CHAPTER 17

Two weeks later, I wake in a cold sweat. Today, I am one step closer to Voldemort. He draws nearer, and I can't stop him because I can't stop time. I roll over to look at my pocket watch. It's not even five o'clock yet, but I know that I won't be getting any more sleep. Groaning as quietly as possible, I slide off the bed and dart to the toilet to vomit.

I can't do this today. I can't face anyone. I just need to be alone.

But I can't do that either. I have to pretend that this day is like any other. I have to act like nothing is wrong with me, as a normal person would do on their birthday. So I pull myself to my feet and head down to the common room where I can remain undisturbed and where I can be alone until able to pull myself together.

I take a deep breath at the bottom of the steps and simply look around to make sure that I am, in fact, alone. The only thing out of place is a copy of the Daily Prophet on one of the tables. I go grab it, desiring anything to distract myself with. It's yesterday's paper, but that means very little to me because at least it is a distraction—one that lasts only a few minutes before I grow bored with the content. It's doubtful current events could distract me from Voldemort anyway.

As I get up from my place on the sofa to return the paper back where I found it, loud footsteps from the boys' dormitory echo around the room, and my chest constricts with terror at the sound, my heart attempting to kill itself, an irrational fear taking over me that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort has sent one of this Death Eaters to search Hogwarts for me and to kill me. But no, he wouldn't send any of them here to kill me when he wants me to be alive. And had he wanted me shipped back to him, I'm sure Snape would have been the delivery service, not some random Death Eater sent to Hogwarts to search the castle at random.

I calm when I find myself face-to-face with Draco, who seems just as shocked to find me down here as I am for him to be down here.

"Charlotte?" is all he can muster to say, obviously flustered about something.

"Draco?"

He saunters over to me and gives me an odd hug. "Happy Birthday. What are doing up so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Couldn't sleep. You?"

He holds up a letter. "I got this from my mother, just now. Snape just brought it to me." There is a slight shake in his hand.

I place a soft hand on his back and steer him to one of the sofas. We sit down. "What's happened?"

"You-Know-Who has returned; Potter isn't lying," Draco says, and I nod, signaling for him to continue because the topic of Voldemort is not one to be lingered on, least of all today. He offers me a weak smile, but it doesn't fool me—something has severely troubled him. "What I'm about to tell you will require a certain amount of . . . discretion." His eyes pierce through me, and all I can do is nod silently. "The Ministry is hushing it up for now, but I don't know how much longer that can keep it quiet." He swallows in what looks like a very painful way. "My aunt and uncle, along with eight others, have broken out of Azkaban. Ten more followers of the Dark Lord are now at large, biding their time until he requires them."

"How . . .?"

"I don't know how they got out," he says quickly.

"How does . . . how does your mother know?"

"My father is important in the Ministry. My mother would not have told me had it not been for Aunt Bellatrix and Rodolphus being in the group. Bellatrix is my mother's sister." He looks away.

"Where are they now?" I ask quietly.

Draco's eyes darken when he looks back to me. "My mother isn't going to turn in her own sister!" he replies defensively. "No one can know!"

"So . . . they're with your parents?" I conclude.

"I don't know about all of them, but my aunt is—her husband and his brother are elsewhere." He grabs me by the shoulders. "You mustn't tell anyone!"

I touch his face. "I wasn't planning on it."

He smiles as he rests his forehead against mine. "On a lighter note," he says, much more relaxed, "she said she'd love for you to come for Christmas."

"Brilliant." I kiss him softly.

"I have a gift for you, for your birthday. I'll be right back." When he goes to retrieve the gift, I go to fetch the one I have neglected to give him since our detention. We meet back in the common room moments later. "It's your birthday, not mine, I don't need anything," he says.

"This is . . . because I just want to give you something . . . you know . . . because of the necklace," I say.

"Fine, but you have to open yours first."

I smile, and we exchange our gifts, his to me considerably larger than mine to him. I tear open the long box and freeze. "Is this . . ."

"Yes," he answers. "I told my parents that I was going to teach you to fly."

I gingerly run my hands along the broom I have just been given. "This is too much," I whisper.

