CHAPTER 18

The other students should be arriving at Hogwarts within the hour, so for the time being, I make my way into the Great Hall. The four House tables are set up as normal, but it's not the Slytherin table I find myself walking to—it's the staff table that draws me forward for reasons I don't fully understand. I run my hand along it while working my way around it to chairs on the other side.

I sit down in the headmaster's throne-like chair, fold my hands on the table, and stare out across the room, filling immediately with a sense of authority. No wonder Umbridge wanted this seat so badly. Did she know, even while sitting in the staff chairs to the left, how powerful this chair would make her feel? Then, without warning, guilt washes over me. Why am I sitting here? This is Dumbledore's chair, and while I shouldn't be here, I also do not want to move.

"Enjoying yourself?" a voice asks me.

I jolt and turn, expecting to see Snape, but it's Dumbledore who is walking toward me. "I'm sorry, Professor," I say quickly, vacating his throne. How could I let this happen? That's so embarrassing. I should have left well enough alone and just not come up here to the staff table at all. Or at the very least, I should have left when I first realized it was a bad idea to be up here.

"It's quite all right," he says pleasantly. "I've been meaning to speak with you."

"About what?"

Dumbledore sits in the headmaster's chair and motions for me to sit in the one directly to his right, where McGonagall sits in during the meals. I obey without question. "I hear you want to join the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, sir." Heat rises to my cheeks. It's more intimidating talking to Dumbledore about this than it is with Snape or McGonagall, but I don't why that is, especially since I so often tell McGonagall more than I should and since Snape already knows an uncomfortable amount about my past. It should be harder to talk to them about it than to him, but it's not. Despite how kind he is, Dumbledore scares me a little.

"Professor Snape tells me that he has been teaching you Occlumency. He said that you're learning it quite well."

"Did he really?" The skepticism in my voice is obvious even to me.

"Indeed. You've been working on it for most of the summer holidays, and he said that you've kept him out of your mind on many occasions."

I smile so broadly my cheeks almost hurt. Why exactly did I find him intimidating? "Yes, Professor, it took me a while, but I've gotten the hang of it—to an extent at least. That specific piece of Occlumency has started to make sense to me."

Dumbledore smiles back. "But Lord Voldemort is a much more accomplished Legilimens than Professor Snape, Miss Rodgers, and I'm unsure if you are prepared for how difficult it will be if you must use Occlumency against him while you are in the Order. It will be much different than applying it against Professor Snape."

I look away from him, the joy from a moment ago diminishing exponentially. "So it's a 'no' to joining the Order then?"

"I never said that." My eyes dart back to him. "You come of age in November, Professor Snape informs me." I nod, trying to resist the hope growing inside of me, trying not to let myself get too excited. "Then you should continue your Occlumency lessons with him until then. At that time, we will determine if you are prepared to apply Occlumency against Voldemort."

"Do you think I'll stand a chance of joining the Order?"

"Professor Snape is the greatest Occlumens I know. If anyone can prepare you, it is he."

I pause for a second, debating my next question and whether it's worth asking. In the end, I decide it is. "Pardon my frankness, Professor, but if Snape—"

"Professor Snape," he says kindly.

"If he's the greatest Occlumens you know, how . . . how can you trust him?"

Dumbledore looks at me over his half-moon spectacles. "Many people have asked me that very question," he says, "and I shall tell you simply what I have told them: I trust Severus Snape with my life. My reasoning is unshakeable." As he doesn't go any farther, I assume that's his final word on the subject and can't help but resent how unhelpful that answer was. I need to know that Snape actually can be trusted and that I'm not just fooling myself. I need to be absolutely certain what side of this war he's on—if he's more loyal to the Order or to the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

I glance at his hand, noticing for the first time that it looks as if he recently plunged it into a fire where it burnt and shriveled and is now dying, stained with charred skin that surely must hurt him severely. "What happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore looks down at it as if just realizing his hand is in such bad shape. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Accidents happen in old age." His head turns to the door like someone is calling him, but there is no sound. "The others will be here shortly. Perhaps you should make yourself comfortable at the Slytherin table." It's not a suggestion so much as a kind command, and with that, he stands and walks away.

I make my way to the Slytherin table.

