CHAPTER 13

I wake up that next morning and just continue lying in my bed, trying to gather my thoughts, debating whether I should simply act like Snape had not caught us last night. As much fun as it to watch him worry about me blabbing to Draco, I sincerely wish it had been any other professor who had found us. Sure, what he saw last night would solidify his fears that I have told Draco the truth about everything, but was it really worth the amount of awkwardness I feel right now?

I roll onto my side. No, it had to be Snape who found us. Had it been McGonagall, I doubt I would able to look her in the eye again. Umbridge would have punished us severely, I'm sure. And no other professor would have taken into consideration that Draco needed to practice with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Begrudgingly, I must agree that it was for the best that Snape caught us and not anyone else.

But that doesn't make me any less uncomfortable.

It is a slight relief that Draco is not waiting for me in the common room this morning. I can pretend things did not end as badly last night as they truly did.

This routine of speaking only to Draco and his followers in the mornings before we go to breakfast is one I am determined to break now that the chance has presented itself, so I walk over to Daphne who is really the only Slytherin outside of Draco's group I know. "Charlotte," she greets me cheerily, "how are you?"

"Great, and you?"

She smiles. "I'm good." A Slytherin girl with long dark hair walks over to us. "This is my sister, Astoria."

"Pleasure," she says, flashing a broad smile. "You're new here?"

"Yeah, a transfer from Durmstrang."

Excitement briefly shines in her eyes. "Durmstrang? Did you know Victor Krum?"

"Unfortunately, no," I sigh. "I mean, I met him, but . . . I didn't really know him."

"Oh . . ." Her voice is disappointed. "That's a shame, I'm a big fan, would've loved to get his autograph."

"Well, it seems I have failed you," I laugh.

"Yeah, it seems you did."

Daphne smiles. "I suppose we can forgive you this time, but only this once."

"Have you heard about Umbridge's new decree?" Astoria sighs, motioning to the board by the door where a crowd of students chatters excitedly, and I strain my eyes to see it. "Umbridge is disbanding all teams, groups, clubs, and organizations. Anything that has more than three students falls into that group. None of them may exist without permission from the High Inquisitor."

Oh no. The Defense Against the Dark Arts thing.

Merlin, I'm going to be blamed. As the only Slytherin, I am the obvious scapegoat. Just bloody brilliant. They'll lose faith in me before I even have a chance to prove myself. I can't be labeled as a traitor, not when they're my best chance at learning actual Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

"Are you okay?" Daphne whispers. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Everyone sees ghosts at Hogwarts," Astoria points out, drawing dramatic eyeroll from her sister. "They roam the halls."

"You know what I mean!" Warning bells ring in my head when I see the sincere concern I see in Daphne's eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah . . . I'm . . . I'm fine, just . . . distracted."

As if my anxiety summons him, the door to the common room opens, and Draco enters, his eyes skimming over the groups of students before they land on me. He grins and walks toward me, and instantly I feel better about probably being blamed for the new decree because it almost doesn't matter if becoming friendly with Harry and the others is out of the cards so long as I have Draco. "Sorry I'm late," he says, "I needed to talk to Umbridge about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. Can't have the Slytherin Quidditch team disbanded." He smiles charmingly at the Greengrass sister, though I know how apathetic (at best) he is about them. Is he doing that for my benefit? "Would you two mind if I steal Charlotte away so we can go eat?"

"Not at all," Astoria says. "Have a good day, Charlotte." She pulls Daphne—what is that look on her face?—to the other side of the common room.

Draco puts his hand on my back, and we leave the dungeon. "They're not good company to keep," he says quietly.

Ah, so he was putting on a front. I wonder why. Is it because they're purebloods? What's the point of acting nice toward them when he so clearly dislikes them? "I think I can decide if someone is good company for me to keep or not."

"You can, but I just don't want your reputation falling because of them."

I guess he has a point. What little reputation I have gained can't be lost just yet. I don't want the majority of Slytherin House to grow cold toward me because of the Greengrass sisters. No one is cold toward them though, so don't let Draco's opinions stop you from building further friendships. Throughout breakfast, Draco and I do not discuss blood traitors or Snape or anything else that happened in the last eight hours.

Our first class is Transfiguration; luckily, today we don't split the class with any other Houses, so I don't have to worry about the prying eyes that might wonder if I have told Draco about the Defense Against the Dark Arts thing.

From the front of the classroom, McGonagall says, "Today we will continue practicing the Vanishing Spell—Parkinson, if you would please take this box of mice and hand one to each student."

"This again," Draco sighs.

