CHAPTER 5

The Slytherin common room has been my hideout from Snape for most of the day. Even though we agreed to a flimsy truce last night, I fear leaving the dungeons because the chance of angering him feels too high. As he is supposed to protect me on behalf of Voldemort while I am here at Hogwarts, it is probably best not to make him my enemy, no matter how badly I detest him. Voldemort is more terrifying than Snape, and if being a good, easy-to-manage student will ensure that I have a good standing with him, I suppose I can be kind, invisible, out of the way, on my best behavior, whatever it takes not to reignite the animosity between Snape and me and risk Voldemort's anger at my dissidence.

The most important thing right now is that Voldemort remains ignoring to the fact that I am still resisting his plan for me and am still trying o find a way out of it.

It's not until after a house-elf brings me dinner that I begin to crave being anywhere other than in this common room. Being alone and surrounded on all sides by water and stone doesn't feel like much of an upgrade from the caves I used to hide in. At least in those, I had the freedom to come and go at whim. Not now though—now I'm trapped indefinitely in this ruddy castle.

I leave the empty plate and glass on the table and exit the Slytherin Dungeon, swiftly dodging up the stairs to avoid any possible contact with Snape, going to the one place where at least one of my questions can be answered.

When I reach the office door, I take a moment to catch my breath, then knock. "Enter," McGonagall calls through the door.

"Evening, Professor."

"Evening, Rodgers," she greets me as she sets her quill aside.

"I hate to interrupt your day, but I had a question."

She motions to the chair in front of her desk. "Take a seat."

"It's about Conjuration."

"Conjuration?" She sounds skeptical.

"Yes, Professor. I struggle Conjuring the smallest of things, and when I do manage to Conjure something, it is always a tiny version of what I was trying to Conjure in the first place."

"You've managed to Conjure something from nothing?"

"Yes. For instance, yesterday while practicing, I tried to Conjure a chair, but when I finally succeeded, it was smaller than house-elf-sized. I've been practicing for a few months now and still seem to be failing."

"Conjuration is distinguished from the other branches of Transfiguration due its to the different nature of the Transfiguration. To Conjure something from nothing, you are Transfiguring the desired object from thin air. It one of most complex branches of Transfiguration taught here at Hogwarts and, as such, is usually only taught to N.E.W.T. level classes."

"I—what is a 'newt' level class?"

"N.E.W.T. stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test," McGonagall explains. "In order to enter a N.E.W.T. level class, students must receive an 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher on their O.W.L.s at the end of their fifth year, depending on what the professor requires for their class."

Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test? Merlin, what kind of hell am I in? "So what you're saying is that I will be unable to learn Conjuration here at Hogwarts until my sixth year—if I am forced to stay that long?" McGonagall opens her mouth to speak, but I continue talking, more to myself than her, "But that will be too late."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that sometimes a rock Transfigured to a bed retains stiffness, but if I were able to Conjure up one—" I bring myself to a sudden halt.

Her lips thin. "Rodgers, you said you left the orphanage and found your great-uncle deceased. Where did you go after? Where have you been living?"

I look away, annoyed at my own stupidity, and mutter, "It doesn't really matter."

Her voice is full of professor-like concern when she asks, "Do you have a home?"

Fully regretting my decision to come in here and try to learn something useful, I mumble, "I more of just . . . floataroundalittlebit, what time is it?"

"Rodgers—"

"I'm really sorry, Professor, but there is something I must do before it gets too late. Thank you for your help." I don't look back as I rush out of her office to cower away in the Slytherin Dungeon. You're such an idiot, Charlotte. What is your problem? You can't let things like that slip. I wholeheartedly blame my lack of social interaction for not being able to hold my tongue regarding secrets that do not need to be shared.

The following days go by pretty quietly: the house-elves bring me food whenever I request it (I've never had service this fantastic before), and I have no reason to leave the Slytherin Dungeon. In fact, I have every reason not to leave. Now I need to avoid not only Snape but also McGonagall, at least for a while. She can't know the life I came from. What if that causes investigations that lead to her finding out about my duty to Voldemort? I'd never be able to look her in the face again.

For the next few days, whenever staying in the dungeons begins to weigh on me too much, I cover myself with the Disillusionment Charm—one of the only charms I spent significant time learning so that hiding from Death Eaters would be easier—and sneak to the Astronomy Tower. I've gone to the tower at least once a day, after dinner, since running from McGonagall's office in shame.

I manage to avoid both Snape and McGonagall until today when Snape came to the common room to inform me that the other students are supposed to be arriving later, which will bring a big change in the way I've been living these past two weeks. Snape commanded me to wait at the entrance of the Great Hall and casually merge into a group of Slytherins and try not to draw attention to myself, which is exactly what I plan to do when the other students arrive in a couple of hours. Hopefully, there won't be too much fuss about my presence.

