CHAPTER 40

I'm making my way up to McGonagall's office, hoping the Quidditch match is either over or close to being over, so I can inform her of my detention. Perhaps she will be willing to send me an owl with a time she can't give me a lesson, but it's doubtfull. The only professor McGonagall would defy like that would be Umbridge.

Lee Jordan passes me in the corridor, and I change my whole plan. I can tell McGonagall about the detention later. "Lee!" I call after him.

He turns around and offers a weak smile. "Hey, Charlotte."

"How are you?"

"Making it through, I guess," he says, very dispirited. "Don't have too much longer without them, you know?"

"How'd it happen? How'd they escape? I mean, I've heard stories, but I'm sure you'd know best."

That makes him smile, and he says, "It was amazing." Lee leads me to the Great Hall where we take a seat at the Ravenclaw table. Oddly enough though, no one questions us when they see us. Then again, there are hardly any people up here to question us. "Fred and George won't be returning to Hogwarts, ever."

"I kinda figured. If only we could get away from here too, right? Especially with new headmistress."

"I think Filch is still trying to get a new door for Umbridge's office," Lee laughs. I'm about to ask what he means when he says, "Fred and George turned an entire corridor into a swamp! Umbridge was furious, even gave Filch permission to whip the two of them! They got cornered over the entrance hall—you know, the place where Trelawney and Umbridge had that disagreement about Trelawney leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge said something to them about how they were gonna learn what happened to 'wrongdoers' in her school.

"And Fred—Merlin, is he an idiot, a brave idiot, but an idiot all the same—said, 'You know what? I don't think we are.'" Lee's smile covers his whole face, and his joy is almost infectious. "Then Fred turned to George and said, 'George, I think we've outgrown full-time education,' and George said, 'Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself.'

"And Charlotte, oh Charlotte, Fred and George—those wonderful gits—Fred said, 'Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?' George agreed with him, and they summoned their brooms right out of Umbridge's office! They'd been locked up since she banned them from Quidditch, and they just summoned them from her office, completely destroyed her door!

"And if that wasn't enough! Fred said to Umbridge, 'We won't be seeing you,' and George said to her, 'Yeah, don't bother keeping in touch.' They told everyone where they'll be—number ninety-three, Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—and that they'll be selling Portable Swamps there. And then"—Lee is practically bouncing up and down now—"and then George said to everyone—everyone, Charlotte—that there are special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear to use the products to get rid of—and these were his words exactly—'this old bat.' He said that in front of Umbridge, he was pointing right at her!

"Then Umbridge got angry and ordered the Inquisitorial Squad to catch them, but she was way too late. The two sprung up into the air, and Fred turned back one last time to say to Peeves—I'm sure you've met Peeves, haven't you?—he said to him, 'Give her hell from us.' And then he and George flew off into the glorious sunset."

His voice deflates exponentially after that. "They won't be back."

I put my hand on his arm comfortingly. "You've just got a couple of months, Lee."

He nods. "You're right." His eyes light up again. "Have you seen the swamp?"

"Not yet."

"Come on!" He jumps to his feet. "I'll show you!" I stand and follow him through Hogwarts. "It's amazing! Umbridge can't get it to go away. My guess is that Flitwick or McGonagall could do it in the blink of an eye, but they just don't want to. They want to leave it as a sign of silent rebellion against Umbridge, or a tribute to Fred and George, whichever one."

I stop in front of the swamp Fred and George put in the castle. Big, black, and murky, it leads all the way down the corridor to Umbridge's office. "This is fantastic! How'd they do it?"

"I'm not sure. They're brilliant, even if they don't show it in class. They devote all their time to creating things for their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. This was one of their own designs."

"How long have they been planning this?"

"Since Umbridge first arrived, really," he says. "It became more serious when the D.A. started up, of course. Everything became more real then, though, you know? Then Dumbledore was sent away . . . that didn't go over well. I don't know how Fred knew so much about that—he knew details about what happened in Dumbledore's office that I don't think anyone would know had they not been in there themselves."

"That was my doing. It was a Disillusionment Charm. We watched pretty much the whole thing."

Lee shakes his head. "He never said anything."

"I asked him not to. It was his idea to spread the news." I look around. "Things like this make legends."

"Absolutely."

"And Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is the shop they told me about that day in Hogsmeade?

"The very same. Blimey! I almost forgot!" He reaches into his robes and pulls out a letter. "It's from Fred. He asked me to give it to you for him. He's sorry he and George had to leave while you were gone."