"No, it's not. It's a Nimbus 2001. It's the same kind I have, so I know how it works. I can teach you much more easily." I try handing it back to him, but he pushes it back to me. "Take it. It's yours."

I wipe a few tears from my eyes before they have a chance to escape. "You do too much, Draco." He shakes his head, denying it. "Open yours now," I command, though it's not nearly as good as his gift to me. Draco slowly tears open the gift and pulls out a pocket watch, which seems even more inadequate now that I see it. It's old and obviously used, scratches having made the family crest on the back hardly readable. "Before you say anything, I want to tell you where it came from." He nods. I can't tell if he likes it or not, so I speed up. "When I went back to my great-uncle's house, I found this. It's one of the only things I have that was my family's . . ."

"Are you sure you want me to have it?" he asks. "If it's the only thing you have from them . . ."

"I'm sure," I answer. "If . . . if you want it, that is . . ."

Draco reaches into his robes and takes out the one he already has and hands it to me. He slips his new-old one into its place. "I love it," he replies. "Keep that one, just in case you need to know the time." He smiles, and I put away the pocket watch, which is marked with the Malfoy family crest.

"Thanks," I say quietly, feeling worthless. He's given me so much, and all I can afford to give him is an old pocket watch. I look down, trying to hide from his prying eyes.

He puts his hand under my chin and looks me in the eye. "It's perfect, honestly." He smiles at me. "It's perfect because it came from you. It's a part of your life," he says, leaning a little closer to me. "Anything from you is perfect to me." Draco pulls me closer to him, covering my lips with his.

I move the broom aside and snuggle up next to him, his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest. We throw our feet up on the coffee table in front of us. "I should have gotten you more," I tell him. "I promise, for Christmas, I'm going to find you a way to get you something really good."

"You don't have to," he says. I silently disagree.

We stay like that until the other Slytherins start filling up the common room. Feeling quite uneasy, I take my broom up to my bed before saying a speedy goodbye to Draco and making my way to Snape's office. Though I probably shouldn't be doing this, I need to know and Snape is the only person who can tell me. So, full of apprehension, I knock on his door. "Enter," he answers a few seconds later.

"Professor," I say tentatively, stepping through the doorway.

He glances at me. "Rodgers."

I close the door quietly behind me and slowly walk toward the chair in front of his desk. "Professor . . ." This time he looks up and continues watching me. "Am . . . am I safe here?"

Snape looks curious for just a moment before schooling his features—can't have the students know that the evil, stone-faced professor has a sense of curiosity—and asking, "The charms and spells over the castle and its grounds will keep you safe."

"From Death Eaters?"

Snape waves his wand at the door, probably to keep our conversation private. "No Death Eater will attempt to harm you. The Dark Lord himself has demanded your safety."

"That didn't stop the Death Eaters from attacking me relentlessly over the past five years," I counter. "Now that some of them have broken free from Azkaban, how can I know that I'm safe? How, Professor?"

"Those particular Death Eaters are insatiable in their desire to please the Dark Lord. They will not harm you because the Dark Lord requires your safety."

"So you do know that they broke out?"

He remains silent.

"But do you truly believe that, Professor? That the bloodthirsty Death Eaters won't come after me?"

"The Dark Lord will not permit it," Snape assures me.

This brings me very little comfort.

December brings not only colder weather but also loads of homework for fifth-years. Why I have to do all of this when I'm not even a true student, I'll never know. Either way though, I'm forced to do it, so I do it grudgingly, acquiescingly, angrily. Draco and I sit alone at one of the tables in the common room, writing an essay for History of Magic. It's absolutely miserable, but with Quidditch practice being almost every day now, doing homework together is really the only time we have except for meals.

Slowly but surely, most of the students drift to their dormitories. Having hardly done any work while Draco was at practice, I have just as much left as he does, so we both stay in the common room, silently working. After what could have very well been ages, I write the final word of my essay and just stare at it. If my life depended on it, I couldn't repeat any of what I wrote. I glance up at Draco, who is still intently writing his own essay.