Instead of staying inside to wait out the rest of the day, I plan to go outside. There is an enticing beech tree by the lake that looks perfect for relaxing under—the first time I'll ever be afforded such an opportunity. Relaxing out in the open was always far too dangerous with Malfoy and his cronies after me.

Luckily for me, I see neither Snape nor McGonagall in the castle while making my way to the tree, and I'm still thanking the stars above as I examine the area around the tree and sit down. Even though I wish to be anywhere but here at Hogwarts, I have never before felt such peace. From the way the wind seems to blow so gently here, to the way the bright grass looks compared to the dark stone of the castle, to the glorious blue lake that invites me to swim, everything here is perfect. If only it wasn't here that I find my personal heaven . . .

I rest my back against the tree, close my eyes, and take in a deep breath of the calm air, the likes of which I once believed would never come to me. Death Eaters cannot get me here—I'm safe for the first time in five years. Truly, completely safe. Sure, Snape is here and poses a threat, but it's doubtful he would kill me considering he is supposed to be watching over me. So I'm safe.

A snake slithers into the lake ahead of me, and envy pricks my heart at the sight, quite like it had done in the Owlery. What it must be like to be completely and utterly free . . .

I find snakes fascinating. They're always crawling on their faces and bellies, but they keep moving as if it doesn't bother them. They don't care that crawling that way is typically something to be ashamed of.

"Accio." The creature flies from the lake's water and straight into my hand. It hisses at me, but I keep my hand clamped close enough to its mouth so it can't bite me. "Hello." It opens its mother once more, and with a jolt of excitement, I expect it to answer. Instead, it only hisses again. "Depulso." Though speaking to them may never be possible, I should certainly learn to be as content as they are.

Around me are a bunch of twigs, which I begin picking up and throwing into the air one at a time, saying, "Expulso," at each of them to make tiny explosions. It seems childish, even to me, to be sitting down here causing mini explosions, but I don't want to stop. Every time I tried to practice any magic while on the run, I would have to constantly watch my surroundings to make sure no one was coming to kill me or capture me while my guard was down. Sitting by a lake under a tree in broad daylight and doing magic with no worries is a feeling I thought would always be foreign to me. And on top of that, the little explosions fill me with a sort of nostalgia I can't quite name, like it's something I've seen before and really enjoyed, but I cannot possibly know when anything of the sort might have happened.

I wonder . . .

Abruptly, I stand to my feet, taking a quick survey of the grounds to make sure no one is watching. "Expecto Patronum!" Nothing happens. I concentrate on this very moment, the first time in my life where I've felt both free and happy at the same time, and try again. This time, a silver vapor comes from the tip of my wand but slowly fades away. I sit back down once the spell dies away. That was the closest I've ever gotten to creating the true Patronus Charm, and I will settle for that today. It's enough.

With the sun bearing down on me, I drift off into a nap.

Had Snape not come to fetch me because, "Those in my House will not be late for the Start-of-Term Feast," or something to that effect, I likely could have slept until tomorrow morning.

Now I stand behind the large doors leading into the Great Hall, preparing to just merge with a group of people, enter the Great Hall, and sit down at the Slytherin table while drawing as little attention to myself as possible. This is the moment I've probably been dreading most of all because school starting will absolutely change everything about my life for the past two weeks. I've had enough change.

A large group comes in moments later. I try to wait until at least one person sits at the Slytherin table before following suit. At the moment, a boy with white-blond hair, a pale face, and gray eyes walks past me. He sits down at the Slytherin table with a group of students likely around his age. Though Hogwarts is completely new to me, I somehow feel as if we've met, and I find myself going to sit down diagonal from him. The girl on the other side of him looks at me, her face full of hatred and suspicion as she gives me a once-over. "Who are you? We've never seen you here before."

There is a restrained venom in her voice that shocks me for a moment, and I inwardly sigh. If all the Slytherins are as dreadful as this girl and Snape, my life is going to be a living hell . . . well, more so than it already has been. "Charlotte Rodgers. I'm a fifth-year transfer from Durmstrang." With any luck, my answer won't sound as mechanical to them as it does to me.

"Well," the blond-headed boy says, "you're in Slytherin, so you can't be too bad. I'm Malfoy"—he seems familiar because he is Lucius Malfoy's son—"Draco Malfoy." The resemblance is so obvious now. He gestures to the group around him. "This is Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy." Something seems to occur to him. "We come from old wizarding families, pureblood families. It's the only respectable type of wizard. You are a pureblood, aren't you?"

