CHAPTER 16

The only place I imagine Fred, George, and Harry will all at once is in the Gryffindor common room, and unfortunately, I've no idea where that is, which means I have no choice to wander around the castle aimlessly, hoping to get lucky and stumble upon someone who will be able to help me. Even if I can't find them, it feels good to take a minute away from Draco. While I understand that he wasn't trying to offend me, what he said just . . . I don't know, it hurt because, while my parents didn't leave me an orphan by standing against Voldemort and dying bravely as Harry's parents, I still am in the same position as Harry—I've never known my parents and I never will.

A young boy—I recognize him from the D.A.—with mousy brown hair and a Gryffindor tie walks by me—why is he wearing the uniform on the weekend?—and I turn immediately. "Hey!" I call after him.

He turns around, his big brown eyes curious. "Hello."

"Can you help me?"

"I can try."

I smile at him. "Can you lead me to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room? I'm trying to find someone."

"Who're you trying to find?"

"Harry Potter and the Weasley twins," I admit.

He nods. "The Gryffindor Tower is this way."

Right. Of course Gryffindor gets a tower while Slytherin gets the dungeons. Why was I placed in Slytherin exactly? "What's your name?" I ask him.

"Colin. And you?"

"Charlotte."

"It's nice to meet you, Charlotte."

"Likewise."

"What House are you in? I recognize you from the D.A."

"I'm in Slytherin."

"Slytherin? Really? And you're in the D.A.?"

"Not all of us fit into the stereotype," I laugh.

"I would certainly hope not." We stop in front of a portrait of a fat lady, which I soon learn is actually called The Fat Lady. "You seem like a good enough person because you're in the D.A., Charlotte, so I am going to trust that you will forget what I say next." He looks at The Fat Lady. "Mimbulus Mimbletonia." The portrait swings open, and I get but a glimpse at the Gryffindor common room. From what little I can see, it seems so much more comfortable than the Slytherin Dungeons. "Wait here, and I'll go see if they're in right now."

The Fat Lady closes after Colin, and she watches me closely until he returns. "Harry is nowhere to be found, but Fred and George are in. Fred says he will only answer if you tell him your last name."

I sigh but say, "Tell Fred that I will tell him my last name in person if he comes out here."

Colin nods and leaves me standing there again. A few moments later, he returns. "Fred says that's not good enough. He must know your last name before he comes out here."

I shake my head and fight a smile. "What is George saying?"

"George isn't speaking right now."

"Fine," I huff. "Tell Mr. Weasley that I will tell him my last name and answer any one question if he comes out here within the next minute."

Colin nods again and enters the common room once more. Less than a minute later, the portrait swings open, and Fred and George exit. "Well, we're here. What is so important?" Fred asks coolly, his face grave and unapproachable, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes unreadable but dark.

"My last name is Rodgers," I say quietly.

"What do you want, Rodgers?" Fred asks curtly.

I take a shaky breath. "I realize you're angry—"

"Of course we're bloody angry," he growls. "You're boyfriend got us banned from ever playing Quidditch again!"

"He—what?"

"Umbridge banned Harry, George, and me from ever playing Quidditch again! So what do you want? Because I'm not in the mood for conversation."

"Draco told me what he said. And—"

"And are you still dating him?" George finally speaks.

"Well, yes, but—"

"If you can deal with his shit, all the more power to you, but I see no reason to continue this conversation if you're siding with that damn pureblood supremacist," Fred says. He and George turn to leave me standing there, but, unwilling to let leave just yet, I reach out and grab Fred's hand. "Is she touching me, George?" His voice is low and dangerous, but I do not let go. He glances over his shoulder. "Let go of me, Rodgers."

"Not until you listen to me, Weasley."

Slowly, the twins turn back around. "You have our attention. What do you want?" Fred watches me closely, and I finally release his hand.

"I want to apologize."

Fred's face softens slightly. "Apologize for what, exactly?"

"For the things that Draco said. It . . . it was uncalled for . . . I'm sorry, Fred, George. I'm sorry, I really, truly am."

They watch me silently for a moment, and I shift my gaze from one to the other. After a few seconds of this, Fred sighs and says, "George, I guess she wasn't even the one who said it, was she?"

George glances at his brother, confused. "I suppose you're right."

