CHAPTER 10

A small amount of green-tinted light manages to find its way through the curtains around my bed. While the idea of being under the lake once bothered me, the dungeon's location is proficient at keeping sunlight out, which ultimately makes it difficult to complain about being under the lake anymore.

With everyone else having already left my dormitory this Saturday morning, I lie there for a while savoring the solitude, which has been in short supply since the other students arrived. Waking up early or lying here until everyone else has gone are the only two ways I ever get to be alone anymore. All those years spent in solitude left me craving companionship, but now that I've spent a week constantly being around people, I can say that wanting companionship was such a bad idea. Being alone is something to be cherished.

After finally forcing myself to roll out of my warm bed, I take my time getting dressed and ready for the day as a way of claiming a few more minutes to myself.

By the time I make it to the common room, almost no Slytherins are in sight. Right, the Quidditch tryouts . . . which I told Draco I would attend.

Knowing that I cannot—and do not want to—lose his approval this quickly, I exit the common room and start running, trying to get to the pitch before tryouts are over. Tempted as I am to just sit by the lake in peace for a while by myself, it'd be a mistake right now; even if my arrival is delayed, I will be there. After all, he did give me butterbeer and ask to be my friend.

Unfortunately, the tryouts have already started by the time I make it to the pitch, but they don't seem to be far into it. As discreetly as possible, I make my way to where most of the spectating Slytherins seem to be sitting and take a seat with them, just far enough away to avoid needing to talk to any of them.

Hazarding a guess, these tryouts are probably going to last much longer than my interest can stay alive. I suppose as long as I'm alone and not having to socialize, I can attempt to Conjure something, just to make my time here not be a complete and total waste.

So that's what I do. I begin practicing Conjuration once more, this time attempting to Conjure a Quaffle, hoping that maybe it will be easier than Conjuring a wooden chair because this is much smaller and a little less detailed in design. I am only about ten minutes into my practice when someone takes a seat next to me, and my curiosity forces me to look over at the person who decided to sit right next to me rather than anywhere else, considering more than half of the stands are empty. It's one of the Slytherin girls in my year I haven't bothered introducing myself to. She's smiling at me. "Do you need something?" I say.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asks kindly.

"No . . . just . . . trying to practice Conjuration."

"I'm Daphne Greengrass," she says. "You're new here."

"Yeah, a transfer from Durmstrang. Charlotte Rodgers."

"I see you've already made an enemy of Pansy," she says, a slight smile on her lips.

I roll my eyes. "It wasn't on purpose."

"Oh, I know. She used to get so aggressive if Tracey, Millicent, or I—they're the other two girls in our year—ever even looked at Malfoy, so it wasn't surprising when she came started raging about you the other day. When Malfoy escorted you from Umbridge's classroom"—she exhales dramatically, widening her eyes—"that was a top-three tirade of hers."

A short laugh escapes me. "Sorry to have put you through that, even if I was only tangentially responsible. I'm surprised you put up with it."

"As opposed to what? Ostracizing myself from my whole dormitory? No, thank you. There are some good people in the years above and below us, but our year?" She rolls her eyes. "Overwhelmingly filled with twats." I laugh with her; then she adds, "I hope—despite your poor choice of company this past week—that you end up all right. If Pansy's disdain is based on more than just your association with Malfoy, I'll keep my hopes up for now." Are there possibly Slytherins who are not connected with Death Eaters aside from the Muggle-born? Would any of them come from families powerful enough to help me? "Is there any truth to it?"

"Truth to what?"

"Her fears of a burgeoning relationship between you and him."

"I don't know. I've known him less than a week. But he accepts me for who I am, which hasn't been done in a while. So that's nice, I guess."

"And just who are you, Charlotte Rodgers?" she asks conspiratorially.

"That's a subject for debate recently."

"Sounds messy," she says cheerily.

"A bit, but I guess it'll be okay."

"Gryffindors are losers, Gryffindors are losers," the Slytherins around us begin chanting.

"Quidditch is a big deal here, I'm guessing," I call over the chants.

"You guess a lot, don't you?" she laughs. I offer her a weak smile. "Yeah, the Houses get into it, and that probably actually causes the rivalries to get out of hand."

"Why's it so popular?"

She shrugs. "It's tradition. Everyone wants to see their House win the Quidditch Cup at the end of the year because it's easier to win the House Cup that way. Bragging rights. The House that wins gets to have their colors displayed in the Great Hall. That sort of thing." I look away and twirl my wand around in my hand. She clears her throat. "So. Conjuration. That's a . . . bit above our level of Transfiguration, isn't it?"

"I'm a bit advanced in that subject. I've had loads of time to work on it."

"Do tell."

I shrug at her. "It's a subject I like, so I practice it in my free time."

"I'm more into Charms myself, but Transfiguration definitely has its uses."