"Yes," I answer quickly.

"Good, I would hope so, considering you're in Slytherin. Wouldn't want any more filthy Mudbloods ruining the House's good name, would we?" He says this so casually I can't help but want to agree with him.

"What's a Mudblood?" I ask without taking a moment realize just how bad of an idea this might be.

The girl named Pansy giggles, but it's more of a condescending sound than friendly laughter. Draco says, "A Mudblood is someone born to Muggles." He meets my eye. "You know what Muggles are, correct?" I nod and look away. This whole Hogwarts thing is looking more and more like a death sentence. "There's just a handful in Slytherin, and it's best that no more enter." More students begin to file in. "You see that girl over there?" He points to a beautiful girl taking a seat on the far side from where we are. "She's one of them. Zoe Accrington. I'd suggest you stay away from her."

"Because she's a Mudblood?"

"Yes."

Pansy turns toward Draco and whispers mockingly, "How could she not know what a Mudblood is?"

I clear my throat and avert my eyes from her and the others, watching the Mudblood girl. Is there another term for them? If this group of students says that word with such venom, it's probably not a good one.

McGonagall, carrying that wicked hat that put me into Slytherin—why why why did it have to put me in with this lot?—walks through the room, followed by a large group of smaller students. These must be the first-years. McGonagall sets the hat on a stool, at which point it begins singing a song that I struggle to hear over the sniggering coming from Draco and Crabbe (at least, I think it's Crabbe). They seem to find the whole ordeal to be tedious and a bit ridiculous. Which . . . I mean, maybe. Why does the hat have to sing at all? And why must it sing for such a long time?

I watch the Mudblood Slytherin girl. Even she seems less than pleased to be listening to the Sorting Hat. Is that because all Slytherins think they're above this routine, or is she, like me, angry that the hat put her into Slytherin in the first place? With students like the ones across from me, being a Mudblood Slytherin must be incredibly difficult. Why would that hat have done that?

Each young student goes through the Sorting, and while the Slytherin table seems happy for each child Sorted into our House, I can't bring myself to cheer for them because I honestly just feel sorry for every last one of them because they'll be stuck with these people for seven years.

When, at last, every student has been put into their respective Houses, a feast begins. The food I've been eating over the past two weeks is nothing compared to what the house-elves have prepared for us this evening. I haven't had vegetables this good in years. The last time I had cooked vegetables was at the orphanage. Since I left, I've only ever had them raw. Cooked far out-tastes (is that a thing?) those I found across the countryside.

When the feast is finished, the headmaster stands to make an announcement, and almost as if he had rehearsed it, Draco mouths the start Dumbledore's speech as Dumbledore delivers it, much to the enjoyment of his friends around him. He locks eyes with me again and says, "He starts the same way every year."

Dumbledore makes a few more announcements, including a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher named Dolores Umbridge, to which Draco mutters, "Why don't they just give the position to Professor Snape already?" And with that comment, I shudder. What would happen to this place if a Death Eater who practices the Dark Arts was given that position?

Not even Draco Malfoy can hide his look of surprise when Umbridge stands and interrupts Dumbledore. I don't pay much attention to her as she drawls on and on in a voice no better than nails on a chalkboard. She looks . . . familiar somehow? But she wasn't in Dumbledore's office with the other professors when he told them about me, so trying to place where we might have met seems more or less impossible, at least until I have a chance to see her up closer.

Attention only goes back to the front of the room when Dumbledore takes the stand once again to send us to our common rooms.

Once in the Slytherin Dungeon, Draco calls me over to sit with him and his devoted followers. I take a seat by the fire with them, wondering if this is such a good idea. I didn't like the way he spoke about some of the students and professors at dinner. He's definitely his father's son. "What's Durmstrang like? I hear they proudly teach the Dark Arts there. Is that true?" he says.

As Durmstrang is a complete mystery to me, I just agree and hope it's true. "Yeah, they were big on the Dark Arts. Well, until Karkaroff went missing. I don't know what they teach now because I'm here, obviously."

Draco doesn't comment are Karkaroff missing, which is a relief because I know nothing about it beyond the fact that he is missing. "Well, I feel quite sorry for you, really. Going from Durmstrang to Hogwarts . . . I don't think I would survive. The Dark Arts here are a joke. We only teach the defense of them. And you saw the git that's teaching us this year. I don't know why they don't just give the position to Professor Snape already." He pauses. "Have you met Professor Snape?"

I try hard not to laugh, but a smile comes against my will. "I know Professor Snape." As badly as I want to tell yet another person about my disagreement with that particular professor, I cannot bring myself to tell Draco and his friends. That seems like a dangerous move. What if word gets back to his Death Eater father that I have been fighting with Snape, another Death Eater?