"But," Fred says, "if you'd like to prove that you're sorry, you can test our new addition to our Skiving Snackboxes."

"I'll do it."

The twins smile at me.

"And I believe you are entitled to asking me any one question that I have to answer. But if you're going to ask me why I'm still with Draco, I'm afraid—"

"No, I don't want to ask that," Fred interjects. "You'll see the truth about him soon enough, I'm sure, because what he did today won't be the last thing he ever does that is appalling." He smirks at his own comment. "No, I want to know why you care. Why does a Slytherin care about something Malfoy said so much that she came to apologize?"

I look away from them. "I can't answer that . . ."

"I believe it was part of our deal," Fred says.

"Yes, but orders from—" I stop and take a breath. "Fine, but if I answer this specific question, I'm not trying the Snackboxes. So if you really want me to try them, you'll have to ask me something else.

"I'll stick to my question," Fred says.

"It . . . Draco told me . . . I was fine with . . ." I don't even know how to go about explaining this. "He said something about your mother and father, something designed to insult them, but that . . . that's not really why . . . I mean, it was uncalled for as well . . . it really set me off that . . ."

Fred watches me closely; George looks away.

I take a deep breath. "I was angry when he said those things about your parents, but what really set me off was the thing he said to Harry, something about the 'stink' of your house reminding him of the 'stink' of his mother's house." My eyes dart away from them for a moment before I pull them back to meet Fred's gaze. "I never knew my mother, the feel of her arms around me while I cried, the smell of her or her house after being away for a long while, the pride in her eyes when I did something right. I never got to experience any of that, and Draco made light of it to mock another person. That is unacceptable. And that is why I came here to apologize. For everything. Because—it was—awful and unacceptable."

"I believe you," Fred says.

"But now, if you'll excuse me, there are some things I need to do." Honestly I just want to get away from them now that I've admitted something so personal.

I bid them both goodbye and leave the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, once again more than a little frustrated that I am living in the dungeons when some students get to live in a tower. I avoid going near the Slytherin Dungeons for the rest of the day, instead spending most of my time at the Owlery simply so I can overlook the grounds and avoid Draco because why would he come looking for me here when he knows I don't have an owl of any sort? Scattered across the castle grounds are groups of first-year playing together, carefree and innocent, wanting nothing out of life other than to have fun. I want that. I want that so badly.

But I am not allowed to have it.

Voldemort has made sure of that.

I'm not allowed to be happy. I've been fooling myself by being with Draco. If the Dark Lord finds out that the son of one of his loyal Death Eaters has been holding and kissing his property, Draco will be slaughtered. I can't be with Draco, can't allow him to be in this sort of danger, not now.

But I want to be with him so badly, which frightens me because this wasn't the plan. I just wanted to ingratiate myself with him in order to weasel my way into Narcissa's good grace so she could help me—after all, she's the only woman I'm aware of who has any connection to the Dark Lord. She's the only one I'll probably ever meet, and I hoped for her help.

Yet now Draco has complicated things. He is the first person since I was a child to accept me wholly and completely for who I am—at least, the parts of me that he knows about—and I can't just forget that because of Lord Voldemort. Draco makes me happy, despite his flaws. And for the first time since the orphanage, I am happy. I am safe. And it's because of Draco. If it wasn't for him, I would have Apparated away from Hogsmeade and escaped weeks ago. No doubt I would have been hunted and detained, probably in Malfoy Manor, but it was wanting to be with Draco that stopped me from even trying.

When dinnertime finally rolls around, I pry myself away from the Owlery and the view of Hogwarts to make my way to the Great Hall. Draco smiles sadly at me as I take a seat next to him, but neither of us says a word to one another throughout the meal. It's not until we are all filing out of the Great Hall that Draco finally says, "Can we talk?"

I nod, and he pulls me into a quiet corridor, sitting down on a bench with me. I look out the window at the Forbidden Forest, trying to decide if I should spare Draco the danger of being with me or if I can allow myself this one glimmer of happiness.

"I know now that what I said was inappropriate," he begins. "I mean, I don't regret saying it to Potter and the Weasleys, but I regret that I hurt you. It was unacceptable, and I'm sorry, Charlotte. I care for you a great deal, and I hate that I caused you pain. But if you give me the chance, I promise to make it up to you, and I promise to never hurt you again."

