CHAPTER 18

Back in the Slytherin Dungeon, I find Draco working, again, on his history essay, and I take a seat beside him. "Where've you been?" he asks me. "I got back from practice almost an hour ago."

"Short practice," I say.

"It's close to Christmas, and Gryffindor stands no chance without the Weasleys or Potter, so we thought we could cut it short."

Right. They probably assume (maybe even rightfully so) that without those three players on the Gryffindor team anymore, Slytherin pretty much has the Quidditch Cup secure. "Ah, no need to practice when there's nothing to fear. Had I known, I would've been back earlier. I've just been roaming around," I lie.

"Find any new favorite spots around the castle?"

"The beech tree by the lake," I say, though this isn't a new place to me. "But probably more when it's warmer out." He smiles at me, but the strain in his eyes alerts me immediately. "What's wrong?

Draco puts his quill down and rolls up his parchment. "I figure I should give you fair warning," he sighs.

My heart very nearly stops. Does he know about the D.A.? Am I no longer invited to Malfoy Manor for Christmas? "About what?"

"Well, the holidays last a couple of weeks," he says, "which means you'll be with me and my family for that long outside of Hogwarts." I nod at him, now even more nervous about what he needs to tell me. Has he told his parents who I am and discovered that they're less than pleased about it? "And that means you'll also be with my aunt for that long as well."

"Um . . . is that bad?" I don't know what he's trying to say, but from his general attitude and tension, it's a safe bet that this won't be something enjoyable.

"I thought I should let you know . . . Well, Azkaban had a great effect on her. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's always been a little . . . eccentric about her love of the Dark Lord, at least from the stories I've heard. But the dementors took their toll, and, well, Mum says she's a bit . . . high-strung now." He fidgets around, wringing his fingers and trying hard not to look away from me, which is clearly costing him greatly. "Not that she's completely insane . . . but she may come off a bit . . . weird."

"That's fine," I say in the best upbeat voice I can manage. "Plenty of weird people came through the orphanage . . ."

Draco takes my hand. "But—what I mean is that she might be . . . a bit dangerous, you know? But as long as you're with me or my parents when she first meets you so she knows you're not an intruder or someone hunting her, it should be fine."

I smile nervously. "Well, I will make sure to stay with one of you until I actually meet her."

He nods. "Good. Just know that if she . . . loses her temper about something or starts shouting, you're welcome to ignore it. She won't hurt you. I mean, she still cares about me and my family, and so she'll care about you too. I just want you to be prepared for when you do meet her."

Draco grins, as if that will comfort me now that I have been told I will be meeting Bellatrix Lestrange. Avoiding any Death Eater—especially one who went to Azkaban for being too devout to Voldemort—should be my top priority, but to leave the castle even if only for a week or so is too tempting. So I will not cower away and ask to remain here when he goes home. "Well . . . thanks for letting me know," I say, unsure exactly what response he was anticipating or how to voice to him that I should minimize my time around Death Eaters at all costs. His genuine concern about my chances of meeting his aunt warms me though. I doubt he will allow me to be alone at the manor at all until Bellatrix becomes aware of my presence so she has no reason to attack.

I briefly think about my mother who perished in Azkaban long before I ever learned of the magical world. Would she, too, have the sort of issues his aunt seems to have? Would Azkaban have destroyed her the way it seems to have destroyed the Death Eaters who went there? You belong in Azkaban, a voice in my head says. You're no better than them. You're a murderer. My breath catches. They deserved it. They wanted to kill me.

I look up at Draco and offer a weak smile. Not all of them.

"Let's talk about something else. Didn't mean to upset you, just wanted to forewarn you," he says, standing to his feet and pulling me to mine, likely assuming the undoubtedly pained look on my face came from thoughts of meeting Bellatrix and not thoughts of my own evildoings. "We have almost an hour until curfew. Let's go somewhere." He leads me away from the Slytherin common room.

"Do you have an idea where we should go?" I ask him, taking his hand in mine and lacing my fingers through his.

"Oh, I have a few." He cuts me a glance. "But I fear it's too cold outside for us to go out there, and besides, we'll get caught. The Astronomy Tower is fair game though."

I laugh with him as we make our way to that tower, which is empty except for the few Hogwarts-owned telescopes used for class. Although Hogwarts isn't where I really want to be, I admit that it is a beautiful place. Snow covers the ground, the moonlight bouncing off it making the whole castle seem calm and almost surreal. The stars play peek-a-boo behind thin, rolling clouds. The Black Lake, now frozen over, looks inviting, despite it being ice, and part of me longs to walk out onto it.