The professors soon arrive and take their seats at the staff table, the students trickling in not long after. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy walk in without Draco, and against my will a slow panic builds in my chest. Why is Draco not with them? He's always with his disciples. Surely Voldemort hasn't already done something to him. Draco hasn't even had a chance to fail yet, so why would he already be punishing him? Stay calm, he's probably fine.

I watch the door intently, hoping Draco will walk through it so that I might breathe normally once more. He doesn't arrive, but Hermione and Ron do, surprisingly without Harry, which is particularly odd because he also typically travels Hogwarts with his friends. Hermione smiles at me, and I offer her a small wave as she and Ron wander to the Gryffindor table.

Daphne, Astoria, Malcolm, and Grant take seats around me. "It's good to see you, Charlotte, how was your holiday?" Daphne says.

"Extremely busy, thought it would never end, and yours?"

She smiles, her eyes lighting up. "They were great! We were traveling the whole time, mostly because my parents wanted me and Astoria away for a while because of You-Know-Who."

"Can't risk their precious little children," Astoria adds with a grin.

I'm about to ask where they went when I see Draco finally enter the Great Hall behind a group of second-years, a smug grin on his face, and make his way to his posse, all of whom watch at him expectantly. Astoria follows my gaze, then looks back at me. "Things with him still bad?"

"What? No, we moved on from that a long time ago. I was just wondering, since when does he go anywhere without his followers at his heels?"

"He doesn't," Grant says suspiciously.

We quiet down when a group of first-years enter with McGonagall and that evil little Hat that put me in Slytherin rather than in any of the others Houses.

Harry still has not arrived despite the fact that all other students should have left the train by now. I glance up at the staff table and see that Hagrid is not here either. Perhaps Harry is with him. "Maybe Malfoy will finally grow up this year and stop having his goons around him all the time," Malcolm says flatly. "It'd certainly do him some good."

"Says the bloke who's almost never alone," Grant laughs.

Malcolm shrugs. "I won't deny it. I like to be around people. I'm not ashamed of it, but I know how to fight my own battles, unlike that prat."

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat calls out.

I halfheartedly clap as a boy makes his way to our table, then glance up at professors again, my gaze landing on Snape, whose head is turned to the side in a way that almost leads me to believe that he's listening to something behind him. His eyes roam over the students, and when he sees me watching him, he gives me a rude look, gets up, and leaves the Great Hall. "Did you see that?" I ask them.

"See what?" Daphne says

"Snape just left."

"I wonder—" She stops short when McGonagall calls, "Collins, Christopher." Daphne cocks her head to the side and stares up at the stool and the Sorting Hat. "He could be your brother, Charlotte."

I look over at the boy who is now on the stool, the Sorting Hat on his head. "I don't see it."

"How can you not see that?" Grant says. "Even I can see it, and Astoria always tells me how oblivious I am."

The Collins boy sits there on the stool, his face steadily turning red at the Sorting Hat's silence. "I mean, he has black hair, sure, and he's pale, but other than that, there are no similarities."

Astoria smiles. "Charlotte, he looks like a smaller version of you. Are you sure you don't have a brother?"

"I'm positive." Both of my parents were in Azkaban when this boy would have been born.

I look back at the young boy who is now wringing his hands together and watching his feet in horror. It's been two minutes, and with each passing second, he seems to fidget more and more.

"Fingers crossed he'll be a Hatstall," Daphne says, now watching the Collins boy with deep interest. "I've never seen one before, and I'm running out of time to see it. Perhaps this is the year."

"A Hatstall?"

"When it takes the Sorting Hat more than four minutes to put someone in their House," Astoria explains.

"That would be the most be the most awkward four minutes of anyone's life."

"Yeah, I'll say. So let's hope it finally happens," Malcolm says.

A few seconds later, the Sorting Hat announces, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherins cheer for the boy as he walks over to our table.

Once all the students are Sorted, normal chatter begins again, but I can't focus too much on what is being said around me because I'm too busy watching all the entrances for any sign of Snape's return. I want to know where he's gone but don't know why it bothers me so much that he has just left like this.

Luckily for me, not long after, probably just a few minutes, the doors to the Great Hall open, and in walk Snape with Harry, who is still wearing his Muggle clothes and looking utterly mortified. Harry quickly separates from Snape and rushes to the Gryffindor table. I don't watch him for more than just a few moments before my eyes find Snape again and follow him as he walks to the staff table.

