13th September
Out of hospital; at last. It needs to be said that Madame Pomfrey was ecstatic to see me go. I irritate her in every possible way. I read for about three hours every night, which she doesn't mind, but I was reading hefty books. After my bedside table collapsed a total of eight times (five times in one day alone) from the weight I took to stacking them at the end of my bed. Trouble was, I would turn over in my sleep and unconsciously kick them off resulting in; "crash! crash!crash!"
So she suggested a way of passing time while my head healed over that was a little quieter. She almost cried when I told her I sew. Finally, Marion Popyngcart would be a silent invalid and cause no problems whatsoever. Not so. I must be the only person in the whole history of Hogwarts to have somehow succeeded in sewing their embroidery to their mattress. And then ruined her copy of the Daily Prophet when I spilled stuff all over it. Oh dear. I have to say, the headline "Daily Prophet; Death Eaters Rumoured to be in South of England" doesn't look any more cheerful covered in blood-replenishing potion. And then I was relighting the candles by hand and set my hair on fire.
And that's not all. Oh no. There was the overdose.
It wasn't that I didn't pay attention. But hey, most medicine I have taken in my life has been disgusting. Skele-Gro is the worst; but this one was very nice. Tasted of bananas. Trouble was, it made my stomach go all funny and I spent all that afternoon with a pipe down my throat pumping it out. Pleasant.
So no love lost. I don't know if it's just me, but most folks either seem to like me or can't stand me. I suppose I am rather horrible sometimes.
I was delighted to get back to our room which was much more personal than the hospital wing. Joan had made a headband for me with padding so that it wouldn't be tight around my sore spots, which are still haven't quite healed. I asked her why she had gone to so much effort for me.
"Anyone going into hospital with health like yours has a half chance of coming out. I didn't want to think about the other half chance." She has always been sincere, and I have never doubted her in anything and I felt almost guilty. But I'd far sooner admit to incompetence than the idea of being selected for assassaination.
We sat on our adjacent beds and chatted for hours and I realised just how much I'd missed her over my days in hospital. I made some adjustments to some of my poems and she helped me on my scrapbook. I even showed her some bits of my diary and we laughed about more carefree times.
"Haha, that Healer was great fun" she said as we opened it to her having Adelaide all that time ago. I flick back through the months: Christmas at Grimmauld Place, Harry's hearing, Arthur being attacked... it feels so long ago.
She leaned forward, her hair sliding slightly over my face. Her smile was like a candle slowly catching fire, as she whispered to me: "I've found someone, and I think they like me back."
"A new boyfriend? Tell!"
She laughs at my perennial nosiness. "His name is Adam; and he works in Hogsmeade. He always meets me after my shift and we talk together; he is the gentlest of souls. But- I don't know"
"What is it? He is most dreadfully boring?"
"No, it's not him. I still love Tom, that's all."
"Of course you do. We all do. But my dear sisters, how old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"And you have already been married, and widowed with a child just over a year old. You have fought and risked death; you have shadows hanging over your head. You know that Tom would be the first one to want you to be happy, even if it was with someone else. Of course you love him. But death isn't the end; for him or for you."
She looks at me seriously, and I know she has been considering a decision throughout this.
"What if there was a choice, a choice so important to a person that it consumed them so entirely, burning them up as it were, and they knew that their heart would break without a chance but they knew that they risk hurting something special to them?"
I thought that I saw a bluebird flutter in through the door behind her. I blinked once, and it was gone.
"Love is affectionate understanding; loved ones would not mind."
I can feel tears pricking my eyes sharply and I realise just how much I've needed my only remaining sister. If it wasn't for her, I'd still be back with my father uneducated- or dead. "You bring happiness, Joan wherever you go and that is the greatest compliment I could pay you. I feel so glad I might even sing."
"Oh please, don't. We all know what happens when you sing."
"What's so bad?" I say huffily. "I was passable enough to bring forth mermaids."
"Yes, and we all know what Mermish sounds like above water." We snigger like old times and I tap her with mock irritation.
"How is it you put it, Marion?"
"When I sing; ecology is obliterated, Dementors commit suicide and Armageddon comes 15 minutes earlier."
15th September 1996
And so I wait. Just around the corner from the Room of Requirement, I perch in a corner and draw out a large encyclopaedia on alchemy ( partly responsible for the table-collapsing incident in the hospital wing) and use it to hide my face, smoothing out my scarf to watch for anyone coming this way.