"Well, until you learn to do it, yeah, I'm sure it'll continue being this," I laugh.

"Well, if Professor Rodgers would be so kind as to help me, I think—I think—I'd be able to do this quicker," Draco answers.

I smirk at him. "Fine, I will do my best to help, but I make no promises. Firstly, have you done all the reading on the Vanishing Spell?"

"Yes," he sighs, "I did."

"Don't use that tone with me," I say as professor-like as I can. Draco smiles at me. "All right, show me what you're doing."

Draco points his wand at the mouse and says, "Evanesco." The mouse does nothing. "Evanesco." Still nothing. "Evanesco!" The mouse remains. "Evanesco!" I'm about to speak when he shouts out, "EVANESCO!"

"Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall snaps. "You shall refrain from shouting in my class or it will be detention."

He huffs but doesn't say another word as McGonagall turns back to Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode.

"What was I doing wrong?"

"Other than shouting?"

"Yes, other than that."

"You're moving your wand incorrectly. Your movement is too choppy. Try to make it more fluent. Like this." I demonstrate how he must wave his wand without hesitation but don't Vanish the mouse because I don't want McGonagall frustrated with me again.

He smiles and repeats after me but somehow still manages to fail. His smile quickly fades. "What now?"

"You might not be concentrating hard enough," I try.

"Either that, or I'm still moving my wand wrong," he jokes. "Perhaps you should put your arms around me and direct my movements?"

My laugh comes quickly and loudly, and I swiftly try to cover it up with a cough, which turns out to be a bad idea because it only draws more attention. Draco's face turns a slight shade of pink. Pansy groans quietly, eyeing us as if she would like to kill us. McGonagall glances over for a second before saying, "Stay focused on your work."

Draco and I stay relatively quiet for the rest of Transfiguration, and we are soon making our way to Potions with the Gryffindors.

Draco seems positively giddy when we stop in front of Snape's door, like he's waiting for something to happen, like he's planning for something to happen. He pulls an official-looking piece of paper from his robes, and my suspicions are confirmed when Harry, Ron, and Hermione reach the bottom of the stairs. "Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue straightaway, I went and asked her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry . . . It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

Hermione whispers something to Harry and Ron, who both appear to be struggling to bite back their anger.

"I mean," Draco says, raising his voice, likely just to antagonize Harry and Ron even more, his eyes shifting towards them maliciously, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance . . . From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years . . . And as for Potter . . . My father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's . . . apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic . . ."

Draco makes a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling back. Pansy shrieks with glee while Crabbe and Goyle offer their typical grunts of laughter. I try my best to offer Hermione a look of apology, but before I have a chance to even meet her eyes, a quiet Gryffindor boy, one has seemed so mild-mannered every time I've seen him around the castle and in class, shoves past Harry and Ron, raging, coming straight at Draco with a rage that frightens me into taking a few steps backward. "Neville, no!" Harry lunges forward and grabs the other boy's robes. Neville struggles, his arms flailing, reaching forward to grab Draco and probably rip him apart. Draco's surprised look confirms to me that this is not normal behavior for Neville. Draco's words have incensed him for some reason.

"Help me!" Harry gets his arm around Neville's neck and hauls him backward, away from Draco, away from Crabbe and Goyle, who are bracing themselves for a fight. Ron rushes forward and grabs Neville's arms, and he and Harry manage to drag Neville back to the other Gryffindors.

Neville, unable to really speak with Harry's arm around his neck, spits out, "Not . . . funny . . . don't . . . Mungo's . . . show . . . him . . ."

At that moment, because he has such good timing for these sorts of things, Snape opens the door to his classroom. "Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?" he sneers. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you."

We all file into the classroom behind Snape, Draco smirking at me. "That was even better than I imagined. Who knew Longbottom had some fight in him?" Something about his tone makes me uneasy.

Draco and I look back at Harry and his friends about the time that Ron looks over at me. Within a few minutes, both Harry and Hermione have both glanced over at me as well. They probably think I'm telling Draco about the Defense class thing. When we turn back to the front of the room, Draco asks, "Did you have a run-in with the Golden Trio at Hogsmeade?"

"Golden Trio?"

"Yeah, Potter and his friends, you know, the ones all the professors besides Snape—and Umbridge now, I'm guessing—seem to favor above all the rest," Draco answers, venom in his voice. "So did you have a run-in with them at Hogsmeade?"

I inwardly smile. He's just given me the perfect excuse without even knowing it. "Yes. It wasn't anything important, but I don't think they will forgive me easily."

"What happened?" he asks, trying to adjust his chair.