When the feast is over, Dumbledore gets to his feet—all talking and laughter silences out of respect for him—and takes the stand. "The very best of evenings to you!" He opens his arms wide as though to embrace the whole room, but this action is immediately followed by not-so-quiet murmuring sweeping through the students. He seems to know that all of the sound has been aroused by his hand, for he says to all of us, much like he said to me just a short while ago, "Nothing to worry about." He shakes his purple-and-gold sleeve to hide the injury. "Now . . . to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you . . ."

I look back at Snape, wondering now if he knows what happened to Dumbledore. There were plenty of times over the holidays when he disappeared for a while and times when he was free to do anything outside my line of sight because I was locked in the cellar or spending the day away from Spinner's End. If he does know what happened to Dumbledore's hand, it's unlikely that he will ever tell me. Though I spent almost the entire holiday with him, he never mentioned anything about Dumbledore's hand or needing to help Dumbledore with anything. Surely he knew about it, right? How could he not? Everyone in the Order must know about it by now. What if Snape actually isn't in the Order? What if he actually can't be trusted?

I narrow my eyes at him, as if that will answer my question of whether he can truly be trusted. Don't let Bellatrix get to you. Just because she doesn't trust him doesn't mean you can't. I suppose, regardless if he's part of the Order or not, I have to trust him because he simply knows too much about my past not to give him the benefit of the doubt. The Occlumency lessons have absolutely told him everything he would need to know to betray me.

"His hand looks as if it's died," Astoria says quietly.

Grant makes an odd noise. "He's Dumbledore. Shouldn't he of all wizards be able to fix his own hand?"

"There're some curses that can't be reversed, some injuries you can't cure . . . some poisons without antidotes," Daphne says. "Maybe he stumbled upon one . . . or was attacked."

Voldemort.

We turn our attention back to Dumbledore, who is still speaking. ". . . and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." Fred and George would be so proud; I can't wait to let Fred know.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of Houses as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise." I had forgotten that Lee Jordan was finished with his Hogwarts schooling. Being at Hogwarts without the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan almost makes me miss last year's Umbridge and her reign of terror. Who else is going to take up the mantle of fun troublemakers? No one will even compare.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year," Dumbledore continues. "Professor Slughorn"—the bald man I spoke to before visiting my mother stands to his feet—"is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions Master."

The word "potions" echoes throughout the room.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore raises his voice over the students, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" I hear Harry shout angrily.

Snape, a more subdued look of triumph on his face than when he told me the news, waves his hand lazily to acknowledge the shouts coming from the Slytherin table. Everyone down the Slytherin table chats excitedly about Snape achieving what he's desired for so many years, while the other tables speak rather rudely about Snape achieving his goal. Part of me feels a deep sense of pride that he actually decided to tell me over the summer instead of waiting for me to find out now with everyone else, which he could have easily done.

Daphne and Astoria's excitement on behalf of Snape makes me wonder briefly what it must have been like to watch my Head of House struggle for so many years to achieve a position he so desperately wanted. Would I be as happy as they are?

Dumbledore clears his throat. "Now," he says, successfully quieting the students, "as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." I don't want to think about this and instead try finding Draco, but he's paying no attention to anything other than the fork he's levitating in front of himself as if this is the most boring thing he has been forced to endure in months. Although I don't want to hear about Voldemort, I am at least showing Dumbledore the respect he deserves. Perhaps Draco has the right to act so nonchalant though, seeing that he's met Voldemort and has lived under the same roof as him for a couple of months now. And has been given a mission from Voldemort.

I only half-listen as Dumbledore explains how we must all realize how dangerous the present situation is (I don't know who wouldn't already know that, all things considered). He assures us that the fortifications around the castle are stronger than they have ever been (perhaps the same kind of fortifications Snape used to trap me in the castle?).

Draco almost drops his fork at this new information. Dumbledore tells us that we must obey all the rules put forth by the teachers, no matter how "irksome" we find them, one of the most important being that no one is allowed out of bed after hours.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

The usual deafening noise erupts when all of the students stand to leave the Great Hall and go to their dorms. "Come on," Daphne says to me, taking my by the arm, "we're going to hunt down that little first year—Christopher, I think?—and I'm going to prove to you just how much you truly look like him. No arguments."

"Not a single one?"

"No."