I must be sure to be on my best behaviour today. Once, Dumbledore had an emergency at Hogwarts- I forget what- and had to miss a History of Magic lesson with me. I had Professor Binns teaching me instead, which resulted in me passing out on the desk. When he asked what was wrong after the lesson I lost my temper and told him he was the most boring person I had ever met.
Yeah, he hasn't spoken to me since.
I see Draco on the Map before I hear him; and neither takes me by surprise. He's been showing up here an awful lot recently. I thought I might have a better chance of getting him alone here, and it seems I was right. It looks like this is the one place he won't be taking Pansy Parkinson.
I see him stop just around the corner, and I slowly shut the book and fold the scarf up into my sleeve. I walk until we are opposite; at either end of a hallway. No reinforcements, no horde of friends to back him up or hide who he really is. And from such a distance, we look the same height.
From such a distance, we look equal.
I am the first one to speak. "I can't go it alone."
He rolls his eyes at a display of weakness. "So you want someone to fight your battles for you?"
"I want someone to fight it with me, not for me."
"So you turn to me. The person you have shown nothing but open contempt for these past- what, six years? Seems that smug shine has gone, tarnished by bitterness. Your pride is humbled, so you'll even turn to what you hate to keep you from what you fear."
"As is sadly the case with many human beings; better the devil they know."
"Perhaps. But what interest could you possibly have in me?"
"I want Dumbledore dead" he gives almost a yelp of surprise that I should know his plans. "And you're going to help me get there."
"You... want Dumbledore dead? Funny that." His grey eyes, so similar to mine, narrow in suspicion. "I would have thought you the most devout priestess in the Potter cult."
"Indeed, my faith is waning. I'm as concerned about keeping you alive as I am about seeing the man dead."
"Why on earth would you want me alive?"
"Maybe I'm trying to prevent an early and unnecessary death, I don't know" I snap. "I'll leave the guesswork to you."
He shrugs. I can see a mild sense of temptation growing, give it a bit longer and he'll probably agree.
"Well, of all the defections to Voldemort's side I could have expected, yours was the least likel-"
He doesn't quite finish the word "likely" as my hands throttling him temporarily cut off the airflow in his neck.
"I am not defecting to the Death Eaters! Never! Never! I am on your side here, not Voldemort's, never Voldemort's! OK, I want him dead. Because I'm jealous, that he's clever and I'm not. Because he's lived 150 years in comfort and I've had to fight for every one of my 12. Because he has more power and influence –that he claims he doesn't expect or even want- than I will ever have a chance of getting."
"Oh yeah? Didn't you hero-worship him just the like the rest of this damn school? You were virtually bowing down before him when he took in for tutoring. Bet you thought of him as your saviour, didn't you?"
And then I'm not all there anymore, but back in Dumbledore's office, not a political orchestrator but a frightened little girl fleeing a murderous parent.
"What is your name, little girl?"
"Marion Popyngcart, sir."
"I was told I was entrusted with the education of Marion Rowle."
"That girl is dead to me. I am Marion Popyngcart now that is the side of me that I want the world to see. The other side must only exist for me in my head."
He looked at me with a sort of sad understanding. "I know what you mean." He said.
"What is your aim, Marion? When you leave this school, what do you want to be?
"Not stupid, sir."
He smiled at my enthusiasm but disapproved of my prejudice.
"Here is a list of books, Marion. I want you to have read them by the end of the holidays..."
"I'm going to be out for the rest of the afternoon, Marion. Here is a 200-word length of code, crack the code, write up the alphabet and translate the passage by tomorrow. We can discuss the meaning tomorrow..."
"Not satisfactory, Marion... do it again... that's better. See? It's a much stronger spell now."
"Now let's discuss your approach to history, Marion. You can't look at the events with the mind of a 20th-century girl; you must think yourself into the shoes of someone with a completely background and outlook. It's a huge exercise in empathy..."
I miss being in school.
"What he did for me was nothing more than the right thing to do. Giving me an education is my right, not a sign of favouritism. And just because he gives me something I'm entitled to, doesn't me I must be bonded to him for life. I constantly resent having done everything he tells me."
The lie stings my mouth so I'm forced to get rid of the vitriol as fast as possible. Maybe I am envious of Dumbledore, who isn't- but I chose to work with him. And only half of that choice was out of gratitude. The other half was the spotting of an opportunity- the opportunity to find a powerful ally who might just keep me alive.
"But what can you even do for me? How could I possibly need whatever talents you have?"