I thank him, unsure of what else to say to him. We admire the twins' handiwork before I excuse myself and head toward McGonagall's office.

She answers immediately when I knock on her door, and I enter. "Professor," I greet her.

"Rodgers. Take a seat." I walk over and sit down across from her. "Were you harmed?"

She must be talking about the meeting I had with Voldemort. "It's fine. Kind of. Things didn't go as badly at Malfoy Manor as I feared, honestly. I had to duel Lucius and Bellatrix, but other than that—and one mishap with Voldemort—it was fine, I guess. I'm not happy about any of it, but things could have been a lot worse." I clear my throat. "I'm actually here about our Conjuration lessons, Professor."

"What about them?"

"I won't be able to make it to our next one."

"You don't know when it is. I don't know when it is."

A breath of laughter escapes me. "I know, I know. But I have detention that day. With Snape."

"Professor Snape," she corrects me. "But he doesn't know when your next lesson is either."

"Yeah, but he said that my detention will be whenever our lesson is supposed to be—because that will be the least convenient time for me."

She watches me as if looking for a sign that I'm lying.

I decide to tell her the basic idea of what happened despite my better judgment. "He said some things to me, and I said some things back. And then we yelled at each other, and I threw—something—at him, and I got a detention for being disrespectful."

"He is your professor, and you must treat him with respect."

"If you had been there—"

"You—"

"You don't know what he said. He was trying to provoke me."

Her lips go thin.

"You weren't there, Professor. You didn't hear—" I clench my hands into fists. "You didn't hear what he said to me."

"Rodgers—"

"He was trying to get a rise out of me—you can ask him yourself."

McGonagall frowns at me, then shifts some things around on her desk. "But in any case, with your O.W.L.s six weeks away, I was planning to postpone our lessons until after you've taken the tests. All of your time should be devoted to studying and preparing for those. You shouldn't forget all about Conjuration, mind you, but you should put your O.W.L.s above it."

I fight down my smile. "Yes, Professor."

The final Quidditch match of the season is between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. And seeing as I don't care much about the sport anyway, this match will probably be even worse than usual because I have no one to root for, really. The match I missed had been between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Apparently Hufflepuff narrowly beat us.

Now I make my way towards the pitch to endure the final match of the season, after which I can be done with Quidditch for nearly three months. And I couldn't be happier about it. When I get to the pitch, I find a seat on the second topmost row of the stands. Directly across from me, on the other side of the pitch, sit Harry and Hermione. Poor Harry is banned from Quidditch forever because of Draco. I have only been sitting in the stands by myself for three minutes before Astoria plops down next to me. "Am I the only Slytherin not hoping Ron messes up? Because I certainly don't want to hear another chorus of 'Weasley Is Our King.' Do you?" she says to me.

"No. I've had enough of that, if I'm being honest. Where's Daphne?"

"Mulling around. She should be here soon."

"But because Slytherin isn't playing," a voice says, "what's the point of showing up on time?" Zoe sits down on the other side of me. "Can't say I blame 'em though, can you? I almost didn't show up. Should've stayed in the common room studying."

Astoria gives both of us a Chocolate Frog. "So what made you change your mind?"

"Decided I'd rather not be alone."

"And they're off!" Lee begins his commentary. "And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinner as well . . . He's going straight for the goal! He's going to shoot—and—and—" Lee swears loudly. "And he's scored."

The Slytherins around us begin to sing "Weasley Is Our King."

Zoe's loud, "SHUT UP!" is drowned out by the singing. "Merlin, that is so obnoxious."

Grant Sparkford and a third-year boy I haven't spoken to take the seats right in front of the three of us. "I see we missed the first of Zoe's outbursts," the stranger laughs. "Are those Chocolate—thanks." He nods at me. "Malcolm Baddock. Haven't had the pleasure."

"Charlotte Rodgers."

"So who're we pulling for?" he asks the group of us.

"Ravenclaw. Obviously," Astoria says. "However, I'd rather them lose by Snitch than Weasley being scored on constantly. Poor bloke."

Daphne arrives as well and sits down beside Malcolm. She turns and greets us, and Astoria taps her back with her foot.

The Gryffindors on the other side of the pitch scream with joy as they score a goal. "Where were you, Charlotte, during the last match?" Daphne directs this question at me.

"Career Advice."

Zoe chuckles. "Merlin, I remember my meeting with Snape. That was miserable. Not because of him—no, he was civil—but because he was tasked with trying to make the students dream realistically. He tried convincing me that I should join the Ministry of Magic or something. No, Professor Snape, I do not want to join the Ministry, please stop suggesting it."

