CHAPTER 8

Very slowly, I walk to the Great Hall, struggling not to wince with each step, knowing that instead of going to the Great Hall I should be going as quickly as possible to the Slytherin Dungeons as this could be my chance to hide away from everyone for a while. Or better yet, this might be my chance to try convincing Snape to let me leave Hogwarts, to try getting him to appeal to the Voldemort because I'm not safe here and would be much safer—where, Charlotte? Malfoy Manor? Being stuck at the manor with Lucius and Narcissa would almost be worse than being stuck in Hogwarts.

Would it though? says a voice in eth back of my head.

Leaving Hogwarts seems impossible though, especially after Snape's conversation with Dumbledore . . . he has plans for Snape, plans that require him to be alive.

If I am injured, apparently Voldemort will punish Snape, and if leaving Hogwarts will put me in more danger, then there's no chance of escaping because Snape can't risk my safety—if he suggests I leave Hogwarts and then something happens to me, it'll be his fault, which means punishment and possibly death. On top of that, I've proven myself untrustworthy, and the Death Eaters won't risk setting me free in the world because I've evaded them for so long. At this rate, I will never get out of this place.

Draco and his followers are still at the Slytherin table when I enter the Great Hall. I smile when I see him because for the first time in a long while, someone actually cared about me when I was injured, possibly dying. I wasn't just left alone in a pool of my own blood—Draco Malfoy helped me get to the hospital wing when he could have abandoned me like all the others in my life did.

Making my way over to the Slytherins, I watch Draco, who seems to be eating extra slowly while Pansy chatters away excitedly. He looks up and catches my eye, looks back to Pansy, then does a double-take. Without a second glance at Pansy, he stands up quickly and comes toward me, only to abruptly stop in front of me. "Hi," he says quietly.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," I say truthfully. "Who know almost dying could be so exhausting?" I smile weakly at him.

"Do you have strength enough to walk?"

"I—"

"Here." He offers me his arm. "You'll feel better after eating something." Timidly, I reach over and accept his arm and let some of my weight rest against him, begrudgingly admitting to myself that it actually is helping to be able to lean against him a bit. Together, we sit down at the Slytherin table. Pansy gapes at us for a moment before gathering her things and storming out of the Great Hall while glowering at me. Part of me wonders briefly if I should be concerned about my belongings down in the dungeon, but then I realize that I have so few belongings that I'm not even that concerned about them. My textbooks and pocket watch are with me; everything else is unimportant.

"What'd I miss yesterday?" I ask before taking a swig of my juice.

"Herbology—no regrets there—with Ravenclaw and Sprout," he says. "Transfiguration with Gryffindor—we have a double class of it with them on Tuesday. Care of Magical Creatures with Gryffindor; at least that brainless oaf Hagrid is not teaching this term. One can only hope he won't be back again. And History of Magic with Binns."

"The second day of classes, and I missed the whole thing . . ." I push my plate away, the pain ruining any appetite.

"Don't feel too bad," he tries to comfort me. "You'll be fine in Transfiguration; we're still on the Vanishing Spell. Herbology is probably not a class you'll take after this year; the same goes for Care of Magical Creatures. Both of those classes are jokes, really. And don't get me started on History of Magic—who lets a ghost teach a class?" He snorts and answers his own question, "The same git who let a werewolf teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts."

I ignore this and instead say, "What's left today?"

"Charms with Flitwick, Care of Magical Creatures—looks like you didn't get out of that after all," he says. "Oh, and Astronomy later. We've already had Divination—or Arithmancy, I think, since you don't take Divination—and Herbology." He pulls a pocket watch from his robes. "Are you done eating? We're going to be late for Charms." I nod, not having eaten much to begin with, and we leave the Great Hall and walk to class extra slowly so as not to cause me more discomfort than necessary.

"Pansy doesn't like me much, does she?" I say suddenly, so suddenly that I don't even know where it came from. It's not like it even matters, because I don't care too much for her either, but the idea of being disliked instantly by someone I never offended doesn't sit right with me.

"I don't know," Draco says. "There's a lot that Pansy doesn't like, so there's no need to worry about it. She's harmless."

"Nothing she likes other than you, of course," I quip, biting back the temptation to say the same about how he and his parents like very little when it comes to Hogwarts.

Draco grins. "Yeah, there's that, I guess. But she's always been like that." I don't comment again.

"I need to know one thing," I say gravely.

He looks at me intensely. "Anything."

"How were you turned into a ferret?"

A smile breaks his serious expression, and a small laugh escapes him. "It was last year during the Triwizard Tournament. Alastor Moody—well, really, he was Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise—got angry at me for some ridiculous reason." Though there was clearly an actual reason that Draco does not want to talk about, I refuse to ask him because hearing whatever awful thing he said or did to someone is not interesting to me. "And so he turned me into a ferret as 'punishment.' McGonagall stepped in. That's pretty much all that happened with that."

