CHAPTER 32

Fred and I pull away from one another and smile just before we hear a snarling voice growl out, "Weasley!" Fred's eyes land on someone behind, and before I have a chance to turn around and face the intruder, a strong force rams into us, separating us and throwing us both to the stone floor. My shoulder throbs, but I don't have time to complain before someone grabs me by the arms and hauls me to my feet, the touch uncomfortably familiar for the brief moment before it releases me. I open my eyes, ignoring the slight ache from where I hit the floor, and see Draco rounding on Fred, his wand drawn. "What do you think you're doing, Weasley?"

Fred stands up, grinning and brushing off his clothes, but doesn't answer.

Draco shoves his wand against Fred's chest. "I asked you a question!"

Fred turns his nose up and says, "Enjoying Charlotte's company."

I whip out my wand and press it against Draco's back. "Put it away, Draco."

Slowly, he turns on me and forces me against the wall. "Like you're really going to attack me."

"Perhaps I will. Perhaps violence is just in my blood?" I say, just loud enough for him to hear, my wand now against his chest. "Let go of me." I jam the wand harder into his chest.

He grunts, then hisses in a hushed tone, "Weasley is a blood traitor! You're a disgrace to the family!"

"She told you to let her go, Malfoy!" Fred says, now drawing his own wand.

"You and I have a different opinion about what 'disgraces' the family, Draco," I whisper. Then I push him aside and walk over to Fred. "Go on back to your disciples, Malfoy, I have better things to do than dealing with you." With a flash of courage, I take Fred by the hand. "Come on, Fred, I'll help you sell some Skiving Snackboxes." I glance back at a scowling Draco as we turn down the corridor.

Draco shouts, "This won't stay quiet for long, Charlotte! My father will hear about this! And make no mistake, he will tell my aunt! You and I both know she won't keep that a secret!"

My insides turn to ice, his words doing just what had intended them to do. Fred is a good person, a kind friend, and I can't risk him like this. And more importantly, I can't risk myself like this either, so I release Fred's hand and whisper, "I'm so sorry. Let's forget this ever happened."

"But—"

I don't give him a chance to finish. I sprint away from him, through the castle, down the stairs, and into the Slytherin common room, leaving Fred Weasley standing in the corridor, dumbfounded. I shouldn't have used him like that. I am a truly awful person.

A few days pass, and Fred and I have yet to speak again. I don't know what I was thinking. When I kissed Snape, it was purely to show him that Voldemort will not control me. But when I kissed Fred . . . I honestly don't know why I did it. He was just being so nice to me, and I'd just spent the morning enjoying being at Zonko's with him. And he made me feel better about Draco.

And—and I was hurting . . . No, there is no excuse. I was stupid. If Bellatrix finds out, she will absolutely tell Voldemort, and if he finds out that his property has been fraternizing with a blood traitor, nowhere in this world will be safe for Fred or me. We will both be severely punished. If Draco has his way, Bellatrix will find out soon enough. The thought torments me regularly. I've endangered myself and my friend because of my terrible impulses.

For the most part over the next couple of weeks, I try to avoid situations that lead to my being alone with Fred (it's easier to ignore what I've done if we never have a chance to talk about it privately).

Only one thing keeps me sane when February inches away and becomes March: Hermione succeeded in making Harry do an interview with Rita Skeeter at Hogsmeade that day I met Tonks. Before long, the March edition of The Quibbler quickly circulates through Hogwarts and becomes the most popular reading material in the castle—everyone wants to read Harry's account of Voldemort's return. Surprisingly, people seem to really believe it now, even those who aren't in the D.A. As for me, I do my best to prevent situations requiring me to dwell on what he's said because if Voldemort can come back from the dead as described, there's no way for me to escape him forever. I seem to be one of the few who doesn't enjoy talking about Harry's account of what happened.

Fortunately for me, I don't have to work too hard to avoid hearing about the interview because within days of publication, Umbridge passes a new educational decree banning The Quibbler and threatening expulsion for anyone found with a copy. Apparently, detention isn't working for her anymore the way she had hoped. If I didn't have Voldemort's fury and his Death Eaters to worry about, I would gladly carry a copy of the magazine around. Expulsion would be readily accepted at this point. No more Draco, no more Snape, no more school. That's not true. There's still the Golden Trio, McGonagall, the Greengrass sisters, and the Weasley twins. You'd miss all of them.