"Yes!" Grant agrees loudly. "It's always the Ministry. What'd you tell him you wanted to do?"

"That I want to own a pub and inn—like the Leaky Cauldron but in Hogsmeade, possibly a bit nicer than the Leaky Cauldron while I'm at it. Maybe try to go into business with Madam Rosmerta to make the Three Broomsticks larger." Gryffindor scores again. "Snape said I'd be better off as a Healer. Apparently, I have the marks for it. But I don't like Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts. So . . ." She shrugs. "That wouldn't have worked out so well for me, now would it?" Gryffindor screams with joy when Ron blocks a shot. "What about you?"

"I actually wanted to be a Healer," Grant says, "but I don't have the marks for it, so here I am, probably going into a dead-end career at the Ministry."

"What about you, Daphne?" Zoe asks.

"A professor here at Hogwarts. He didn't seem displeased. He thinks I can do it, encouraged me even. But working at Hogwarts isn't that much different than working for the Ministry, is it? What'd you say, Charlotte?"

I smile. "Don't you judge me, but I told him I wanted to join the Ministry. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. An Obliviator. Snape didn't believe me, thought I was lying to him."

"But why would you lie about that?" Astoria asks.

The Gryffindors go crazy as Ron blocks another goal.

"Because I lie a great deal to Severus Snape."

They laugh as if I'm joking, and I choose to laugh along with them rather than explain to them that, no, I am a liar who lies whenever it is convenient for me, whenever it benefits me in the slightest.

By the end of the match, the Gryffindors have changed the entire "Weasley Is Our King" song to be positive. They rejoice "he didn't let the Quaffle in" and that "he can save anything" and "that's why Gryffindors sing that Weasley is our king." Good for Ron.

All the students file back into the castle. I catch sight of Draco, who is fuming at not only his song being flipped around on him but also Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup, and have to smile at his displeasure.

The small group of us who were watched the game together hang around the common room for a while, sharing whatever joy we can over Draco's frustration. After a long while of this, I say, "I don't know about all of you, but I've got quite a bit of studying to do tomorrow, so I need some sleep."

"Merlin!" Zoe groans. "I have N.E.W.T.s to study for!"

"That's rough," Grant laughs.

"You mock me now, but you'll be in the same position next year." Then she looks at me. "It's supposed to be nice tomorrow. Care to join me at the lake so we can study in peace? You too, Daphne." She quickly adds to the other three, "You can all join us as well, but you aren't allowed to distract us. We have to score really well. Our futures depend on it, you know."

Astoria clicks her tongue. "As enticing of an offer that is, I'll have to pass. I have to do literally anything else."

Laughing, I make my way up to my dormitory with Daphne. If I'm forced to take these O.W.L.s, I'm at least going to attempt to do well. "Would you be willing to help me study for Transfiguration tomorrow?" she asks me.

"Sure. If you help me study for Potions."

"It's a deal."

We break apart when we reach the fifth-year girls' dormitory.

Fred's letter to me is still sitting, unopened, in my trunk. I decided not to open it earlier and instead save it for a time when I was really missing him—which happens to be now because he would no doubt be celebrating as excitedly as the rest of the Gryffindors about Ron's great saves and Gryffindor winning against all odds. I pick up the letter, crawl onto my bed, and tear it open.

Charlotte,

I wish you could've seen George and me leave so I could give you a proper goodbye. We didn't for it to happen so quickly. I'll just have to make it up and give you a proper welcome at Platform 9¾ when the term finally ends.

And then I'll spend the entire summer making sure we're never even.

Take care of yourself at Hogwarts, and give Umbridge hell if you can.

Fred

I smile at his short letter though it only makes me miss him a bit more and wish he had written something more; however, the idea of spending my summer days with him rather than being cooped up in Malfoy Manor or wherever I might find myself brings such comfort that summer almost doesn't seem like it will be quite so dreadful.

All I need to do now is get through these wretched exams.

By the time Zoe, Daphne, and I make it to the lake the next morning, the Golden Trio has already claimed the spot under the beech tree. So, our bags slung over our shoulders, we walk closer to the lake's shores to do our studying. "What N.E.W.T.s do you have to take?" I ask ask we get comfortable on the ground.

"Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Divination, and Astronomy." Zoe pulls a different book out for each subject. "Do you have any you're focusing on specifically, or are you aiming to get an 'O' in all of them?"

"I don't really know. I'm focusing mainly on Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration. The other classes don't mean as much to me."