A chill runs over me. When everyone migrates out of the common room, the temperature drops drastically, and that's typically when I move close to the fire. So that's what I do this time as well, sitting down on the floor with my back to the flames. Draco looks up at me and puts his quill down. "Did you finish?" I ask him.

"Not even close," he says, coming toward me. He sits down next to me, his back to the fire as well.

We're silent for a few minutes, just enjoying the heat.

Finally, he puts his hand on top of mine. Draco has questioned the change in me that he has noticed since my birthday, but I usually shirk it off. I know it's killing him. Then it comes: his question. "What's wrong?"

I fold my legs into a pretzel and turn to him, keeping my hand with his, and finally deciding to give an answer this time to stop him from asking again. "It's . . . it's . . . Voldemort," I say quietly.

His eyes slightly widen. "What about him?"

"Well, with the Death Eaters breaking out of Azkaban . . . he's plotting another war, isn't he?" I purse my lips and look into his eyes. He doesn't seem fazed by the question.

"I think he might be . . . but I'm not completely sure," Draco whispers.

I take a slow, deep breath. "I hear that many of his followers come from Slytherin," I say. "Is that true?"

"Yes, You-Know-Who himself came from Slytherin. In the First Wizarding War, he promised to make wizards more important in society, put Muggles in their place, as well as Mudbloods and blood traitors. Most of his followers came from Slytherin because that's what most of us believe: pureblooded wizards are above everyone else." He absentmindedly rubs the back of my hand with his thumb.

"So . . . do you think he'll try again to turn the Slytherins?" I ask. Now that I've brought it up, I don't want to stop talking about it because I want all of my questions answered.

"He might. But he's unpredictable. I mean, he came back from the dead, right?"

"If he does, are . . . will you . . . how will you side?"

His thumb freezes. He looks into my eyes. "I . . . I haven't thought much about it."

We're silent for another few moments. "What do you think of him?"

"Well," he begins, "I fear him, as I think anyone with any sense should. He's powerful . . . and a great wizard." His hand trembles slightly. "And—well, my family has always had a connection to him. My aunt is a Death Eater . . ."

"But what will you do?" I prod.

He swallows. "I'll try to stay as far away from him as possible, I imagine. I don't know much about his followers, but I do know that if you fail him . . ." He shakes his head, drifting into silence for a moment, staring down at his knees as if imagining things I hope never to see. "Let's just say that bad things happen when you disappoint him. My parents told me stories. I'm not so sure I want to get mixed up into anything like that." He looks into the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes while he seems to gather himself again. "Why do you ask?"

"Would you believe me . . . if I told you that—well, it was his followers who have been hunting me."

His eyes dart from the fire over to me. "What?" The same panic I have felt since I was ten is reflected in his voice. "Wh-why would . . . but . . . why?"

His concerned, imploring eyes tempt me to tell him the truth, but I resist. "I don't know . . ." Unable to bring myself to tell him the truth, I start wishing I would have backed out of the conversation earlier. Or perhaps never have brought it up in the first place.

"But you said they've been hunted you since you were ten, right?" he asks quickly.

"Yes."

"Then they must have been acting on their own accord, yeah?" He sounds like he is trying to comfort himself just as much as he is trying to comfort me. "So it couldn't be You-Know-Who who wants you, could it? He's only just returned. Maybe . . . maybe they were his followers, but maybe they weren't working under his orders?"

I don't have the heart to tell him that he is completely wrong—his hope is too infectious, too kind, too desperate. I smile at him with all the strength I can muster. "You're probably right."

"And now that he is back, he probably has them doing other things . . . things to help him rise to power, not things to hunt down a young witch for no reason." He smiles at me, but it looks like a forced smile, as if even he himself doesn't believe what he is saying. "You'll be fine." He scoots across the floor and pulls me close to him. I rest my head against his chest.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"While you're here, no one can harm you," Draco reassures me quietly. "The charms around Hogwarts are magnificent. And as much as my father and I hate to admit it, Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard, as are most of the professors." He runs his hand through my hair. "My mother and father are quite skilled as well, so Christmas shouldn't be a problem. And while we're outside the Hogwarts grounds, I won't leave your side. Nothing's going to harm you, Charlotte." He kisses the top of my head. "I'll do everything I can to protect you. And I'll get as many people to help me as necessary."