She pulls a small bag of sweets from her robes. "Chocolate Frog?" she offers.

I look from her smiling face to the bag in her hands. "You carry that around everywhere with you?"

"Have a sweet tooth and won't apologize for it."

I accept the frog. For the next half hour, Daphne and I talk about Transfiguration and Charms over a feast of sweets, but we stop talking as the Gryffindors begin filing off the pitch, one girl looking sickly. "I wasn't paying attention," Daphne says, "but it looks like something's happened to her. They'll probably be carting her off to the hospital wing." I watch as two redheaded boys help escort the girl up to the castle. "You were in the hospital wing earlier this week, weren't you?"

"Yeah, a stray curse hit me. It wasn't anything important." Hopefully, the tone of my voice will keep her from asking any further questions on the subject.

"That why Malfoy had to carry you out of Defense Against the Dark Arts?" I nod at her. "Who did it?"

"Unsure. Dumbledore seems to think it was an accident. Snape seems to think someone was trying to kill me."

Her mouth forms into shape of an "o" for a short moment. "Who would want to do that?"

I frown at her, suddenly suspicious. Why has she been so nice? Why did she share her food? What does she want from me? "I don't know, and I don't want to think about it."

She nods at me and lets it go. For the rest of the Quidditch tryouts, Daphne finds various topics to talk about, ranging from professors to owls to the fire that constantly burns in the Slytherin common room to the founders of Hogwarts and why each House has what colors, and while I want to believe that she is sincere in trying to be friendly, part of me still questions whether her actions are genuine. For now, I will accept her at face value and believe that she is not harboring an evil plot against me.

Quidditch still bores me, but watching the tryouts was not nearly as terrible as I had originally feared. Daphne migrates away with the other spectators when the team retreats off the field to change into clean clothes, leaving me alone. I take a short moment to breathe deeply and accept that I likely won't have any alone time for the rest of the day.

As I walk away from the stands to wait for Draco away from the pitch, a voice proves that I am not as alone as I had hoped. "Who are you?" it asks me. "Are you new here?"

I turn to see two identical redheaded boys crawling from some hidden place under the Quidditch stands. Unfortunately, I cannot see the place where they had been lurking. "I could ask you the same thing," I dodge the question. Honestly, it's impossible to guess which one asked me a question in the first place.

Unless my eyes deceive me, these are the same two boys who took that Gryffindor girl to the hospital wing.

"We've never seen you around before," the one on the right says. Their brown eyes watch me closely. Though they unnerve me, I am determined not to show it.

"Well, I believe I can say the same about you. Then again, I don't creep around the Quidditch pitch often. Do you?"

The one on the left smirks and answers, "That's not entirely what I meant. What I meant is that I don't think we've ever seen you at Hogwarts. Well, other than random sightings this week, of course."

"Then shouldn't that be a simple answer? If you've never seen me before, I must obviously be new here."

"You're not making it any easier for us to figure out who you are, do you know that?" the left one says to me.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "Well, I don't know you, do I? Why should I tell two of you who I am? The two unnamed redheaded boys, who were sneaking around the stands, doing Merlin-knows-what, I might add—what makes you think I want you to know who I am?"

The quieter one, the one on the right, glances at his brother. "She may have a point. We haven't properly introduced ourselves to her yet." He smiles at me. "I'm George."

"And I'm Fred," the other adds.

"The Weasley twins," I state.

The one called Fred smiles. "Excellent, our reputation precedes us. Now, who are you exactly?"

"Charlotte."

"Got a last name, Charlotte?" Fred asks.

"Not one that I'm going to tell you any time soon. I don't know you, remember?"

"But we just told you who we are," George says.

I roll my eyes. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing hiding behind the stands?"

"Probably not," Fred admits.

"Then I will probably not be telling you who I am."

"As members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it is beneficial for us to know who will be joining the Slytherin Quidditch team," George says.

"And comical to throw a few of them off their game," Fred adds with a wink.

My eyes jump from one of the twins to the other before I quietly remark, "You . . . you do know that I am Slytherin, right?"

For a second, they seem dumbstruck, but Fred recovers quickly. "A Slytherin who doesn't seem positively horrid? This is a new twist." Well, I guess it's not much of a recovery really, but until just a short while ago, I, too, believed that all Slytherins were nasty and horrid.

"We're not all dreadful, you know," I say defensively.

"Yeah, Freddie, not all Slytherins can be a Draco Malfoy," George says.

Fred throws his head back in exaggeration. "Ugh, could you just imagine if the whole lot of Slytherin House was like Malfoy? I believe I would leave Hogwarts altogether."

"I'm . . . you . . ." I have to look away and laugh quietly. They have a point about how horrible Draco can be, especially with his negativity toward everything here at Hogwarts and his hatred of Muggle-borns, but I don't want them to know that. "You know, Draco's my friend; he's the only Slytherin who's really been nice to me."