"Granger almost ran me over. I don't know where they were going so quickly," I say, forcing down my regret of lying to Draco, my guilt of lying to the first person to truly care for me since the orphanage. "I spilled my butterbeer on Potter. Weasley jumped to his defense. I told them it was the Mudblood's fault." I smile at Draco's approving look, biting back the ache of using that word again in reference to Hermione.

"Good job," Draco congratulates me. "Put them in their rightful place. I can't stand them."

All speaking in the classroom ceases when Snape slams the dungeon door shut with a loud, echoing bang.

"You will notice," Snape says softly, "that we have a guest with us today."

He motions to Umbridge, and I groan quietly, not caring about the curious look Draco gives me because of it. For some reason, I thought I could avoid that toad woman for a bit longer, yet there she sits in the corner, her clipboard on her knee, a fake smile on her face. As much as I dislike Snape, I want him to triumph over her. If she rates him poorly and he loses his job, will I be forced to stay here? Perhaps I should want her to win; perhaps that is my way out of here.

But do you want to leave your new friends behind?

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend—instructions"—he waves his wand—"on the board. Carry on."

"Can't wait to see Snape put Umbridge in her place," Draco mutters.

"I thought you liked her?" I ask quietly.

"If one of them has to come out on top, I'd prefer it to be Snape, wouldn't you?"

I can't stop my smile as we begin working on our potion.

Not long after, Umbridge stands to her feet and goes toward Snape, who is standing over Dean Thomas's cauldron.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she says to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus." Snape straightens slowly and turns to look at her. I can feel his annoyance radiating from here. "Now," she continues, her quill perched over her clipboard, "how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Fourteen years," Snape answers, the look on his face now harder to read than it was the day he was charged with watching over me.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Is she purposefully trying to anger him?

"Yes." Snape's voice is dangerously quiet.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

His lip curls. "Obviously."

Without warning or my full consent, my respect for him rises.

Umbridge scribbles something onto her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes." The expression on Snape's face reminds me eerily of the way he looked after I Stunned him those months ago: a barely concealed rage as he calculates his best course of action.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?"

Perhaps Dumbledore knows Snape hasn't truly given up his Death Eater ways. Though he clearly does know that Snape is a Death Eater, hence the reason I was taken to Dumbledore when Snape removed me from Malfoy Manor. Who does Snape actually align with? The Death Eaters and Voldemort who have placed me in his care or Dumbledore who he seems to tell everything?

"I suggest you ask him," Snape answers curtly.

"Oh, I shall," Umbridge promises with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?"

"Oh, yes," Umbridge assures him. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'—er—backgrounds . . ." Then she walks away.

Snape then decides to torment Harry, but I don't listen. If the Ministry knows he is a Death Eater, why let him continue working here? Why does Dumbledore let Snape work here? I don't understand.

When we get to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I am only slightly disappointed that Umbridge does not get into another argument with Hermione.

After dinner that night, while Draco and I are in the common room, I find myself just trying to escape our conversation, once again craving to be alone. Being around chatty students is so terribly draining. At last, my escape route reveals itself: Pansy asks Draco for help with her Potions essay, and when he turns his attention to her, I take my chance, silently standing and sneaking out of the room, headed toward Snape's office though I am not entirely sure why that's the destination my gut tells me to go. I knock on his door.

"Enter."

I do.

"Do you need something, Rodgers?" While the tone in his voice makes me want to leave, I instead take the seat in front of his desk, at which point he sets his quill aside. "Do you need something?" His voice is the same as it was before.

"Not really, Professor."

"Then why are you here, Rodgers?"

I look away from him. "Professor Snape, I have not had much social contact since I was ten years old, did you know that?" He doesn't respond, so I continue, "So, I mean, I never really had a chance to develop those skills. And now, I'm . . . I like to be alone, or at least in a quiet space, and I don't get that chance much anymore because of this place. Can I just do my work in here? I will be as silent as the grave. Surely you know how loud the common room can be, and by the time I make it to the library and get started on my work, curfew will have hit."

He is quiet for only a moment before he says, "No."

"Then what if I asked you a question?"

"Was that not a question just then, Rodgers?"

"Is Umbridge a Death Eater?"

He pauses.

"Is Umbridge a Death Eater?" I repeat.

"Why?"

"Because she seems dangerous. And evil. And she's actually quite . . . intimidating at times, I suppose. Honestly, her presence unsettles me. I just want to know if I should fear her for reasons connected to Voldemort—"

"Do not use the Dark Lord's name."

"—or if I should fear her because of the power she now holds as High Inquisitor."

"You are free to leave, Rodgers."

