Chapter 8) More to Lose

Selected Listening: New Slang- The Shins

"What was Fudge thinking?" Anastasia asked when they had reached the sanctity of the headmaster's office. "And what did she mean by pruning practices?"

"I'm not sure," Albus admitted, worry creasing his expression as he sat, angled on the front edge of his desk. "If there's anything certain, it's that Umbridge is going to be telling Fudge every move that you or Harry or I make in this castle. You need to be careful, Anastasia. Avoid getting on Professor Umbridge's bad side. Use your manners."

"Manners?" she demanded. "What? Like she used her manners to imply that I shouldn't be coming here? And what exactly could she do if I was on her bad side? You're still the headmaster after all. You're her boss."

Albus's shadowed expression told her everything. Fudge had instated the horrid woman. Umbridge could do anything she wanted and get away with it.

Eventually, her father did speak.

"Fudge wants to hide the reality of the situation from everyone, even from himself. And he'll do anything to make sure no one is aware of how bad things really are. He doesn't wish to be made out as a fool."

"Do you think…" Anastasia started "…they'll try to remove you from your post?" she asked carefully, her eyes flitting towards his golden chair. He made eye contact with her. Solemn and direct, but genuine.

"I'm sure if they get the opportunity, they will try. For now, my goal is to give them no reason to."

Anastasia gazed around the office, all the glittering instruments, the portraits, Fawkes anxiously pruning as his feathers began to molt. She thought of her bedchamber upstairs and their cozy sitting room. The warmth of her quilts and her sunny reading spot looking over the grounds. Everything she took for granted.

She could lose it all.

"There has to be something we can do." Her eyes reeled upward as she racked her brain. If they proved Voldemort was back, Fudge would have to take Albus seriously. He wouldn't need to control him through a Ministry puppet like Umbridge. Anastasia suddenly regretted opposing Sirius's plan.

Albus shook his head. Like Minerva, didn't want her anywhere near the heat of the problem, anywhere she could get hurt.

"The Order is doing all they can. All you need to do is focus on yourself and your schoolwork. You have a difficult year ahead of you: OWLS, career advising."

Careers…how could she even begin to think about what she would do as a grown witch when Voldemort had returned and could take it all in an instant?

"Grandad, what if no one believes us until it's too late?" It was a question she never thought she would ask. She spent most of her childhood doubting his theories that Voldemort would return from the grave. Now she did believe it, and only a handful of people were on their side.

Albus walked to her and handed her a stack of letters from Harry, and the ones she'd written that never reached him.

"I'm afraid it might have to be too late for them to change their minds."

Anastasia slept horribly that night in the dorm. Most of the students had gone to bed by the time she arrived, and rain pelted the windowpanes all night through the bleary dark. She had horrible nightmares of Voldemort coming and killing them all in their beds or waking up to find that her father had already been sent away, and having to go live with her Uncle Aberforth in Hogsmeade and help take care of the goats (which, she never minded on occasion, but she wouldn't want to take care of herself).

Consequently, she woke up quite upset, and it was not made better by the other girls trying to make conversation as she got dressed for the day.

"What did you do this summer, Anastasia?" Lavender asked with a cheerful sweetness. Hermione rolled her eyes at the girl. The season's events flashed through Anastasia's mind, none of which she could explain in detail without revealing a larger secret.

"Mostly travel…" Anastasia said, drifting off.

"Were you looking for a care facility?" Romilda remarked with a smirk.

"A care facility?" Anastasia asked, slipping her robe over her head and tucking her wand in the pocket.

"For your father?" Lavender giggled. "Hasn't the headmaster gone a little batty? Hallucinating Voldemort's return…or at least supporting Harry's delusions?"

Stunned, Anastasia couldn't answer.

"Harry's not deluded!" Hermione cried. "And Dumbledore's as keen as ever." The girls ignored her. Anastasia stared at them. Her hand flinched back towards her wand pocket.

"You don't have to look so cross," Romilda added. "It's only natural at this age. Really, what do you expect him to believe with the number of dark wizards he's fought? My great gran had it too…always thought her teapot would wake up in the night and eat her…awful illness."

Anastasia felt her face flare red, but knowing fighting back would only make things worse for her, she kept quiet and walked from the room, Hermione following behind her.

"How dare she insinuate grandad has a memory illness?" Anastasia asked. "That's not even close to true."

"They didn't have to be that cruel," Hermione agreed. "Don't worry. They're only mimicking what everyone else is saying."

Anastasia spiraled.

"But if everyone else believes my father has a memory problem, what's stopping them from taking everything away from him?"

Hermione shared a sympathetic glance.

"They can't take you away from him," Hermione said gently. "Not anymore…"

"I'm not talking about me…" Anastasia said, but she couldn't say what she truly meant out loud. Not yet. Speaking it aloud would make it feel true, and for now, it was only a worry, another of her million anxieties, where any number of them could be true.