Not to mention that the Death Eaters would again be tasked with hunting me down, and that's a level of stress I do not want to reintroduce into my life right now.

Besides the victorious look on Harry's face in the corridors, what brings me the most joy regarding the publication is that he announced publicly that the fathers of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle are Death Eaters, which has led Draco to become withdrawn, thereby making it easier to forget about him, avoid him, and stop worrying about his prying eyes snitching on me to his father or Bellatrix. Since his retreat further into himself, I have purposefully allowed him to catch sigh of me talking Golden Trio and the other Weasleys (but never to Fred about the kiss, and he doesn't bring up anything that happened that day since I've taken precautions never to be alone with him).

So it is with higher-than-usual spirits that I make my way to McGonagall's office to continue working on the Bird-Conjuring Spell—I have a really good feeling about it today. Having been practicing every day and actually managing to Conjure one wingless bird yesterday, the odds of accomplishing the spell seem high. I knock on her office door and enter when she calls me in. "Evening," I greet her.

"Evening. Have you been practicing?"

"Of course, Professor."

McGonagall nods approvingly.

My heart pounding, I take out my wand and say, "Avis." But nothing happens, and I deflate, immediately losing all the hope I had strolled in with. Why is this so difficult for me to grasp? It's never taken me this long to learn something in Transfiguration. I keep trying but soon learn that the success from yesterday evades me now; not even a wingless bird bursts forth from my wand. After nearly fifteen minutes of this, I sigh, "I don't understand. Transfiguration has always come so easily and now . . . I've been working for months and can't seem to make any real progress. And what little progress I do manage to make fails me almost immediately."

"You have to really focus. You seem distracted right now and seem to have been under stress for some time now that could be crippling your efforts. Try your best to put everything aside except for the spell you're trying to use."

I nod at her and breathe out slowly, clearing my mind of everything except Transfiguration. I force out all thoughts of Bellatrix and Fred and Draco, all thoughts of Voldemort and my fears around my duty and the horror that awaits me. Right now, none of that matters. Right now, the only thing that matters is Conjuration, this lesson with McGonagall. "Avis!" Despite the flicker of hope that had sprung forth in my chest, nothing happens. I close my eyes and exhale. It doesn't matter right now; it doesn't matter right now. You want a chance to run away again without living miserably? Focus on the task at hand. I take a breath and picture the spell as McGonagall performed it. "Avis!"

A loud blast bursts from my wand, and from the ensuing puff of smoke emerges a flock of birds that follow my wand wherever I command them. "Professor!" I breathe. "I did it!"

"Excellent, Rodgers!"

Relief hits me square in the chest, my arms falling to my sides as I bend over and breathe deeply, rejoicing in the excitement coursing through me. This is the first step to Conjuration, and I stand a chance at learning it before I have to leave Hogwarts. I just need to work harder. McGonagall is about to say something when she is interrupted by a knock at her door. She closes her eyes for a second before muttering, "If that is Dolores Umbridge . . ." She takes a breath and says, "Enter." We exchange a glance when we see not Umbridge but Severus Snape.

"I hate to interrupt," he says, though I really don't think that's true, "but I need a word with Rodgers." McGonagall motions at him as if inviting him inside, but he adds, "In my office."

"Thanks for all of your help, Professor," I say to her as I leave. "I'll continue working on it."

I follow Snape back through the castle as we make our way to his office. "I'm guessing this was extremely important. Doesn't Harry have a 'Remedial Potions' lesson in half an hour?" He cuts me a glance but doesn't reply, but the look on his face sends an annoying realization through me: he expects me to argue about whatever he has to say and has planned this meeting so that I have to leave fairly quickly after it and be gone before Harry arrives.

Snape undoubtedly did this on purpose. What a prick.

"Take a seat," he says as he closes his office door behind me. "This won't take long."

I sit down as he walks over to his desk to take a seat opposite mine. Then he waves his wand at the door and begins, "I've just gotten word from Malfoy Manor."

I shift forward in my chair as if being a miniscule amount closer will allow me to hear and understand better. Did Draco follow through with it? Did he send word that I am becoming friendly with Muggle-borns, and Harry Potter—all the things they hate the most?

"About—" My voice comes out in a humiliating squeak. I clear my throat and try again. "About what?"

"The Easter holidays are coming up, and I have been charged with the duty of making sure you are at Malfoy Manor for said holidays."