They look flustered for a moment. "How were we suppo—"

I cut Fred off, "Here he comes now."

Draco walks over to us. "There're some Slytherins you haven't met that I'd like to introduce you to," he informs me. His eyes land on Fred and George. "Weasleys. What're you two doing here?"

The twins laugh. "We were just leaving," Fred says. And together, the two of them saunter off.

Draco motions for me to come with him, and we start our journey back to the castle. "They weren't bothering you, were they?"

"They were slightly annoying, but I'll get over it. I doubt they spend much time around me now that they've insulted my House and . . . well, you."

His question comes quickly. "They did what? What'd those two weasels say about me?"

"It's not a big deal." I nudge him a bit. "They don't seem worth the trouble."

"They're not," he agrees. "They're disgusting blood traitors, their whole bloody family. And that father of theirs—Arthur Weasley—he disgraces the reputation of wizards everywhere with his infernal fascination with Muggle objects. He's the laughingstock of the Ministry."

"Oh."

"Don't speak to them if you can find a way to avoid it. They'll bring you down to their level."

Another Slytherin starts our way, and Draco seems to brighten a bit now that he's off the topic of the Weasleys and blood traitors. Once the boy gets close enough, Draco says, "Charlotte, this is Graham Montague. Montague, this is Charlotte Rodgers."

"Pleasure," the Montague replies dully. "You didn't try out for the team. You play Quidditch?"

"No," I laugh. "I was only here to support Draco."

He huffs impatiently. "Whatever you see in the tryouts cannot be spoken of with any other House. Not the new team members, not any of the formations you think you might have seen. Got that?"

"Yep." Then he speeds away from Draco and me. "He must be great at parties."

Draco smiles. "That's who Montague is. He's been appointed Captain, and really, he doesn't do well with the stress."

"I believe I would've given up the position."

"Give up being captain of the Quidditch team? No, no, you don't do that at Hogwarts."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a privilege."

I nod, not entirely understanding why someone would keep the position if it were that stressful. "Sorry I was late."

"It's no matter," Draco assures me. "You showed up eventually, and that's all that really counts. Did I see you talking to Daphne Greengrass?"

"Um, yeah."

"Watch out for those Greengrass sisters," he says. "They're close to being blood traitors."

Conversation dies when Crabbe and Goyle rush over to us. Apparently, neither of them feels comfortable without their king leading them around. "It looks like it might be a good year for us," Crabbe says.

"Yeah, we've got some talent," Goyle adds. "That Quidditch Cup is as good as ours."

Though Quidditch does not interest me in the slightest, it is nice to see Draco finally talking about something here at Hogwarts positively rather than complaining about it. We stop at the Great Hall for lunch before heading back to the common room, but as they only talk about Quidditch, I remain quiet, trying to figure out just how long it will take me to finish the abysmal homework these professors keep assigning.

It's early in the morning when I wake on Sunday, creep out of the dormitory, and sneak away from the Slytherin Dungeon to be alone. The Black Lake is where I once again run into the Weasley twins. The sight of them disappoints me because no one else should be up this early. This is ridiculous. This is my time to be alone, and they are ruining it.

"Morning, Charlotte whatever-your-last-name-is," Fred greets me.

"Why're you out here so early?" George asks.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Well, George asked you first. Answer us, and we'll answer you."

"How do I know you'll hold up your end of the bargain?"

"You'll just have to trust us," George says.

I look between the two of them. "You know, I don't trust you, and I don't think this is very important, to be honest. So I don't think it matters that much."

"Wait, you don't trust us?" Fred asks, completely aghast and falsely offended.

Laughing, I turn to walk away. "I've heard enough about the two of you. So no, I don't trust you." Then I start away. Their footsteps pound after me, but I do my best to ignore them. Besides, I'm actually sleepy, despite what I thought earlier, and it's too early to be awake. Hogwarts is safe—I can sleep more if I want to. No one will slaughter me in my sleep here or capture me—because that's already happened at this point. This is something I need to remember more often. Hogwarts is safe. I am safe.

I am safe.

"Wait!" Fred calls. He and George have caught up to me and are now walking on either side of me. "I'll tell you what we were doing."

"That doesn't mean I'll necessarily tell you why I'm up this early." No one here really needs to know about my poor sleeping habits because that could lead to questions about why, and how could I possibly go about saying: I don't sleep because the never-ending fear of being the mother to Voldemort's spawn haunts my dreams, and so I am afraid to sleep and let my guard down because what if he comes after me and I am not prepared to fight back, even though fighting Voldemort will do me no good, and the thought of this causes so much anxiety that sleep evades me. That very obviously cannot be shared with anyone.

"That's all right, I guess," Fred says. "But just know that friendship is a two-way street, so eventually you'll have to talk to us."