"Oh, really?" I ask skeptically, grinning widely.

"Sorry it's not a flashier story."

"So what was it like, being a ferret?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he laughs.

When we get to class, Flitwick, much like his colleagues, spends the first few minutes pounding into our brains the importance of O.W.L.s. I don't say anything, but it's really beginning to get annoying to hear the same spiel over and over. For most of the class, we review Summoning Charms, which I've not had too much practice with but have done a couple times nonetheless. I mostly just talk to Draco about the other classes and his problems with the professors throughout the duration of our time in Charms. Luckily for Draco, we are in the back of the classroom—thanks to my overly slow pace because of my recent trip to the hospital wing—and because we are in the back of the class, it's even harder for anyone to hear us over the incantations being shouted around the room. It's the perfect class for quiet conversations without getting into trouble.

"The half-breed Hagrid who usually teaches Care of Magical Creatures is away on some mission for Dumbledore. Hopefully Grubbly-Plank will take over the class completely."

"Is Hagrid really that bad?"

"He very nearly got me killed," Draco states. "But that is a story for another time, when I can explain everything without worrying about someone interrupting me." He glances around the room ruefully. "Some people pretend it was my fault. I was the victim."

"I know what that's like," I sigh.

He looks at me curiously.

"Stories for another time," I say softly.

"'Stories'? Plural?"

"Oh yes, quite a few stories, actually." I look around to make sure no one is listening. "But some of them, I must admit, were my fault entirely."

"Scandalous."

"I'll tell you all about it at some point," I reply with a wink.

After Charms, we have Care of Magical Creatures, which is pretty boring and uneventful. This will undoubtedly be one of the classes I simply hate.

"Is it this bad with Hagrid teaching?" I ask.

"It's worse with that dim oaf teaching," Draco replies confidently.

At dinner, everyone is still gossiping about the fight between Umbridge and Harry even though it happened two days ago. Draco seems overly frustrated that everyone wants to talk about Harry and makes it a point not to enter any conversation about Potter, which is weird because he is usually so ready to complain about Harry. He must really hate Harry is getting attention beyond his normal amount.

As for me, I don't understand why standing up to Umbridge is such a big deal. A lot of people were arguing with her in class, so I don't get all the fuss about Harry—though I imagine it has a lot to do with his persona as "The Boy Who Lived." He must get a lot of undue attention and praise for almost every little thing he does.

Not wanting to voice this to anyone, I remain quiet throughout the meal.

I don't speak again until we are sitting in the Slytherin common room and working on this tedious homework we have been assigned. "So what's your family like?" I ask.

"I'm an only child, which is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose. We come from a long line of wealth," he says, "which is the blessing. Everything will go to me someday. But sometimes I wonder if I missed out, not having siblings and all. Unfortunately, I didn't even have cousins my age either. So it was all . . . well, I didn't really have any mates growing up, really, until I came to Hogwarts."

"Are your parents both only children as well then?"

He chuckles quietly. "No, just my father. My mother, on the other hand, has two sisters. One of them is a blood traitor—she married a Mudblood, the fool. They have a daughter, but . . . we don't talk much about them. The other sister, well, she was a devout follower of the Dark Lord in her time. She and her husband and his brother are all serving life in Azkaban for something; my parents don't speak of it. They never had children; it was not a happy marriage from what I hear."

His whole family is comprised of psychopaths who blindly follow Voldemort. Wow. Perhaps I should distance myself from him before I get roped into some Death Eater evil that I have no interest in. Well, I suppose I'll be roped into it eventually anyway, so why bother distancing myself? Maybe if I make nice with Death Eaters and their offspring, Voldemort will be kinder to me.

I think of Narcissa and the look on her face after Lucius attacked me, of her fear and confusion. What if I misread that? What if she wasn't afraid because of Lucius harmed someone the Dark Lord wanted protected? What if it wasn't fear at all but concern? Could Narcissa have looked into my pained expression and realized the horrors a girl her son's age would have to face? Did she realize the unfairness of it all? Could she have considered for a moment that had Draco been a daughter and not a son that he could be in my position now?

Is it worth putting aside my discomfort about some of Draco's behaviors on the chance that his mother might pity me? Might help me. She'd never help you. That's probably true, but if I ingratiate myself with Draco and try to atone for all the grievances I caused her, would Narcissa be someone who could help me adjust to my duty? There's no guarantee that anyone can help me escape, so having someone who can at least offer me strength might be a good idea.

"So what about yours?" His voices cuts through my reverie and brings my attention back to him. "You said something about not knowing who your mother and father are. What happened?"

It's unfortunate that he didn't miss that slip up. "Well, honestly, I don't know much about what happened."