"At least you're giving Potions your respect, but no Divination? I'm offended."

Smiling, I say, "I apologize," as unapologetically as I can manage. "You're a fan of Trelawney?"

She nods vigorously. "Loved her. One of my favorites here."

Daphne says, "I hear some of the other fifth-year girls were excited about Firenze. They can't seem to get over how handsome he is."

"He has four legs," Zoe deadpans.

"But a human torso and face," Daphne says.

She shrugs. "He's attractive, I guess. Just not my thing."

"The four legs?" I ask.

"Sure."

"So what is your thing?" Daphne says.

A smirk on her lips, she picks up what looks to be her Potions book. "We're supposed to be studying. Stop distracting me. These tests are important to our future, haven't you heard?"

"Forgive us," I say on behalf of me and Daphne. "We will focus solely on our studies from this point forward. We in no way planned to be such a distraction to you." She grins but neither looks over at me nor says anything else.

Daphne and I open our Potions books and begin quietly going over the material together.

For the next few weeks, I seize every available chance to study for the O.W.L.s with Daphne and with Zoe as she studies for the N.E.W.T.s. And with all my free time spent studying for tests that I really shouldn't even be taking, June comes far too quickly. With Umbridge cracking down on all of us, I have not had a chance to go back to McGonagall, and while she said our lessons had to end because of the O.W.L.s, I was secretly hoping to be able to sneak into her office every now and then to practice Conjuration. That has not panned out, and I regret allowing my hopes to rise as they had.

A few good things have come from these ridiculous Ordinary Wizarding Level tests: the professors have stopped giving out homework and we are learning no new material in class. And while my original thought was that this would free up a great deal of time for me that could be used to practice Conjuration more, I soon realized that this extra time has to be spent studying. Always studying. This is what my life has become. Constant studying. And I'm not even a real student.

Classes have become fairly stale. We only review what will be on the O.W.L.s. We only go over what will be on the O.W.L.s. The professors only speak about what will be on the O.W.L.s. They have the fifth-years practically eating, sleeping, and drinking the O.W.L.s.

The professors themselves have changed a bit as well. McGonagall works us harder than ever before. Snape is withdrawn, no longer tormenting Harry, and in fact seems rather content to ignore Harry altogether—this doesn't seem to concern Harry in the slightest though and instead seems more at ease during Potions now that Snape has decided to leave him alone.

Draco, although we no longer speak, is no different from before—he still boasts about being a Malfoy at every opportunity and even has the nerve to say, as we begin our Potions class with Gryffindor, "Of course, it's not what you know, it's who you know. Now, Father's been real friendly with the Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years—old Griselda Marchbanks—we've had her round for dinner and everything . . ." He's speaking of the O.W.L.s, and for no other reason than a gut feeling, I think he's doing this strictly because Harry is standing there with Ron and Hermione, the poor girl looking absolutely terrified at this idea because she is a Muggle-born whose family knows basically no one important in the Ministry.

Unfortunately for me, though I know some of the most powerful—and dangerous—wizards in the world, I cannot speak about them, so knowing them at all does me absolutely no good.

A black market in Hogwarts has either just popped up or has been a thing the whole year that I simply did not know about. People are buying and selling spells and tools to aid in concentration, mental agility, and wakefulness—it seems that these performance aids are only marketed toward the fifth-years and seventh-years. As tempted as I am to buy something, I have no money, and besides that, when Zoe saw me eyeing the Slytherin who was selling some, she leaned over and whispered, "Don't waste your time and money. Merlin knows how much I wasted my fifth year. And they don't help. It's all a scam. Don't fall for it."

We receive our examination schedules and details of the procedure for O.W.L.s during our next Potions lesson.

"As you can see," Snape tells us as we copy down the dates and times that are written on the blackboard, "your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice exam in the afternoon. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.

"Now, I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. Our new—headmistress"—he seems rather disgusted with himself for using that word to describe Umbridge—"has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely—because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the headmistress's new regime at the school.

"However, that is no reason not to do your very best. You have your futures to think about."

I hate how often the professors say that. Because not all of us do have futures to think about. Some of us have futures that have been decided for us already and have been decided for years.

"Professor," Daphne asks, "when will we find out our results?"

"An owl will deliver the results in July."

Will an owl even know where to find me? Because I currently don't even know where I will be living. How will the owls know where to take my results?

You know what, it doesn't really matter. I'm not a real student here, so none of this matters to me. I don't even know why I'm studying so much. If Voldemort wants me at Hogwarts, I'll be here whether I get the marks to be here or not.