I choose to be selfish rather than sparing Draco from whatever danger may come his way. "I forgive you."

He smiles broadly at me, and I quickly press my lips against his. I will have to find another time to tell him the truth about everything. Now is not the time. Or maybe it is, and I just don't want to.

On Monday morning, I am finally able to put a face with "the dim oaf" named Hagrid—he sits at the staff table for breakfast. Fred, George, and Lee sprint up the aisle, shouting with glee, to shake the half-giant's enormous hands. Draco looks at me darkly. "This is . . . dreadful," he says. "It'll be nice to watch Umbridge tear him to pieces, but I don't want to endanger my life in his ridiculous class to see that."

So it is with an uneasy stomach that I make my way to Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday. Draco is extremely disappointed to find that Umbridge will not be joining our first class of the term with Hagrid.

When we arrive and I get close enough to him to see his face properly, it is clear that something has happened to him: he's covered in bruises and cuts, some of which look as if they are still bleeding, which gives an aura of danger around him. Making him seem even more ominous, he carries over his shoulder what looks to be half of a dead cow. "We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid announces, jerking his head toward the dark trees. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark . . ."

Draco's hand tightens on mine. "What prefers the dark?" he asks loudly to Crabbe, Goyle, and me, a small trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark—did you hear?" Harry smirks at Draco's discomfort, and after what happened on the Quidditch pitch, I can't say I blame him.

I look up at Draco and whisper, "It'll be fine." Given what he has told me regarding his first venture into the Forbidden Forest, I'd be spooked too in his shoes.

I mutter assurances to Draco, not listening to Hagrid, and Draco seems to be trying to listen to both of us, which leads me to stop talking so he can focus and maybe prepare himself a bit more. Hagrid continues, ". . . I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em—"

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" Draco says, his panic more obvious now. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?" A lot of the surrounding students, not just the Slytherins but the Gryffindors as well, murmur their agreements.

"'Course they're trained," Hagrid answers, looking a bit angry as he hoists the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" Draco demands.

"Mind yer own business!" Hagrid makes no attempt to hide his anger. "Now if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

We tentatively follow Hagrid and the other students into the forest, and we continue walking for nearly ten minutes before he tells us to gather around. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat, but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me . . ." He turns makes an odd, loud shrieking call, beckoning some unseen creature to him. Nobody makes a sound, most of us too scared to do anything. Am I in danger? Has Draco been telling the truth about how dangerous Hagrid's classes are? Hagrid makes that sound again, and some of the leaves on the surrounding trees rustle around. Then a pair of blank, white eyes on a dragon-looking face comes from behind the trees. On its skeletal, horse-like body is a pair of wings. I nudge Draco and point to it.

"What?" he asks me.

I look around and see that almost everybody has the same confused look as Draco.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid says. Sure enough, another black skeletal horse with a dragon face and wings appears. "Now . . . put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

There are very few of us who raise our hands.

"Yeah . . . yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry," Hagrid says seriously. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An'—"

"Excuse me," Draco sneers, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

Hagrid points to a cow carcass, which is now being stripped by the creatures.

"What's doing it?" demands a terrified girl as she retreats behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," Hagrid answers. Hermione, to absolutely no one's surprise, makes a sound that suggests she knows what those are supposed to be. "Hogwarts has got a whole heard of 'em in here. Now, who knows—?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" the terrified girl from earlier interrupts him, looking alarmed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once—"

"No, no, no," Hagrid chuckles, "tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! 'Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate—an' here's another couple, look—"

Two more horse creatures quietly come out of the trees. "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!" the same terrified girl cries.

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid says patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?"

Hermione raises her hand, and Hagrid says, "Go on then."

"The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death."

"Tha's exactly right," Hagrid replies, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals—"

"Hem, hem."

I hadn't even noticed that Umbridge had arrived. Draco smiles at me. "It's happening!" he whispers gleefully.

When Hagrid does not pay her attention, she makes the same fake cough again.

"Oh hello!" he greets her.

I'm too mesmerized by the creatures to listen to Umbridge loudly mock Hagrid for whatever reasons. I wish I wasn't able to see these creatures, but I have seen quite a few deaths in my life, most of them taking place after the orphanage. I don't remove my eyes from the closest Thestral, which seems to be looking back at me, until Umbridge comes toward Draco, his posse, and me.