"No!" I cry, hopping to my feet and closing in on his desk. "I won't! I won't go! They can't lock me up again!"

Snape looks at me with a type of sympathy I have never seen on his face before. "I'm afraid you have no choice." His dark eyes watch me for a moment, a frown on his face, and my will to fight him drains right out of me.

"What do they want with me?" I ask quietly, hanging my head and picturing the worst. "What good can possibly come from me going to see them?"

"This will be difficult to hear." I look up at him, already beginning to panic, my breathing quickening, my blood pressure increasing. "The Dark Lord wants to have a word with you," he says solemnly.

I stumble away from his desk and catch myself in the chair I vacated moments ago. "A-ab-about what?" I stammer breathlessly. My hands cover my mouth tightly, and I scream into them, tears pricking my eyes, not caring that my fear is so loud and obvious in front of him.

"While I can't be positive, I have a fairly decent idea."

My body starts trembling, and though I open my mouth multiple times to say something, no words come out for quite some time. Tears of terror slip down my cheeks as I stare down at my knees. Finally, what feels like hours later, I manage to clear my throat and say airily, "I should go." My legs protesting carrying my weight, I stand from the chair and make my way to the exit, each step more precarious than the last. I wrench open the door and brace myself against the doorframe for a few seconds. I glance back to say something to him, but nothing of any consequence comes to mind, prompting me to continue moving to put this Death Eater and his awful news behind me.

I pass Harry while making my way back up the stairs. We don't speak. It's likely that my voice would fail me now anyway.

I am trying to make my way back to McGonagall's office when I see her in the hall. I go to her and tap on her shoulder. She turns, obviously confused as to why a student would tap on her to get her attention rather than calling out her name. She sees me, and the confusion vanishes. "What's happened?"

"I-I—Easter—Voldemort—" I'm all but hyperventilating right now. "Malfoy Manor—" I close my eyes and shake my head vigorously in an attempt to clear my thoughts, but one comes through very bright and very horrible: I've been fraternizing with people Voldemort hates; I kissed Fred. I kissed Snape. In one blinding moment, the words escape me without my full intent: "He'll kill me!" A sob rips through my throat. "Help me."

McGonagall, immediately becoming the professor who cares deeply about her students' well-being, puts her hand on my shoulder to lead me to the window, away from anyone who might be eavesdropping. "Rodgers," she says, "take a deep breath." She does so herself as if trying to remind me how, but even with her guidance, my breaths are still choppy. She takes another deep breath, her hand going up as she inhales and down as she exhales. This visual helps me somehow, and I take a slow, deep breath in tandem with her and her hand. "When you can breathe, I need to know what's happened."

"I have to meet"—another deep breath—"during Easter holidays—there's nothing I can do . . ." Deep breaths, deep breaths. "I have no choice—I have to meet him during Easter." My eyes dart away from her so I can overlook the Hogwarts grounds. I whisper, barely audible to even me, "Voldemort."

McGonagall leads me away from the window. "Let's go for a walk," she suggests. We start walking down the stairs, but I don't know where she's taking me. "How did you learn of this?"

"I—a letter. From the manor. From Lucius. Snape—"

"Professor Snape."

"—gave it to me. After the—after the holiday mess, he—he thought I should—I should make sure—it wasn't Bellatrix who sent it." I doubt it would be safe to tell her that Snape has been in contact with the Malfoys and that he's the one who relayed the message to me. "Where are we going?"

"We're simply walking through the castle. Professor Umbridge is not likely to wonder why you are walking alongside me as much as she would wonder why you were in my office or why we were talking in the corridors. How did this letter come in without having been inspected by the High Inquisitor?"

"I imagine Lucius demanded it. You know how she's trying to stay in the Malfoys' favor." I feel as if she can see right through me, and her face clearly says she knows I'm lying. Still, she does not prod.

"Is there any way you can ignore it?"

"Ignore direct order from You-Know-Who?"

"Was it a direct order from him, or was it a direct order from Lucius Malfoy?"

"I . . . don't know. But I'm fairly certain it was a direct order from him."

McGonagall is about to say something when loud, sorrowful shrieks from somewhere in the castle interrupt her. We both become alert, trying to see where the blood-curdling sound came from. Not a second later, McGonagall speeds off toward the entrance hall, leaving me standing there alone for a moment before I start after her. Students flood out of the Great Hall and cram themselves in any place where they can get a view of what is happening. Professor Trelawney stands in the entrance hall, looking absolutely insane, two large trunks on the ground beside her. She stares, horrified, at Umbridge.