I don't know how much time passes after that, but we eventually go back to our dorms. I hate saying goodnight to him, but we're both so tired that no conversation would pass between us anyway. He kisses me swiftly on the lips before I ascend the stairs and go to bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

I enter the Room of Requirement for the last time until we return to Hogwarts from the holidays. The thought of this being my last time for weeks brings an awful, unfamiliar sadness. I enjoy being part of the D.A. because it gives me a sense of purpose. Perhaps the confidence and the skills I gain from being a part of this will help me rebel against Voldemort. It's doubtful, but I can hope.

Ron glares at me when he sees me, and I realize that although I apologized to Fred and George, I didn't apologize to Ron and Harry.

Today, we are reviewing what we've already learned, to which the blond-headed boy (whose name I now know to be Zacharias Smith) shouts out, "We're not learning anything new? If I had known that, I wouldn't have come . . ."

"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred says quite seriously.

"We can practice in pairs," Harry says. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again."

I laugh to myself about the review we're doing—these very two spells are the ones that Snape and I used against each other before school started. I end up being paired with Fred Weasley, which is odd because he usually pairs with George and I usually pair with Lee Jordan. Between shouting "Impedimenta!" at me, Fred chatters on. "What's with you and Malfoy? You're still with him? After everything?" Then I'm hit with the jinx and frozen. "The two of you are so different. Sure, you're both Slytherin, but he's a tool."

When I finally unfreeze and cast the jinx at him, I answer, "Draco"—it frustrates me that everyone in the D.A. hatefully refers to him by his last name, and typically with a specific venom in their voice when they say it—"and I are definitely still together. We have our differences of course, but that doesn't mean we can't be together."

Fred unfreezes, hits me with jinx again, and continues talking, "Look around, Charlotte. How many other Slytherins do you see in here, huh?" He looks around as if actually searching for another Slytherin. "You're fighting with the other Houses, against Slytherin. Malfoy would die for Slytherin. That's a rather big difference if you ask me."

I unfreeze. "But I didn't ask you, did I?"

That's the last thing we say to each other before everyone starts working on the Stunning Spell. An hour later, Harry calls it quits. "You're getting really good," he says. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff—maybe even Patronuses."

Excitement floods through me. I might actually be able to learn how to make a Patronus! I haven't tried since making the non-corporeal one by the lake before the rest of the students arrived for the start of the year, but Draco has given me so many happy memories since then that I think I'll be able to make a corporeal one.

I leave the training session elated. While exiting the Room of Requirement, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan pass me. "Maybe you should have asked me," Fred says, but keeps walking, "I would have told you how much of a git he truly is." I don't have a chance to retort because he and his friends are gone too quickly.

I stand there for a minute, trying to calm myself when Ron and Hermione come out of the Room of Requirement. They stop when they see me. "What are you doing here?" Ron growls at me.

"I . . . I'm part of the D.A., remember?" I reply, keeping my voice even.

"As your King, you filthy Slytherin, I suggest you not come to these meetings anymore."

Then I realize why he's so upset with me. "Listen—"

"Shut up! You're no better than Malfoy!" He whips his wand out and points it at me. "Which explains why you're dating him!"

"Ron," Hermione says reasonably.

He ignores her. "Never show your face in D.A. meetings again or—"

"You won't stop me." I spin on my heel and storm away.

"Impedimenta!" Ron shouts. The spell hits me and sends me sprawling to the floor. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

It takes a moment for me to gather myself together and get back on my feet, pulling my wand out in the process and shouting, "Locomotor Wibbly!" as I turn to face him.

But at that moment, Hermione shouts, "Protego!" and the Jelly-Legs Curse does not hit Ron.

"Letting your girlfriend fight your battles for you now, are you, Ron?" I sneer. Ron looks ready to fire off another spell at me, but I shout, "Protego!"

"Stay away from here, you filthy Slytherin!" Ron shouts. "I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

Before he has another chance to cast a spell at me, I cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself and dash away.