"When did you meet him? He's the best teacher here. The only one who's worth a damn if you ask me," Pansy says, sliding closer to Draco and trying to insert herself into the conversation.

"I got here almost two weeks ago. I met him after I was Sorted into Slytherin." That's not completely true, but I don't want to give details about my having been a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. Come to think of it, was Draco holed up somewhere inside the manor while my life was being traded over without my consent, as if I am nothing more than an object with which to gain leverage? Was he in his own private room somewhere in the manor, living a life of privilege while my freedoms were being stripped away? Why does that idea bother me so badly?

He looks up at me but doesn't comment on what I've just said, instead choosing to say, "It's no secret that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is the one Snape's been vying for ever since he became a teacher here, but Dumbledore refuses to let him have it."

"Why doesn't Dumbledore let him take it?" I ask innocently, though it seems obvious to me that it must be because Dumbledore doesn't completely trust Snape in a role like that. I can't blame him—how could anyone trust a man who is a Death Eater and yet also seems to be on good terms with Dumbledore? Those two aspects of his life cannot coexist without one of them being a farce.

"Well, he was accused of being a Death Eater last time You-Know-Who rose to power. Dumbledore has let rumors cloud his judgment."

"So what does he teach?" I know this answer because McGonagall told me, but for some reason, I want to keep talking to Malfoy and his friends. Despite being haughty like his father and sharing his father's world views, Draco seems so far to be nothing like Lucius Malfoy, and I am unsure if this frightens or excites me.

"Potions. You'll like it. Snape is excellent."

"He seems like the kind who has a temper," I say as nonchalantly as possible.

"Only against Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws . . . so pretty much anyone who isn't worthy to be at Hogwarts, anyone who is not a Slytherin," Pansy says with a sickly-sweet smile. Apparently, Slytherins think they're better than everyone else. Brilliant.

"Are there many Mudbloods here besides Accrington? The way you were talking about them sounded as if you had a personal affiliation with one, one you happen to hate."

He smirks. "There are a few. The one I happen to hate—the most—is Hermione Granger. She hangs out with Potter—Harry Potter, yes, the famous one—and Weasley. Weasley is just as bad as a Mudblood: he's a blood traitor, meaning his family befriends Muggles and Mudbloods. The whole lot of them is pathetic."

I know enough of the Wizarding World to know who Harry Potter is. Keeping my voice as neutral as possible, I ask, "Do . . . do you think Harry Potter will again be able to vanquish You-Know-Who?"

Draco snorts. "Not at all. It was luck last time, and I don't think he'll be able to muster up enough of that again to be able to stand a fight with You-Know-Who. That's how I know he hasn't returned. There's no way Potter met the Dark Lord last year and withstood a fight."

I nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Maybe Harry will be able to kill the Dark Lord. Maybe I can avoid having a child . . .

"So, if you got here two weeks ago, is it safe to assume you've seen everything in the castle?" Draco seems to be grasping at straws for small talk.

"Not a chance in hell. I stayed mostly confined to this room, trying to avoid the professors and their questions. A few times I went to the Astronomy Tower, but only when I knew I would not have to face any of them—the professors, I mean."

"I'd have done the same," Crabbe offers. "I wouldn't have wanted to spend time with the professors either, especially knowing you'll have to deal with them for a year as it is."

"That was my thought process behind it." Such lies.

Draco looks into the fire for a few moments before meeting my eyes again. "Of all the places you could have gone to avoid the professors, you chose the Astronomy Tower. Why there?"

The intensity in his eyes forces me to look away, to anything, whatever I can find as a lifeline. Finding nothing, I resign to meeting his gaze. "Durmstrang didn't look as nice as Hogwarts does. I liked looking over everything from one of the highest points in the castle. It was a nice feeling. I was free."

"Free from what?"

I clear my throat and look at his other friends. None of them need to know anything about my past, and I'm not willing to share it with them. Instead, I just shrug. "Well, I'm not in control of my own life. I was sent here against my will for my own protection, and I can never go back to living the way I was used to."

"At Durmstrang?" Pansy asks.

"Yes, and avoiding the professors and staying up there overlooking the grounds made me feel free for some reason." I shrug again. "I don't know. This is just a really beautiful place."

They turn their attention away from me and begin discussing everything they did over their summer holiday. I wait patiently in the common room until it hits a time that doesn't look too early for me to go to my bed and lie down. Being around people is kind of exhausting. Maybe this is why I avoided people for so long.

Well, that and the inherent dangers I faced being in public.