Draco takes my hands and puts them on his shoulders. He puts his own hands on my hips and begins to move us to a silent song. His eyes, reflecting the soft light given by the snow and the moon, look grayer than usual . . . and more joyful. He takes one of my hands and spins me around, then pulls me back against him. "Can I tell you something?" he asks quietly. His eyes don't leave mine.

"Of course."

He smiles at me. "These four months at Hogwarts—with you—have been better than the past four years here without you."

I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and rest my head against his chest. I feel him rest his head against the top of mine.

"And I know you were forced here against your will, but I'm glad you're here."

I look up at him and smile before pressing my lips against his, my heart beating rapidly, my grip on him tightening. "I dreaded being forced to go here," I say when we pull apart. "And then I met you, Draco, and you made every minute being here worth it. These short months here have been the best months of my life." I'm happy, and I'm safe, and I don't think anything could ever mean as much to as Draco's part making that possible.

He watches for a moment before smiling broadly and releasing a nervous breath. "I love you, Charlotte."

The first person to love me unconditionally, and I can't even tell him the full truth about myself. I feel myself about to start crying. "I love you too."

He breathes a sigh of relief and kisses me again. "I planned to tell you over the holidays, but I couldn't wait any longer."

"I'm glad you didn't wait." I kiss hiim again, desperate to convey how much he means to me and how much I truly do love him, because I think I've known for a while but have been afraid to tell him for fear of rejection. He is the first person since Mrs. Stoico to truly care for me, and he is the first person who has ever loved me. If I had known the good things that would come from me attending Hogwarts, I would have tried coming here years ago.

Suddenly, he freezes and pulls away. "Did you hear that?" he asks frantically.

We rush to the door and dash down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, only to stop at the bottom and peek around the corner. A commotion coming from down the corridor sets my heart racing, and though I know the danger of my actions, I take Draco's hand and lead us in that direction, lurking around each turn to make sure we aren't seen. "Potter," he whispers.

I creep around him and see Professor McGonagall escorting Harry and Ron to the gargoyle statue I know leads to Dumbledore's office. Harry is shaking, the torchlight bouncing off his sweat-covered skin easily visible from all the way over here. I can't hear the password McGonagall shouts to the gargoyle, but they quickly head up to the headmaster's office. What feels like an eternity later, McGonagall comes back down and dashes away.

"I wonder what's happening," I say airily.

"The Boy Who Lived probably getting special treatment again," Draco sneers.

"He looked ill."

"And instead of taking him to Pomfrey, as is the procedure, McGonagall rushes him up to the headmaster. She's always favored those Gryffindors of hers."

"But would she interrupt Dumbledore's evening over student merely being ill? Surely there must be something happening. Are you not curious?"

"I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you. Potter might have convinced her that he's worth it—interrupting Dumbledore, I mean."

McGonagall soon returns with the other Weasley children, whom she then escorts up to the headmaster's office. "Do you think they're pretending to be ill as well?"

"I don't know," he admits, "but I don't trust any of them."

The Head of Gryffindor House comes down once more, this time alone, and Draco pulls me forward, leading me toward her. We stick to the shadows and see Umbridge stop an impatient McGonagall in the corridor. I strain to listen to what McGonagall says, but whatever she's saying is surely a lie because why would she not just lead Umbridge up to Dumbledore's office otherwise? Something has happened, but eavesdropping on their conversation—"Who's there?" Umbridge calls in our direction. She's seen us, no chance in running. "Who's there?" Her voice is markedly less patient this time.

Draco looks at me, wide-eyed. "Follow my lead," I whisper. Then I come out from around the corner and start hurrying toward her. "Professor!" I pant purposefully as if we've been jogging through the castle for a while. "Thank—thank goodness we found you! We—"

"What are you doing out of your House after curfew?" McGonagall asks us; her lips thin out, but only by a little, not nearly as much as they would had she caught us out past curfew any other day. Her eyes briefly glance at the gargoyle before landing on Draco and me. She must be keeping something from Umbridge or else she'd be angrier with us.

"I can handle this, Professor McGonagall," Umbridge interrupts her. She looks at us expectantly. "Well, answer the question."

"There's an emergency!" I lie to the High Inquisitor. "We've been—looking everywhere—for you." I bend slightly and take a probably too-dramatic deep breath. "We were sent to find you!" I see McGonagall's eyes narrow, her eyebrows raised in disapproval as if she knows I'm lying because she knows I would likely not be the student Snape sent to find help in an emergency, but she recovers before Umbridge notices.

"By whom?" Umbridge asks.

"Professor Snape," I answer swiftly, still breathing heavy and trying to look a little panicked. She continues to look at me, waiting for me to go on, but I refuse to offer any information, instead just acting like I'm trying to catch my breath. As far as I'm concerned, McGonagall needed time, and I'm doing my best to give it to her.