"Tell me what you know then."

I roll my eyes but prepare to answer anyways. "Well, my father bailed on my mother and me when I was a baby—"

"Rodgers," Snape's voice is quiet but right behind me.

Slowly, I turn to see him impatiently waiting for me, his hands behind his back. "You could have warned me he was behind me, Draco," I whisper. Then I look back up at Snape. "Yes, Professor?"

"I need you to come with me." He is staring so intensely at me that I do not even consider putting up a fight. Draco stands as if to follow us, but Snape stops him with a, "I don't believe I asked for you, Mr. Malfoy." Draco gives me a sympathetic smile as I turn and follow Snape from the common room, making sure to remain just a few paces behind him.

Last time I almost entered Snape's office, he caught me and wanted to kill me, so the idea of entering now—with his permission no less—feels like a bad idea. I have willingly gone into his office and am trapped in here. At least others will be able to hear me screaming if he tries to hurt me. While I doubt anyone would actually do anything because no one would likely want to fight Snape, it's nice to know that I won't just die without anyone knowing.

Snape motions me to the seat in front of his desk, and I oblige. He sits down across from me. "Tell me," he begins in a commanding voice, "does anyone here besides you, Professor Dumbledore, and myself know about your duty to the Dark Lord?"

"No," I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.

"No, sir, Rodgers," he reprimands me immediately with a cold tone.

"No, sir, Professor Snape," I say in my best imitation of his voice.

He scowls at me. "Are you sure no one else knows? I see you have befriended Draco. Have you told him?"

"No, sir, Professor Snape, I haven't."

He clenches his jaw. "You're lying to me. Someone knows."

"What makes you think I told them?" I snarl at him. "Who says it wasn't you? Or Dumbledore? Frankly, with how much you seem to despise my presence here, I'm inclined to believe that you're the one who told people so that you have an excuse to throw me from Hogwarts."

"Keep your voice down." Then he waves his wand at the door, likely to keep our conversation private from anyone who might be walking by, which regrettably means my one protection from Snape has just vanished because no one will hear me if he loses his temper at me . . .

Pushing down my ever-rising anger and fear, I ask, "Why do you think someone knows?"

"Because otherwise they wouldn't have tried to kill you." He says this like it's the most casual thing in the world.

"Dumbledore said—"

"Professor Dumbledore."

"He said that it was an accident."

"The headmaster likes to see the best in people. I believe someone failed while trying to rid the world of you." His black eyes bear into me. "Who did you tell?"

His accusatory tone almost makes me scream at him, but I manage to hold it back. "Like I've already told you, Professor. I haven't told anyone. Not. One. Single. Soul." I stand from my chair and go to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have a Potions essay to write for my git of a professor." I yank at the door, but it doesn't open. I yank again. "Let me out."

"Not yet," Snape says, "we're not done discussing this issue."

His tone, now condescending tone, awakens a monster in my chest that sets my insides ablaze with rage, and I cannot hold it back this time. I spin on my heel to look at him. "What issue? I've already explained to you that I haven't told anyone! But if I decide to tell someone, I think I would have the right! After all, it is my life Voldemort's turning to hell!" Tears of fear and fury prick my eyes. "Not yours! Not theirs! NOT DUMBLEDORE'S! NOT HIS OWN! MINE! IT'S MY LIFE HE'S GOING TO RUIN!"

"You don't understand the repercussions of your actions!" Snape snaps back at me, rising to his feet. "I could lose my life because of your inability to hold your tongue!" He closes his eyes for a second and seems calmer when he opens them again. "The Dark Lord requires your safety. There are bigger things happening than just you."

This does not assuage my rage. "Like you, Snape? Is that what's more important than me? Your life? Because I disagree! I don't think you are any more important than me!"

Snape sits back in his chair. "I am. I have always been one of the most important of the Dark Lord's followers. He can find another young witch to bear his child. He cannot find another to fill my position with Albus Dumbledore. Albus trusts me completely. Simply put: you are dispensable, and I am not."

I take my wand out and point it directly at him. Snape doesn't even flinch, which irritates me even more. "Your mission for Voldemort might be more important, but I assure you that your life is not! My soul is not tainted by blood of innocent people, Snape! Yours is!" My wand shakes slightly, my body refusing to believe that lie. "You are no better than Voldemort! Except Voldemort isn't a COWARD! He risks himself for his cause, despite how disgusting his cause is! You sit in Dumbledore's lap like a dog and call yourself important!" My shaking intensifies to the point where I can hardly aim at him anymore. "I am terrified about my duty to Voldemort, but I have accepted that I have no escape! But it seems to me—and some of the other Death Eaters, mind you—that you keep looking for any sign of escape yours!

