CHAPTER 29

When at last I force myself to leave the dormitory (having not wanted to face the other Slytherins just yet, I had taken an extra-long time getting ready for the day), the common room is deserted except for a few panicky, straggling first-years rushing each other snippily. I smile as nicely as possible without inviting them to talk with me, then follow them out of the dungeon and up to the Great Hall.

The moment I step into the Hall, it becomes achingly obviously that something is incredibly wrong: the room abuzz with frantic, nervous, quiet conversations, which immediately sets my nerves on edge and causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. What could be so catastrophic that the entire student body and the professors are this concerned?

I glance up at the staff table to see McGonagall and Dumbledore engaged in a serious conversation. Snape's face seems neutral, not that that is anything too out of the ordinary. Sprout has the Daily Prophet propped on a ketchup bottle, her food dripping from her spoon into her lap. Umbridge, for the first time, is not watching the students in an attempt to find the troublemakers of the morning but is instead reading her copy of the newspaper.

Heart pounding, I rush to the table and sit across from Astoria and Daphne, then glance down the table at Draco and his cronies, all of whom look slightly shaken, and lock eyes with Draco who holds a copy of the Daily Prophet. Looking almost piteous at me, he slightly shakes his head—Pansy notices and immediately moves closer to Draco who doesn't seem to notice at all because he is so intently watching me apologetically. I don't like this.

Finally, I rip my eyes away from my cousin and look at Daphne. "What's happened?"

"We don't know," she says quietly. "I can't get my hands on a damn paper."

Two seats away from Astoria sits Millicent Bulstrode, a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting, untouched, in front of her. She seems entirely unperturbed as she eats her breakfast "Bulstrode," I call over to her.

She hardly glances at me before saying, "You were Draco's girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Doesn't matter. Are you going to read that?" I motion to the Daily Prophet.

"No, I don't know why my parents have it sent to me every day. Would you like to read it?"

"Yes." As I reach for it, she jerks it away from me, and I inwardly groan at her.

"Tell me what happened between you and Draco, and it's all yours."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Family issues?"

Then I stand up, snatch the paper from her hands, and tear it open. My heart plunges to my stomach, making my appetite vanish completely. The headline says in big, bold letters, "MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN—MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS." Apparently the Ministry has had no choice but to let the news slip. The Death Eaters must have done something, or maybe someone saw one of them. I read the rest of the article to learn that they are blaming it on Sirius Black.

"Charlotte, what's wrong?" Astoria asks.

"I . . . I don't . . ." My already empty stomach threatens to empty itself even more.

I lean to the left to look between the Greengrass sisters to see how the Golden Trio is handling the news—I'm assuming not well considering this means they now know how many more of Voldemort's followers will be trying to kill Harry. Even they hold a copy of the Daily Prophet between them. Harry is flustered, angry. Hermione meets my gaze, and her eyes widen slightly. She glances from the paper to me and back three times before I can tear my eyes away from her and look back at the paper in front of me.

There are three Lestranges pictured in black and white: Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan. My father and my uncle are almost indistinguishable. But Bellatrix is the one who relentless holds my gaze, chilling my blood. Staring down at her like this, not facing her in person, I can see the similarities between the two of us the more. I have her curly black hair and her pale skin. I don't know where my blue eyes came from, but a lot of my features match my mother's, such as my nose, lidded eyes, and jawline. Oh no. What if Hermione recognizes the similarities between my mother and me? What if that's why she was looking at me like that?

My eyes wander back to the staff table, my breath short. Tears burn, threatening to escape me though I try my hardest to hold them back, but both Snape and McGonagall are too busy to be looking across the Great Hall at the students.

My chest aches. This is really happening—everyone knows my parents are out of Azkaban. How much longer will it be before people realize how similar I look to Bellatrix? "I'm not hungry," I say to Daphne and Astoria, standing from the table, slinging my bag over my shoulder, dropping the paper back in front of them, and rushing from Great Hall. I need fresh air.

I sit on a bench close to an open window and let the breeze brush across my face. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, already beginning to calm down a bit. Then I hear, "Why'd you storm from the Great Hall like that?"

My blood pressure rises again immediately. Opening my eyes, I see Lee Jordan and Fred and George Weasley all sitting near me now. "What do you mean?" With great effort, I manage to keep my voice low and even.

"We saw you storm out of the Great Hall and wondered why," George says. I don't understand how it can be of any relevance to them why I did or did not storm from the Great Hall.

"So go ahead," Fred says. "Fill us in."