"But what if—"

"Go."

"Can you just—"

"Get out."

"Is this what Vol—"

"Out, Rodgers. Now." I open my mouth to speak again and find that I have lost the ability to do so. There's almost a smile on his wicked face. "You will regain the ability to speak the moment my door closes behind you. Now leave."

I hate you. The twitching of his lip almost makes me fear he can read my thoughts. With one last glare at him, I obey and go back to the common room. Draco motions me over to the large table where he's currently sitting with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Tracey, and Millicent as well as quite a few other Slytherins I have not had the misfortune of meeting.

No, I reprimand myself, not all of the Slytherins are dreadful, as I've seen with the Greengrass sisters, and I should take that into consideration before meeting the others.

Draco scoots his chair over a bit so I can squeeze in next to him. "This is Exploding Snap. Have you ever played it?" I shake my head. "Thought not. Zabini and I will help you." Draco looks to the boy in front of me. "Blaise Zabini, this is Charlotte Rodgers. Charlotte, this is Zabini." Zabini offers me a small smile and a nod, proving in that one gesture that he's already better than Crabbe and Goyle, at least. Those two lumbering gorillas seem to do nothing of their own accord, only under Draco's orders, which ultimately makes them a waste of time to be around.

"All right, Charlotte, this is how you play the game . . ." he begins.

I must admit that playing Exploding Snap is the best thing that could have happened to me at this time—there is really no need to speak in it.

Draco's role on the Quidditch team works out really well for me with this whole Defense Against the Dark Arts group that the Golden Trio began. I don't have to worry about lying to him about my whereabouts when it comes time for the first meeting. He is away at Quidditch practice, and that gives me time to lie in wait for the other students I saw at the Hog's Head.

Nearly half-past seven, I finally see Neville, Dean Thomas, and a few others I have not really met but have seen around. I follow them as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting a repeat of what happened with the Weasley twins. We stop on the seventh floor, right by the Room of Requirement, which makes me unspeakably sad—others can find the room, which means it is not just mine and Draco's secret. It was probably always a possibility that someone would discover it, but at least I did not have to be the person to find this for the group, a thought that allows me not to feel guilty or feel like I betrayed Draco.

I step inside with Dean and Neville and come to a sudden stop, shocked at the sight before me. This is nothing like the room Draco and I walked through; this one is filled with seating and cushions and training dummies and tables of whirring little contraptions. How is that possible?

"Whoa," Dean says, looking around in shock. "What is this place?" The small group of us sits down in the silk cushions that seem to serve as chairs.

Harry goes on to try explaining just what the Room of Requirement, but he only gets through roughly half of his explanation—one which is about as vague as Draco's had been—before more students arrive, forcing him to restart. When everyone has finally arrived and the door has been locked behind us, Harry nervously begins, "Well, this is the place we've found for practices, and you've—er—obviously found it okay—"

"It's fantastic!" several people murmur.

"It's bizarre," Fred says, a frown on his face as he looks around the room lined with bookshelves containing an array of instruments. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then . . ."

So perhaps my evening getaway room with Draco can at least be special for us. It's unlikely that anyone else would be able to replicate that.

Harry is answering questions about the instruments—Dark Detectors, I believe he called them—when he notices Hermione's raised hand and asks, "What, Hermione?"

She replies, "I think we ought to elect a leader."

That's silly, Harry is obviously the leader.

"Harry's leader," Cho voices my thoughts.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it formal and gives him authority. So—everyone who thinks Harry ought to be leader?"

All of us raise our hands. And really, was there ever a chance of another outcome?

"I think we should also have a name," Hermione then says. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

Of the suggestions thrown out, my favorite has to be the Anti-Umbridge League, but Hermione soon points out that all of the suggestions obviously tell what we are, which is a poor idea on the off chance that someone finds out about.

"What about the Defense Association?" someone asks. "We could call it as the D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good," says a pretty redheaded girl who I can only assume is a Weasley. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" I've never even spoken to this girl, but I like the way she thinks.

We take another vote and officially become Dumbledore's Army. Harry suggests we begin with Expelliarmus. After some short arguments from people in the crowd and Harry telling them how it saved his life but that they are free to leave if they want, we separate into pairs. Lee Jordan and I, standing close to the Weasley twins, begin firing the spell at one another. Why did I not practice Defense Against the Dark Arts more when I was on the run? This is much more difficult for me than Transfiguration. Fred watches me closely as if trying to decide if I should be trusted. Damn this Slytherin reputation that seems to cling to me. If nothing else comes from this group, I hope to at least convince some people that I am trustworthy.