Finally, Umbridge asks, showing great difficulty at keeping her voice calm, "Well, what's happened?"

"Some seventh-years were dueling, Professor —I don't why or what about—and one of them got carried away and—and—a curse struck the glass in the common room! It cracked and started leaking, so I ran to get Professor Snape, but the pressure of the lake—Professor, it was too much! The glass is close to shattering! The crack is growing! Professor Snape and some of the sixth- and seventh-years are doing their best to hold it together, but they need help! Quickly!"

"In the Slytherin common room, you said?"

"Yes, we must go there immediately. Please!"

Umbridge looks at Draco. "Is this true?"

"We don't have—"

"Silence, Rodgers."

I squeeze Draco's hand. "I . . . I don't know, Professor," he says. "I was wandering through the castle . . ."

"But she said that both of you were sent to find me."

"Well . . ." Draco seems to be scrambling for a lie, too. "Well . . . I . . .Charlotte found me and didn't want me to get into trouble, so she said we were both sent."

Umbridge glares at both of us, clearly unsure what to think. "Come along." She turns and starts leading us to the Slytherin Dungeon.

I turn around for a moment and shake my head at McGonagall and give her a thumbs-up, trying to confirm her doubts about my story. Although she gives me a stern look, she nods at me understandingly. As I turn the corner, I glance back over my shoulder to see McGonagall go back to the headmaster's office.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Draco.

"No worries," he says. "Just explain it later."

I brace myself for the hell I'm bound to pay when Umbridge realizes it was all a lie, but for right now, I guess I can waste more time, so I slow my pace with Draco. Umbridge hardly notices until she turns a corner and sees that we are a good ten feet behind her. "Hurry on," she commands.

"Sorry, Professor," I answer breathlessly. "It's just that I was running to find you and am quite out of breath at the moment."

She huffs impatiently. "You can rest when this is over. Now hurry."

That didn't help much. Draco and I hasten to catch up with her.

As we descend to the dungeons, Umbridge now just a few feet in front of us, I whisper to Draco, "Let me take the blame for this. It's my fault. I caused this. I should've let McGonagall handle it."

"You didn't cause this!" he argues. "I was the one who suggested we leave the common room knowing full well we would get back late!"

"But I was the one who lied to Umbridge in the first place! You just followed my lead!"

"I'm going to tell her the truth."

I grab his upper arm. "Please don't, Draco," I beg. "My standing with her doesn't matter. As a Malfoy, yours does. Please . . ."

After staring at me for a few moments, he nods. "Okay."

I lean against him as we walk. "Thank you."

"I believe I have a dance to finish with you," Draco whispers.

"I believe you do."

Draco takes my hand. "Meet me in the ballroom in my parents' house on Christmas Eve."

"Will do."

When we finally reach the Slytherin Dungeon and Draco speaks the password and the door opens to reveal an accident-free common room, Umbridge rounds on me, her face red with fury. "You lied to me."

I swallow thickly; knowing this was coming does nothing to reduce the fear I feel now that the moment has arrived.

"Both of you," Umbridge says, looking between us. "And you will both be punished accordingly."

"Professor," I reply, "Draco had nothing to do with it."

"He was just as involved—"

"No, he wasn't. He thought I was telling the truth. It was all me." I can't let him get in trouble on my behalf. He starts to say something, but I squeeze his hand as hard as I can without drawing attention to it, willing him to remain quiet. He does. "He was roaming the castle past curfew, but he has nothing to do with the lie I told you."

Umbridge looks at Draco, her brow furrowed in thought. "You may go inside," she says to him motioning for him to re-enter the Slytherin Dungeon. "Try not to be out after curfew again." Once the door closes behind him, she turns back to me. "What were you trying to hide from me?" she asks coldly. "What was going on in Dumbledore's office?"

"I don't know," I say truthfully. "But it did seem like something, didn't it?"

Umbridge smiles sweetly at me. "Detention. My office." I move to enter the common room, but she stops me. "Did you not hear me, Miss Rodgers?"

"You said I had detention. So I was going to get a good night's sleep before I have to . . . endure"—being alone with you is the phrase that comes to mind, but I bite it down—"whatever is to come."

"You misunderstand me," Umbridge says, her voice still ominously sweet. "There is only one day left of term. You will be leaving for the holidays tomorrow, yes?" I nod. "Then you are to come serve your detention tonight. I will not let you weasel your way out of a detention on a technicality."

"Fine." With some trepidation stemming from the rumors regarding her detentions, I follow behind her as she leads me to her office.

I take a seat in the desk that is already set up. She hands me a quill and a piece of parchment. "What am I to write?" I ask between gritted teeth.

"I must not tell lies," she answers.

