Who himself has Muggle blood in him. He is evil, to be sure, but his Magical powers are great – I don't think anyone in this world would describe his abilities as "watered-down."
The debates will continue, and rightly so. I only ask that this paper give voice to those of us who look forward to a world where Muggle and Wizard will work together as equals for a world that is better than any we can now imagine.
Sincerely,
Professor Bnickel
"The Bnickel was a clever stroke, don't you think?" Charity tried to say lightly.
"Oh, Charity! How could you do this? How could you make yourself such a target?" exclaimed Mrs. Burbage in panic.
"Smartly written kitten," said Mr. Burbage diplomatically, "but I do wish you would have left out that bit about You-Know-Who." He looked distraught, and he was not a man Charity had ever known to become falsely alarmed. His voice became quieter and his tone deadly serious when he continued. "You were very young when You-Know-Who was at the height of his power. You don't remember what it was like. Your mum and I kept a lot from you. You didn't really know the terror and dread that we were all living under. And the current situation isn't any better. I guess it's time your mum and I stopped hiding things from you."
"Well, yeah!" said Charity. "I am not a little girl this time."
Mr. Burbage glanced over toward Mrs. Burbage, whose eyes were now downcast. He told Charity, "The publishing industry is under heavy pressure to print only Death Eater friendly news. I'm shocked that your letter even made it into the paper to be honest with you. Someone at the paper's going to pay, if they haven't already."
A horrible guilt clutched at Charity. She hadn't fully thought through the consequences of publishing her letter. "Oh," was the only response she could muster at that moment.
Her father continued, "There's talk at Magical Minds Weekly and several of the other magazines about going on hiatus until all this blows over."
"Dad, what will you do?" Charity asked, completely shocked to hear that her father's business was being affected.
"Oh now, don't you worry about that," he answered, forcing a smile onto his face. "What've I always told you about saving for a rainy day? That's why we don't live in the biggest house on the block, right?"
"Sure, but now there's even more reason for me to go back to Hogwarts – someone in this house had to be bringing in a paycheck," Charity said. Mr. Burbage did not look pleased at the trap he'd just set for himself.
Mr. Burbage's eyes darted about in thought, and he was silent for a few moments. Charity could see that he was still agitated about something. Finally, he said, "That was a clever bit with the bunny name on the letter kitten, clever, but how many of your colleagues at Hogwarts know the name?"
"I suppose…" She wondered why this would be important and then gasped – Snape!
"I'm not afraid of Severus Snape," she said bravely and truthfully.
"Neither was Dumbledore," was her father's crushing response. "Look, honey," he added, "You've said your bit loud and clear. Now maybe it's time for you to lay low for a while. Take a year off teaching and work on your Muggle studies in some, er, quieter part of the world."
Charity considered sending her family's owl, Frederic, with a note to McGonagall to get a pulse on the situation at Hogwarts. To her parents, she said, "Look, the other teachers at Hogwarts are just as anti-Death Eater as I am. If they decide that Hogwarts is the place for them, then it's the place for me too."
"But sweetheart…" her mother started in her panicky voice, but Charity cut her off. She had no more patience for her mother's worries, especially now that they seemed so well founded.
"I'm not going to lose to Snape!" Charity shouted, then quickly added, "Or to that what's-his-face either." She promptly turned and left the room.
Charity stopped abruptly after the door swung shut behind her. She wondered if she had convinced her parents, because she wasn't entirely sure she had convinced herself. She heard her father say, "I think we have to let her do this punkin." His statement was followed by a large sob from her mother. "We should be very proud to have raised a fighter like our little Charity," Mr. Burbage continued. His voice had become thick, and he didn't say anything else.