"You call yourself indispensable to Voldemort, yet you sit here cowering behind Dumbledore, cowering away from Voldemort because you fear for your life! You act like you nobly care about what happens to me, but you only try to protect me because Voldemort will kill you if I wind up dead! You're a coward!"

Snape is on his feet before I can stop him, and a spell sends my wand flying into the air. It soars to the other side of the desk and lands in Snape's hand. "Do not call me a coward."

"Give me my wand," I say coldly.

"Who have you told? Someone wants you dead, and that's the only reasonable explanation as to why." He lowers his wand.

"People do not need a 'reasonable' explanation for wanting to kill others," I say quietly.

"Does Potter know?"

I pause, taken aback. "Potter? I've never even spoken to him! Why do you think—"

"No reason," he cuts me off. "But you must have told someone, or someone must have found out. Do you talk in your sleep?"

"I don't know!" My hands fly to into my hair, a habit I do when I'm stressed that I have never been able to break. "I-I don't think so. I can't . . . I can't be sure . . . I'm usually asleep then."

"Telling someone in your sleep is no better than telling them while awake! Both ways risk the mission. You have no right to share this information, no matter how it is done."

I take a deep breath and say softly, ignoring the stinging in my eyes, the burning in my throat, and the cracking in my voice, "I have the right to lean on someone when I need help, when I can't walk down this road any longer, when I can't take even the thought of Voldemort without wanting to die, when—"

"I believe you," he says. "You haven't told anyone."

Slowly, I sit down in the chair across from Snape. Tears flow freely down my cheeks, but I keep my sobbing silent. "I . . . I can't . . . I can't do this alone." I take a deep breath to calm myself. "So . . . when the time comes, and I can't go on—and I need a rock to lean on—I will tell someone. It might be Draco; it might not. I don't know. But I will tell whoever I see fit."

Snape shifts uncomfortably before placing my wand on his desk. I tentatively pick it up and slowly stand to my feet. "Rodgers."

"What?"

Snape makes it a point not to look me in the eye. "I already know about your duty to the Dark Lord," he begins, "so if you find yourself in need of someone to talk to, it would be a better idea to come to someone who already knows rather than destroying your cover, would it not?"

I look away from him. "No offense, Professor Snape, but I don't think it's best for me to go to anyone with whom I share nothing but animosity." I clear my throat awkwardly. "But thank you." Again, I go for the door.

"Then Professor Dumbledore, perhaps? He knows as well . . . so that wouldn't ruin your cover," Snape suggests.

I keep my back to him. "I don't think Dumbledore is the best person to go to."

"He's a good man and a good wizard. I really must insist that you go to him."

"I don't think going to the headmaster over my woes of Voldemort and childbearing is the best idea," I counter. I put my hand on the door, half expecting it to be locked by charms again, but Snape has removed them, allowing me to leave his office.

I all but run back to the Slytherin common room where I take my seat by Draco, who looks expectantly at me. When I don't say anything, he finally asks, "Well . . . what was that about?"

"He wanted to know if the potions he brewed for the hospital wing while I was in there worked or not."

"Professor Snape wanted to know if his potions worked?" Draco asks incredulously.

"Weird, right?" I reach for my parchment and quill but find that they are not there. "Where did my things go?"

"I packed them for you. Astronomy is tonight, remember? We need to leave, or we'll be late."

Smiling at him, I say, "I wasn't really planning on going." Being in a large group of students right now sounds awful, like something I won't be able to handle, but I keep this to myself. Better to have him think of me as some Slytherin rebel than to think of me a teenage girl who does not like being around a group of people for long periods of time because she spent the last five years almost in total isolation as a way of hiding from Death Eaters who want to kill her.

He smiles back at me. "What a wonderful idea. I like the way you think." He sets his bag, which had previously been on his shoulder, back onto the table. "Any ideas of where we should go for the time being?"

"Not a clue. I don't know much of Hogwarts to be honest." Mostly because I was trying to avoid Snape and McGonagall during the two weeks when I should have been exploring the castle and its grounds.

He stands. "Give me two minutes." Then he disappears to the dormitory. When he returns, he gives no hint regarding what he did and instead just offers me his hand to help me up. "I know the perfect place."

I accept his hand, deciding to just go with it, and he pulls me to my feet. "Lead the way."

Instead of releasing my hand as I had expected him to do once I was on my feet, he laces his fingers through mine, then looks at me as if waiting for me to pull away. Thinking again of Narcissa and the conversation I just had with Snape, I keep my hand in his, and he smiles at me and leads me to the door of the Slytherin Dungeon.

I can't help but glance at Snape's office door as I walk hand-in-hand with Draco from the dungeons, somewhat hoping that he will walk out of his office and see me with Draco. He would probably assume that I'll go babbling away to Draco and would stew on that for quite some time, worry about my ruining the cover Dumbledore provided. And who knows, I might tell Draco everything. I've not yet decided.