Umbridge looks at Pansy, who has tears of laughter in her eyes. "Do you find that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

"No . . . because . . . well . . . it sounds like grunting a lot of the time . . ."

"Thestrals," Hagrid continues, "once they're tamed, have 'mazin' sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go—"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," Draco laughs. Pansy erupts in unnatural giggles, like she does every time Draco makes a joke. I give the Golden Trio a sympathetic glance, silently pleading for their forgiveness. Hermione has tears of fury in her eyes, and I fear I will not be forgiven for this. I shouldn't be around Draco and his friends like I am, I know that, but I don't know how to leave them because Draco is important to me now.

Umbridge smiles at Draco and Pansy before turning to Neville. "You can see Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?"

He nods.

"Whom did you see die?" she asked, her tone indifferent.

"My . . . my granddad," he says.

"And what do you think of them?"

"Erm," Neville says, glancing at Hagrid. "Well, they're . . . er . . . okay . . ."

Umbridge goes on to take this in the worst way possible, and I tune her out as I try to do most of the time when people are being mocked or taunted.

I spend the rest of the class trying to get Hermione's attention, needing her to know how sorry I am about all of this, but she seems to be making a point not to look at me. She's the only who would be able to convince Harry and Ron that I'm not like the other Slytherins, even if I am in a relationship with one.

Class ends before I speak with Hermione, and we're making our way back to the castle when Draco steers us in the general direction of the Golden Trio. "I'm surprised so many people could see them," Ron says. "Three in a class—"

"Yeah, Weasley," Draco sneers, tightening his grip on my hand, "we were just wondering. D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into fits of laughter and break out into a chorus of "Weasley Is Our King." Ron's ears turn scarlet, and I can't catch the eyes of any of those three to offer an apology.

"Ignore them, just ignore them," Hermione says, casting me a furious glare before pulling out her wand and melting some of the snow in front of them.

When we get back into the castle, Draco looks over and says, "You've seen someone die, haven't you? You could see the Thestrals."

"Yeah."

"When? What happened?"

I bite my lip. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more private after we finish eating?" I ask, glancing around to all of the people sitting near us at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

Draco leads me from the room after lunch. "Go on," he encourages me.

"Don't hate me."

"Not possible for me to hate you. I promise." He smiles.

"I'm still the same person."

He nods.

"When I was a baby, my father left my mother and me. Then she was sent to Azkaban. My great-uncle, Al, took me in, but then he got rid of me, sent me to an orphanage—but I've already told you some of this. Anyway, when I turned ten, they gave me a letter, and I learned I was a witch. I went to find my great-uncle." I wring my hands together. "This is where the lies begin."

"Okay . . ."

This is my chance to tell him the truth, at least as much of it as is safe right now. "I stole from Diagon Alley . . . a lot. I got my wand there, and books to help me learn how to use magic. I've been living in caves and Muggle houses since I was ten . . . The witch I said took me in doesn't exist. I've been on my own, on the run." I take a deep breath, considering his lack of anger a good sign that he doesn't care about my lies. "There are people who want me dead, Draco, which is really why I am here."

"What kind of people?"

I exhale. "I . . . I can't say . . . " He nods, telling me to continue. "Occasionally, some would find me . . . I didn't have another choice . . . they were going to kill me . . . it was kill or be killed! I panicked! I know I should have always just run away but . . ."

Draco takes my hands. "It's all right. Is that why you're afraid I would hate you? That you've killed someone? You were protecting yourself."

I nod, unable to tell him that it wasn't always to protect myself, unable to tell him about the actual first death I witnessed—Mrs. Stoico. On top of that, I still can't tell him about Voldemort's plan for me or about his father catching me, and I still can't admit to him or myself that I am truly as bad as the average Death Eater because I, too, have taken the lives of innocent people. "Some people finally found me and brought me here for my own protection. With the professors and Dumbledore and the charms protecting Hogwarts, they thought I would be safe."

"Who thought you'd be safe?" he asks.

I shrug.

"That's not so bad."

"Now you know . . . everything . . ." Not really, but I don't want to tell him everything; I can't tell him everything.

"You had me worried for a moment."

Perhaps one day I will be able to tell him the full truth.