Snape and Harry arrive from the dungeons, and I can't help but notice how livid Snape looks right now compared to just a few minutes ago when we were talking. How does Harry enrage him so easily and so often?

"No!" Trelawney wails. "NO! This cannot be happening . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" Umbridge says. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?" Her voice is almost amused, and my blood begins to boil, my hatred for her growing stronger.

"You c-can't!" Trelawney howls, doing nothing to hide her tears. "You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here for sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home." The joy that Umbridge so clearly draws from hurting Trelawney like this makes me sick to my stomach. Sure, from what I've heard about Divination classes, Trelawney is likely incompetent at best and a downright fraud at worst, but she doesn't deserve this sort of humiliation and pain. "Until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

Trelawney doesn't move, instead choosing to remain there shaking in fits of sorrow and agony. McGonagall rushes forward and begins to comfort her. "There, there, Sybill . . . Calm down . . . Blow your nose on this . . . It's not as bad as you think, no . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts . . ."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge asks in a deadly cold voice. "And your authority for that statement is . . .?"

"That would be mine," a deep voice rings through the hall. Students hurry to move out of the way as Dumbledore appears, coming in as if he had been wandering the grounds. He strides forward to where Trelawney sits weeping on her trunk, McGonagall standing like a valiant protector over the poor woman.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge says. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here"—she waves a parchment around for all to see—"an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minster of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she—that is to say, I—feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Minister of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

I expected Dumbledore to be taken aback, but instead he is smiling.

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts," Dumbledore says.

This inadvertently brings a smile to my face even though Trelawney is a complete stranger to me. Umbridge's face turns cold and hateful.

McGonagall, with assistance from Sprout, escorts Trelawney into the castle, Flitwick hurrying behind them, enchanting the trunks to go with them.

Umbridge remains where she is, frozen in a state of bewilderment and anger, which would almost frighten me if I had not been told just a few minutes ago that I am to meet Voldemort over the Easter holidays. "And what are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore answers her pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found"—her voice is creepily shrill—"you've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two—"

"—the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if—and only if—the headmaster is unable to find one," Dumbledore corrects her. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?" A centaur appears in the doorway. "This is Firenze. I think you'll find him suitable."

Umbridge, known for hating half-breeds such as werewolves and Hagrid, is not too pleased about this arrangement, and within minutes, she has stormed off. The students trickle away, excitedly chattering about the events they just witnessed. Firenze follows Dumbledore to his new lodgings, but I don't move. When Dumbledore eventually emerges alone, I approach him. "That was very kind of you," I say.

He offers me a small smile, and I hasten to fall into stride with him, which doesn't seem to surprise him at all. "I received a letter from your cousin. I believe there is something you wish to ask me."

"Tonks wrote you?"

"She did, but I don't believe that's the question you really want to ask, is it?"

"No, sir." I gather my courage, and say, "I would like to meet Sirius—Sirius Black."

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asks me. We are almost to the gargoyle protecting his office.

"Well . . . it's just that—Sirius was—I want to meet him because he is a man who still valiantly fights against Voldemort even though he spent twelve years wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban. He's one of the few family members I have who I could be proud of being related to. Beyond that, I don't have much a reason."

Dumbledore remains quiet for a few moments. "From what I hear from the professors"—likely either McGonagall or Snape—"it could be beneficial for you to meet your family. I hear you've been struggling with your parentage." I don't say anything. "If you could meet Tonks over the Easter holidays, I could have her escort you to him."

I try to swallow, but my burning throat refuses to let me, making me choke a bit. "I have to meet—Voldemort wants a meeting with me then," I say quietly.

"I do not believe that will take you all week," he replies, not remotely surprised by the news I've just shared. He meets my eyes. "You can go to Hogsmeade if you have a chance. Tonks will be there every day."

"And you trust me to meet him without telling anyone where he is?"

"That won't be an issue." He doesn't elaborate, and we come to a stop at the gargoyle statue. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things that I must attend to."

Someone told him already about my impending meeting with Voldemort. Seeing that—as far as I know—the only people who know about that besides me are McGonagall and Snape and because McGonagall only found out minutes ago, it stands to reason that Snape must have told him. But why would Snape tell Dumbledore about that?

Answerless, I shrug off my question and walk away. I will have the chance to meet another anti-Voldemort family member.