They met Harry and Ron on the stairs. By the look on Harry's face, he was having a similar morning. Anastasia barely listened as the group discussed the doubts of the other students on their way to breakfast. Ron and Hermione mostly filled it with squabbling.

When they arrived, the Great Hall teemed with the excited energy of the new year. Younger students ran here and there with care packages from home. Older students lounged with their friends and shared stories about their summers. But an air of uncertainty hung in the hall from the dense gray rain clouds in the ceiling. Anastasia suspected the invisible shroud of Cedric's death. Everyone used to be safe at Hogwarts, and now there was always a possibility that they wouldn't be.

When Anastasia looked back down to find her seat, she made the mistake of allowing her eyes to wander to the Slytherin table. Pansy had cozied up to Draco, his arm slung around her casually. He hadn't broken up with her at all. The two laughed ruthlessly at something another blond Slytherin boy had said. They made a perfect, Slytherin, pureblood couple. Something Anastasia could never do with Draco, no matter how connected they were.

I don't want to be with him anyway, she reminded herself forcefully. Not in the least bit.

She piled the cinnamon French toast on her plate and drowned it in syrup. Minerva passed out schedules, and Anastasia soon had a sticky stain on hers. History of magic, double potions, arithmancy, double defense against the dark arts. Angelina Johnson stopped by to tell Anastasia and Harry about quidditch tryouts. At least she had one thing to look forward to.

When Anastasia walked into potions that morning, she ignored Snape's presence and took her seat next to Hermione at their workbench in front of the Greengrass twins. The assignment was a draught of peace, and although she and Hermione were excelling, Snape was giving Harry a horrible time.

When Snape came to check her potion, he said nothing, and she did the same. At the end of class, she jaunted to the desk to turn in her vial, hoping for a lack of conversation but she was caught behind Ernie McMillan and Susan Bones who reached the front first. Snape took theirs and made some notes. Anastasia handed hers to him without making eye contact, but as she handed him the glass she felt a slip of paper under her hand.

A folded square of parchment.

Anastasia didn't say anything, just pocketed it and returned to her friends. She heard Harry's complaints all the way to the east wing of the castle, the note in her grasp. She didn't open it until she and Hermione found their seats in arithmancy.

Miss Dumbledore,

It's come to my attention that since none of the Order is concerned about your lack of mental fortitude, I will have to intervene. I have requested you join the female occlumency group run by Professor Vector. It begins at seven pm, Sunday evening, in her office. You will be joined by several Slytherin students including Parkinson. I hope that will motivate you to keep your thoughts to yourself…

Anastasia nearly growled. Snape had already humiliated her in front of the Order. Leave it to him to volunteer her for an extracurricular where she could really be humiliated.

Hermione looked away quickly. She had already read it.

"So?" Anastasia asked. Hermione didn't answer at first, lips pursed, calculating. "If you're going to read my notes and make that face, at least tell me."

Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Methods might be underhanded, but at least it's something."

"Underhanded?"

"Suggesting Parkinson as motivation for occlumency? You have loads of memories to protect from her. You'll have to learn, or she'll discover everything. Did she ever find out about the…you-know-what?" Hermione asked.

Anastasia shook her head. Pansy didn't know about the lifeline. The Slytherin girl would never be able to act that cooly around her if she knew the truth. Pansy would be sabotaging her right and left, inventing new ways to murder her without killing Draco in the process.

But Pansy was no danger compared to Voldemort himself.

The arithmancy assignment was exactly what Anastasia needed to forget everything happening around her. All she had to do was interpret the problem, fill in the correct symbols, and solve for the answer, like clockwork. Aside from that, Professor Vector gave them a lecture on OWLS and what would be required to continue in higher levels of arithmancy.

"You need at least an exceeds expectations to keep this course of study, but to be considered for a career in curse breaking, an Outstanding is ideal."

Curse breaking, Anastasia thought. She could consider that…and suddenly wished she had asked Bill Weasley more about it…but what would be thought of a curse breaker who couldn't break her own curse?

"Additionally, there is a special elective opening for qualified students next year. You must have Outstandings in this class as well as in ancient runes, astronomy, and transfiguration."

"What's the elective?" a hand popped up. Luna Lovegood.

"How did she get in this class?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "It's for fifth years."

Anastasia raised her eyebrows.

"She must be good if she skipped a whole year of arithmancy."

Hermione's look expressed her doubt that Loony Lovegood could ever be good at anything logical. Vector continued.

"Charity Burbage is reopening the Alchemy class next term, and only one student from each house will be selected to take it from the applicants."

Anastasia perked up. Alchemy with Charity. It was a class she had wanted, but assumed she would never be able to take, as it had been discontinued for several years due to a lack of qualified applicants. In that moment, she realized that despite all her fears about you-know-who and the ministry and the lifeline, she still wanted to learn alchemy, more than anything.

And the one thing Voldemort couldn't take from her was her magic.