"Didn't feel well."

"Yeah, sure," Lee says.

"Why does it matter?"

"Just curious is all," Fred says. "We like to keep a watch on the reactions people have to important news."

"And my reaction was a curious one?"

"Very much so, yes," Fred says.

"I apologize that I unsettled you with my reaction to the news that ten of Voldemort's most loyal and devout followers have broken out of Azkaban and are roaming the country now," I say dryly.

George smiles. "No need to apologize, Rodgers."

Lee adds, "Yeah, and well, we really just wanted to come check on you. You seemed upset. You're part of the D.A., which means we're in this together."

"Ten Death Eaters are out of Azkaban, and you're wondering why I seem upset?"

"Well, that, and the fact that you and Malfoy were not overly friendly this morning." Fred smirks. "Did you give him hell when you broke up with him?"

"That's rather personal, isn't it? And I'm not certain I'd like to talk about it with three people I hardly know."

"I can make George and Lee leave if that'd make you comfortable," Fred says. I laugh in spite of myself. "See, she'd be more comfortable if there was only one of us and not three."

"That's definitely not what I said."

"We can take a hint," George says with a smile. He and Lee stand up. "We'll see you in class, Freddie."

"You didn't have to send them away," I say quietly.

"I know. But you don't look like you should be alone right now, and I'm sure being around too many people will make you uncomfortable."

I look away from him and stare out the window at the snow. "So you took the noble sacrifice and let your mates leave you to go do Merlin-knows-what without you?"

"Sacrifice? What makes you think it's a sacrifice?"

"One of the Weasley twins of Gryffindor forfeiting time with his friends to sit with a filthy Slytherin? Sounds like a sacrifice to me."

"Because you're a Slytherin or because I'm not with George and Lee?"

"A little of both, I guess."

"Trust me, Rodgers, it is not a sacrifice to spend time with the girl who dumped Malfoy, hopefully ruthlessly. If I could, I'd be singing your praises at this very moment."

He clears his throat as if preparing to sing, and I quickly say, "I didn't dump Mal—Draco. I didn't dump him."

"Surely the fool didn't dump you!" Fred says, sounding appalled. "No bloke in his right mind would do such a thing."

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I ignore it and him.

"Well, I know he didn't end things with you—even he isn't daft enough for that. So let's pretend it was mutual—"

"Which it was."

"—instead of you admitting that you viciously dropped that filthy pureblood supremacist."

"I won't admit it because it's not what happened."

He brushes off my words with a friendly voice and the word, "Details." His face becomes serious. "Will you be all right?"

"Eventually, I'm sure. Everyone heals after a time, right? I don't expect pity, Weasley."

"I'm not here to pity you, Charlotte," he says softly. "You're in the D.A. You're a friend now. And I wanted to make sure you're fine. If Ginny were hurting and I couldn't be there for her, I would want someone to be there if she needed them. The Slytherins don't seem like the kind to care about those who don't fit in perfectly with them. And you're not like most of them, are you? Now that you and Malfoy are no more . . . I imagine most of those in your year will side with him strictly because he is a Malfoy. I just don't want you to be completely alone."

A smile comes to my lips. Perhaps Hogwarts isn't as bad of a place as I once thought. Perhaps there are more people here who will actually care about me. Perhaps I can find my place here. Fred smiles back, and silence falls shortly after, both of us watching the snow fall onto the Hogwarts grounds.

After a while of this, Fred asks, "Do you have the time? I seem to have forgotten to put my watch on this morning."

I pull out Alphard's pocket watch. "Looks like it's time to head to class."

"Where'd you get that?" Fred asks, indicating the watch.

"My great-uncle," I say as I stand.

Fred stands with me. "What's his name?"

"I don't really know," I lie. "He died before I met him."

The very same day news broke about the Death Eaters escaping Azkaban was the very day Umbridge passed yet another Education Decree. According to Education Decree Number Twenty-Six, professors are not allowed to give students any information on any subject that they are not paid to teach. This particular decree upsets me more than the rest of her ridiculous decrees. If Bellatrix or Voldemort decides I should go back to Malfoy Manor, I will no longer be allowed to speak with any of the professors about it—and by "any" I strictly mean McGonagall because I hardly know any of the other professors, and Snape and I are not, and will never be, on the best of terms.

Following this decree, the enjoyable days of Hogwarts for me, I feel, have ended. Each day now seems to grow more unbearable. When I first started here, Draco had really been by my side at most times, or I knew he would be soon, which made the Draco-free times slow but tolerable. Now though, we don't speak. We don't sit next to each other. We don't even acknowledge each other. But the worst part is: we no longer go on our secret dates through the castle. And all the places we went now seem tainted by the memory of snogging my cousin.