"I can throw a knife. On a good day I might even hit the target." He raises an eyebrow, no doubt thinking it false modesty.
"And more importantly, I know my poisons." He scoffs at this.
"I don't need help measuring out potions thanks."
"Don't be so cynical. I can do more damage in ten seconds using a bottle of chemicals the size of my thumb than you can with that stick of wand in a minute."
"Stick of wood?" He sounds offended, twirling the black hawthorn wand around in his fingers. "I'll have you know this is a fine wand."
"I'm sure it is. Give it a year and you'll lose to someone who I'm sure will put it to much better use."
I can sense I may be putting him off an alliance, and I am eager to team up as soon as possible. No more mistakes. No more mishaps holding me back. Progress must be made, and fast."
"Come on, Draco. It's not like your fighting off offers. Your father's in Azkaban. Safe, maybe but a fat lot of use he is to you there. Your mother's hands are tied. Crabbe and Goyle are the most foolish things on this planet; their decisions will only make things worse. And Pansy- well, maybe she's pretty, you obviously get on- but has she seen what's become of you? Has she even noticed that anything's wrong? Has she realised what is happening under her nose? No, she has not."
Still he pushes me away.
"It's too late. I can't go back-"
And then he pulls up his left sleeve and I recoil; with horror and disgust at the Mark on his arm.
"See? You call yourself tolerant and yet you flinch at the alien. I've seen the look on your face whenever somebody brings up the subject of Death Eaters. You've devoted everything to bringing the likes of me into Azkaban, why should I believe that you would ever join forces with a Death Eater?"
It is with a slow realisation that I understand why Dumbledore tasked me with this.
"Because you were almost me."
And then, as if in explanation, I pull up my left sleeve so that our two arms run parallel.
"It is the Rowle tradition, paramount to a way of life, that every child is called upon to serve the Dark Arts; whether under Grindelwald, Voldemort- any Dark Lord. That is the purpose of their living, and no other.
I knew that I would face a life of fighting, a life in the Dark. I was indoctrinated into the pureblood way of life, but it did not work for me. I just wasn't that kind of person; something told me- someone, that it would destroy me, and that for my own self-preservation I must not join my father's side.
I had worked out that all Death Eaters had a Mark branded onto the left arm, and I knew that all costs I must avoid that happening to me. But I did not see death as an honourable alternative. I knew that all I had to do to skirt the inner circle of Voldemort's followers and all Voldemort's inner circle had the Mark.
I had to incapacitate my left arm, but I could not bear the thought of losing it entirely. So I decided to damage the skin so badly that it would not be reparable without the help of St Mungo's. So I poured acid over it. It was agonising, but I truly believed I was saving myself- suffering pain so that I would never suffer it again.
My father was furious at this act of mutilation, of revolt- so he decided that my sister and I were more trouble than we were worth. So he killed our mother as punishment for letting me go so far, and turned on us. Joan took us out of that place, and here I am. That new skin you see on my arm covers old scars, and I am a patchwork girl, each time hiding my past with a new surface. That is the price you paid to get in; this is the price I paid to get out. That is why I will help you."
He had listened dispassionately to what I had to say, and clearly had thought that if I was prepared to mutilate myself to get my way, I was worth taking on.
"It certainly would be a comfort to have someone watching my back."
"Must I? I'd rather watch your front, it's much more handsome."
Like so many occasions, I only realised what I had said after I had said it. He turned back to me.
"I think I could work with you," he said amusedly.
"Don't flatter yourself," I replied grumpily. "That's the first and last compliment you're getting off me!"
"I don't doubt that it is,"
"There are conditions, you know. Firstly, I am not Pansy Parkinson, so don't treat me like her. We act and think as one unit from now on. Secondly, I am going to be the biggest demand on your time. If I say it's urgent, I mean it's urgent. If I say I need you now, I mean now. Not in five minutes, not in ten, not whenever you feel like it. Don't think there is any hour of the day in which I would not take the opportunity to call on you. Thirdly, no secrets from me. If I discover that you have hidden any important information from me, then the Nimbus 2001 gets it, along with enough Potions coursework to set you back three weeks. Accept these terms?"
He walked back to me, picked up my left hand and shook it.
"Accepted." He gave me a mock salute- and then left. Just like that. As if an Unbreakable Vow isn't even needed. As if a bond of trust is just the same as it's always been, and not so easily broken.
As if I am not really working for his enemy.
As if he had faith in me.