"But what if I say that I was planning on writing someone a letter? Can I use that as an excuse?"

She looks at me suspiciously. "And who will receive this letter?"

"Zoe and Fred."

"Fine," she sighs. "Zoe got a place in Hogsmeade, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I visited her a few—" I stop short when I hear Draco somewhere behind me.

"Potter was spying on us," he growls. How equally stupid and brave of him. "So I went back and taught him a lesson. Broke his nose. Froze him in place. Covered him with that Invisibility Cloak he loves so damn much. He was supposed to be carried back to King's Cross. It's a shame he was found."

"It would've been nice to have a year without Potter here," Pansy says.

Draco and his group pass Daphne and me, their voices trailing off. "I guess that answers your question," she says.

"What question?"

"Well, Snape must have left to go save Potter. Though I don't know why he would have done that, considering just how much he seems to hate him, but I guess a professor couldn't very well let a student be sent back to King's Cross without at least trying to stop it."

So I guess that explains why Snape had to leave to go save Harry, but I don't have the heart to tell her that I saw Snape enter the Great Hall with Harry in the middle of the feast, instead choosing to shrug and make a noncommittal sound in response. Even though I now know why Snape went to get Harry, I wonder how he knew Harry was trapped—but it's doubtful I will ever learn how because Snape will likely refuse to tell me solely because it's something I want to know. All of this is to say that I don't have my answer but can't say that to Daphne when she seemed so proud of herself for figuring out that Snape left to retrieve Harry. "I can't see that little boy anywhere yet, but if you speak to him without me present, I shall never forgive you," she warns. "I want to see firsthand the moment you realize just how much the two of you look alike. Deal?"

"Deal."

She releases my arm when we reach the common room, and the two of us walk over to the table where Grant and Astoria are sitting. Malcolm sits by the fire with a few other fourth-years. "Draco seems in good spirits," Grant says.

The four of us look over to Draco who sits by the fireplace with his followers. It's odd that he doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the mission he is supposed to be fulfilling for Voldemort. I just assumed he would be acting differently, more stressed; then again, it almost makes sense that he would act as normally as possible around the other Slytherins because it would be disgraceful to let his reputation suffer, of course.

Smiling broadly, Draco climbs onto the back of the sofa. He clears his throat loudly, all of the idle chatter around the room coming to a sudden and violent halt. "I think today's events call for a celebration," he announces. He nods at a blonde seventh-year girl I've never spoken to, and she waves her wand—small goblets appear in the hands of each and every Slytherin in the common room. "For years, our Head of House has pined for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post here at Hogwarts"—as he says this, a bag floats down from the boys' dormitory and into his arms—"and now he has achieved his goal! For the first time in years, we will have a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!" He reaches into the bag and pulls out bottles of butterbeer. The same seventh-year girl waves her wand, and the bottles glide around the room, emptying themselves into each student's goblet. "So, in honor of our Head of House, Professor Snape, and courtesy of my family, the Malfoys, let us enjoy some butterbeer together as the best House here at Hogwarts!"

Many of the Slytherins cheer with him and drink up their drinks without a second to thought to how odd Draco is acting compared to this time last year.

"It's like he thinks he has something to prove," Daphne mutters. "How obnoxious."

"We got free butterbeer, don't knock it," Grant says.

I frown. "He's just trying to win over the new Slytherins. Can't have them become 'blood traitors' like the lot of us."

"Well, his new tactic seems to be working," Grant says airily, motioning to a swarthy little boy whose dreadlocks reach his shoulders. The boy watches Draco with a look of adoration and awe.

"His father did just end up in Azkaban because he was a Death Eater for You-Know-Who, right?" Daphne points out. "Perhaps Malfoy has taken his father's place and is trying to find willing recruits for You-Know-Who's army."

"Either that or he just wants to flaunt his money," Astoria says.

I'm not so sure I believe either of these scenarios. "Doesn't matter," Daphne says. "Whatever his reasons, I think it just makes him more of an arrogant prick."

Surely Draco wouldn't be trying to find recruits for Voldemort among the young students of Hogwarts. I watch him intently, and as if he can feel my eyes on him, he glances over. Our gazes lock, and I give him a small, disapproving shake of my head, to which he averts his eyes and sits down on the sofa, ignoring me completely as a group of first-years amble toward him and his followers.

I leave the common room minutes after that.