Times in the common room are now only used for practicing Conjuration and doing homework with Astoria and Daphne (if they're not with their large group of friends that include Zoe the Muggle-born and some others, none of whom I want to try to become friends with just yet because I don't have it in me) until I can go to bed without looking strange for going too early. The warmth of the fire is the only thing that keeps me from going insane, and when everyone is studying quietly, the sound of the lake above us is calming as well. But being so close to Draco without being close to him at all . . . I have no words for this type of pain. I have been alone for so long and so easily accepted the thought of having someone in my life that I am not ready to be alone again. I shouldn't have let myself get sucked into the idea that I could be happy, not when I have my duty and Voldemort always in the back of my mind.

I learn throughout the week that Hagrid has been put on suspension by Umbridge, which particularly upsets the Golden Trio and makes Draco positively gleeful in a way that irritates me. At least that's one good thing that comes from being separated from Draco—I no longer have to be lumped with the hateful Slytherins. Hermione has become exceedingly friendly recently, for which there is no way to properly thank her, and Ron and Harry and Ron have also become nicer to me (presumably because of Hermione's kindness and because Ron likely told Harry about our agreement). The D.A. meetings are the only thing I have to look forward to anymore. Well, those and my lessons with McGonagall.

I suppose I'm also looking forward to my meeting with Nymphadora Tonks, but that's something I try to avoid thinking about too much lest I begin to panic. What if she doesn't believe that I am not like Bellatrix? (Especially since I don't even believe that.) Thinking about that too much will simply drive me insane, so it's best to avoid the topic altogether.

Because recently the only conversations in the halls anymore are about the Death Eaters, Voldemort, the Educational Decree, or the High Inquisitor—none of which make me feel any better about my current and future situation—I mostly keep to myself these days. Rumor has it that the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan are particularly rebellious toward the High Inquisitor. Lee even has detention today because of a remark he made to Umbridge about her newest Educational Decree. I assume that's where he is when I run into Fred and George on the third floor.

"Hey, Charlotte!" George calls through the corridor.

I smile at the twins as they come toward me. "Hello."

"Would you like to buy a Skiving Snackbox?" Fred asks.

"I . . ." I look away from them. "Not really."

"Too good for the early Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products?" Fred asks. "We'll keep getting better, and of course we'll remember our early customers, those who bought our products before we were famous."

"It's not that," I say with a quiet laugh. "It's just . . . the Hogsmeade weekend is coming up soon, and I currently only have no Galleons to my name"—because I refuse to accept the Lestrange name and ask my mother for money—"and I might want to use what little I have at Hogsmeade. You never know." They look at me sympathetically, no doubt because their family struggles financially as well, and I quickly add, "But when I come by more money, I promise to buy something."

They smile. "Good."

"Is Lee in detention with Umbridge still?" Though I wish to pity him, I absolutely do not have the emotional stability to do it right now.

Fred nods sadly. "Unfortunately."

"Her detentions are sick, and I for one cannot wait to see her get sacked for it," George says.

"And you really think she will be?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts professors never last more than a year," Fred informs me. Right, I believe I've been told that before. "And she'd better leave in a dreadful way after what she's put us through this year."

"Too bad we probably won't be around to see it, Freddie."

"Why won't you be around?"

"Just a feeling," Fred laughs.

"We won't be expelled or anything," George says. "If that's what you're worried about."

"We'll leave of our own accord if we go." Fred winks at his twin.

"And it'll be extravagant."

"So you'd best be here to see it."

"Where else could I possibly be?" Hopefully, I'll be right here at Hogwarts as long as possible before being forced to leave and be under the mercy of whatever Death Eater Voldemort deems trustworthy enough to watch after me outside of this place. Hopefully, Voldemort allows me to remain somewhere I can learn magic, sleep in a comfortable bed, and have regular meals. Hogwarts seems to fit the bill.

"Good point, I guess," Fred says. "You're not a bad student like us, you'll be around until the school year ends, I'm sure. As you should. We can't be bad influences on the younger students."

"Speaking of being bad influences," George says, "I believe we have young, impressionable students to sell our Skiving Snackboxes to."

"Ah, yes." They begin to walk off. "See you later, Charlotte."

"See you, Weasleys."

I continue my journey to McGonagall's office, where I was headed originally before that distraction. She calls for me to enter after my quiet knock. "Evening, Professor."