Isn't that what she made Harry and a couple others write earlier this term? She must really hate lies.

I start writing. What starts as a mild irritation on the back of my hand begins smarting quickly, turning into an intense stinging that demands all my attention. I flex my hand against the pain and regret it, realizing too late that doing so has irritated the skin more. I glance at my hand and watch as the words I'm writing carve themselves into my skin. Then they heal over, and I write the sentence again. The skin rips open once more, the blood from my hand becoming the ink with which I write. I take a few steady breaths as the skin heals itself less efficiently than it did a moment ago.

You've been through worse.

That mantra only works for the three hours or so until the pain becomes more all-consuming, intensifying in ways I hadn't imagined. The mark grows redder, bloodier, rawer. My skin no longer heals itself, and I begin gnawing on my inner cheek and tongue to avoid making noises of pain—if there's one thing she will not get from me, it is a yelp of pain. I place my fist against my mouth and bite on my knuckle each time I write, refusing to make a noise, sometimes moving my hand around to remove the warm tears before she can see them.

Just when I am sorely tempted to let out a scream and perhaps vomit onto the floor, she says, "You may go."

I stand, hardly able to keep my eyes open, then set the quill down and leave her office.

My body is so exhausted that I struggle to stay upright while trudging back to the Slytherin Dungeons. My hatred for Umbridge burns through my chest. I'm going to kill her. I might've deserved detention, but certainly not torture. She's completely evil, and she deserves to be punished.

The Slytherin common room, that place I once hated because it was not in a tower like the Gryffindor common room, welcomes me with open arms, and I nearly collapse with joy when the door opens and I enter its safe and warm embrace. Draco appears to be asleep on the sofa, but the moment door opens, he looks over and, eyes wide with horror, runs to me and takes me into his harms, all but carrying me to the sofa where he just was.

"It hurts," I cry, finally giving in. "It hurts."

"Charlotte," his voice is panicked and high, "Charlotte, what's wrong? What happened?"

"My hand," I whimper, bringing it out of my robes. It's crimson red, dripping blood, trembling so much I can't get a good look at it, and Draco tenderly takes it into his hands. "Don't touch it!"

He shakes his head. "I won't, just . . . hang on." He waves his wand, and a bottle flies out of the boys' dormitory and into his hands. "I shouldn't even have this," he says, laughter in his voice, "so you can't tell anyone." He smiles and opens it. "Firewhiskey. It should clean this until we can get some Murtlap Essence." Draco waves his wand again, and white cloth flies to him as well. "This will burn."

He takes my trembling hand pours the Firewhiskey onto it. I scream without opening my mouth and quickly cover my lips with my fist again.

"I'm so sorry," he says as he begins wrapping the white cloth around it. "I should've taken the blame . . . I should've served this detention, not you."

"No," I whisper through gritted teeth, "I wouldn't have wanted you to go through this."

"I don't want you to go through it either."

"What's done is done. Tomorrow, we leave for Christmas, and we'll be able to put this behind us." He smiles at that. "Why are you still awake? It's nearly five in the morning."

"You didn't think I'd let you come back to an empty common room and no one to check on you, did you?" He ties the cloth tightly, apologizing again as I groan.

"How does she get away with doing stuff like this? I'm not the first student who's undergone this punishment, and I know I won't be the last."

He shakes his head. "The Ministry of Magic has given her so much power . . ." He kisses the fingers of my injured hand. "But this . . . my father will hear about this."

Something tells me his father, the great and powerful Lucius Malfoy, won't give a damn about what's happened to me. Had it happened to Draco, Umbridge would lose her position at Hogwarts before she could take a breath. But it didn't happen to Draco. It happened to the annoying bitch he hunted for years, the spoiled brat whom he absolutely despises. In fact, he might even find joy in my pain.

I can't voice any of this, though, because that will force me to expose more of my past to Draco, and though I desperately want to tell him the truth, I know I can't because it'll put him in too much danger. And he's just told me that he loves me—I don't want to lose that so quickly. No, I must continue lying to him—even though I must not tell lies—until it is finally safe to tell him everything. But only Merlin knows when that time with come, or if that time will come.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly.

"I'm just exhausted," I lie again. "Perhaps we should try to get some sleep. We have a full day of class tomorrow before we leave, and I'm not so sure I'll be able to face it without at least some sleep."

I move to stand up, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back down. "You don't want to be in that room with Pansy right now any more than I want you to be there. We only have a few hours left, anyways, so let's just stay in here. Together."

"I'd like that," I whisper.

He lies down on the sofa and motions for me to join him, and once I do, he waves his wand and covers us with a blanket. My back against his chest, I drift asleep, more protected and loved now than I have been in almost all my life.