"Evening, Rodgers. Have you been practicing the Bird-Conjuring Charm as I told you to?"

"Every day."

"Any progress?"

"I can effectively Conjure some feathers."

"That's a start."

"That's what I keep telling myself, Professor."

"And I'm sure you know that you must act as if you know none of this in my N.E.W.T. class."

"Assuming I get the O.W.L." She gives me a bemused expression, and I say, "No one will know that I studied these spells early."

For the next ten minutes, I try to Conjure a flock of birds with the charm, but as my heart is not really in it, it seems more difficult to succeed; however, it's not until McGonagall, irritated after having tried to assist me with the spell during this time in which my focus is elsewhere, asks, "Do you not wish to be here, Rodgers? I don't believe these lessons were forced upon you."

I shake my head. "You're right, Professor. And I don't mean to seem ungrateful—because I have never appreciated anything more in my life—it's just . . . I'm distracted." I glance away for only a second before saying, "You taught Bellatrix, which means I'm sure you taught Andromeda as well." I meet the professor's gaze. "Does Andromeda hate Bellatrix now?" Her eyes flutter to her door. "I know you're not allowed to talk about anything not related to the subject you're paid to teach but—I'm meeting Nymphadora Tonks this weekend and just . . . should I expect to be—I don't know—hated because of who my mother is?"

Again, her eyes land on her door for a brief moment before she says, "I taught the Black sisters Transfiguration, and never did I see Andromeda treating her sisters differently, regardless of how they treated her. As for Nymphadora Tonks—who prefers to simply go by her surname, and you would be wise to remember that when you meet her—she lives up to her House's reputation when it pertains to acceptance."

She must have been a Hufflepuff. The thought makes me smile and fills me with relief. "I know you can be punished for speaking of such things, so thank you, Professor. It does relieve a bit of my worry."

McGonagall gives me a slight nod. "You are free to continue your lessons, or you may return to your dormitory to prepare for Hogsmeade."

"I'd like to stay and practice if it's all the same to you."

"Very well."

At the end of my lesson, I still have yet to succeed beyond Conjuring feathers, and I try to bite back my resentment of my own failure. This shouldn't be so difficult, not after all the time I spend working solely on Transfiguration and Conjuration.

"You mustn't put too much pressure on yourself, Rodgers," McGonagall says as I open her door to leave. "It'll come to you eventually."

I nod silently. The problem is, what if "eventually" is too late, and I am stuck living in caves again with no way to Conjure provisions that I need? While I don't expect Voldemort will let me live anywhere free from the eyes of his followers, I have to prepare for it, be ready to go on the run just in case the worst happens.

I pass a few Hufflepuff first-years and am reminded of Tonks, the cousin I will be meeting a few days' time, and my heart starts beating nervously and excitedly at the thought that I might not be alone in the world with just my Death Eater relatives—I'll have family who willingly fight against Voldemort. And that is enough to keep me joyful in this reign of Umbridge's Educational Decrees and detentions.

Even after everything, I won't be alone. At least, not all the time.

And that's all I've ever wanted since Mrs. Stoico's death. All I've ever wanted was to have someone who cared about me and wanted what was best for me. Instead I was hunted like an animal.

But all of that might change—I might have people I can proudly claim as my family. Even though I lost Draco, I might have gained so much more.

As if he knows I'm thinking about him, the moment I open the door to the common room, Draco comes toward me, takes me by the arm, and leads me out of the common room. No one seems to notice or care. "How much do you know about Potter's group of rebels?" he asks quietly.

"I don't—"

"Charlotte, do me the favor of not lying to me, will you? I know you're friends with the Mudblood and the Weasleys and Potter. How much do you know? Who's in the group? Surely they talk around you."

"Honestly, Draco," I say, not feeling guilty in the slightest about lying to him now that we're no longer together, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I mean, I'm a Slytherin, why would they trust me? And why are you asking? Since when do you care about what Potter does?"

"Since Umbridge created the Inquisitorial Squad and named me leader. Just . . . come to me with any information you might hear about his group. I'm asking you as a friend, as your family."

I look away. "Don't talk about that with me."

He sighs. "You're right. That was wrong of me. As a friend then, and just as a friend, let me know if you find anything else out."

I nod and lie, "I will."

Then we enter the common room again. There's no way in hell I'm telling Draco about Dumbledore's Army. As the only Slytherin in the group, I must do all in my power to not have the rest of the D.A. believe I am no better than Draco and his posse.