From what Draco has said, their family seems less than capable of helping me escape, and trying to befriend them will only anger Draco, meaning doing so probably is not worth the risk. "Who said anything about being friends?"

"That was rude," George replies.

"Moving on from that—I guess you really are a Slytherin—we're creating some useful practical jokes," Fred says.

"You know, to entertain people while here at Hogwarts."

"Would you like to test some out?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Again, I don't trust the two of you."

"Just what has Malfoy said about us?" Fred says.

We enter Hogwarts, me leading the way, Fred and George following, as I make my way back to the Slytherin Dungeon. "That you're blood traitors, so you can't be trusted."

"And what do you think about that?" George asks.

"Yeah, are we really that bad?"

I look away from them, now questioning what Draco said. Draco is prejudiced against anyone who is not a pureblood supremacist, so why should I just take his word for it when he said not to trust these two? What if their family isn't actually incompetent? What if they could help me more than Narcissa? "I don't know."

How am I supposed to get back into the common room without these two learning the password and getting in with me?

"So let me get this straight," Fred says, his tone suddenly serious, "you don't trust us because the pureblood supremacist Draco Malfoy told you not to?"

We come to a stop in front of the door to the Slytherin common room. "I make my own opinions for myself, thank you."

"But you don't trust us?" George asks.

"Why does it matter? We don't even know each other." For the first time in my life, I am blessed with a stroke of luck, and the common room opens. "And I intend to form opinions for myself in time." I duck into the common room around a group of second-years who opened the door.

Then I dash to the fifth-year girls' dormitory, where I lie back down. Pulling the curtain around myself almost provides my desired level of solitude. Almost.

Draco is in the common room with his friends when I finally get up for the day, and for some reason, he insists on being by my side to tell me all the details of Hogwarts. So together we spend most of the day by the Black Lake and roaming around the castle. Fred and George do not approach me when Draco is near me.

Draco and I are finishing our homework in the common room later that evening when he asks, "You had another run-in with the Weasley twins, didn't you?"

"What—what makes you think that?" I reply while putting the finishing touches on my Astronomy essay, recognizing that this would have been much easier had I gone to class instead of skipping with Draco.

"When I was showing you around the castle, they kept giving me this look," he answers, rolling up his parchment. "And it wasn't their normal resentful look. It was . . . more severe."

"Yeah, I had a run-in with them this morning," I admit.

"If they're bothering you, I can get Crabbe and Goyle to help me put a stop to it," he says calmly.

"I can take care of myself." And something tells me the Weasley twins wouldn't be stopped by two fifth-year boys who don't seem all that bright or talented.

He nods. "Well, we're here if you need us."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Draco smiles. "So, this Vanishing Spell in Transfiguration—can you help me?"

I would give my left leg to see Lucius's face when his son asked me for help with Transfiguration spells. "I'll give it a try, but I've never really been good at teaching things to others." That's only a half-lie. I've never been good at teaching things because I have never had a reason to try teaching anything to anyone.

"You're going to suggest that I read the book, aren't you?" he laughs.

"That was my first thought."

He sighs. "Will you at least sit with me while I read the chapter?" His gray eyes are pleading.

"Fine." The two of us stand up and move toward the sofa in front of the fire, where we throw our feet up on the table in front of us. Now there's some spare time, I begin attempting to Conjure something again but decide this time to start with neither a chair nor a Quaffle. No, I am starting with something even smaller: a quill.

The first try—nothing. The same goes for every attempt during the next ten minutes, growing huffier with each passing minute and each failure. Perhaps I should take my mind off Transfiguration. My eyes wander to the fire, that constant flame that seems to mock me because why can't my life be that consistent? "Draco, how does the fire burn all the time?"

He lowers his book to his lap. "I . . . I don't really know. It's Hogwarts. Things just happen here." Then he smirks. "Why don't you try reading a book to find out?"

"What book do you suggest?"

"I have no idea." Draco begins reading the Transfiguration book once more, and I look back to the flame. Perhaps I could find out in Hogwarts: A History if I ever decided to pick that book up again. Or maybe I could just ask one of the professors. No, that is entirely out of the question.

I look back at the flame, longing for my life to be as steady as that fire. So far, the only constant in my life is Hogwarts and Draco. Perhaps that's all I need. Someone to call a friend and a place where I can be safe. It shouldn't be too much to ask for, but it seems like I'm asking for the world.

Once again, I return to Conjuration and once again continue to fail to Conjure even a quill. Nearly five minutes later, just as it's reaching the point at which giving up seems like the best thing to do for now, I feel it—the tip of my wand glows for a moment, and then it appears: a quill, sitting on my lap where there had been nothing just seconds before. A jolt of excitement surges through me, and I begin hitting Draco's leg to get my attention. "Draco!" I breathe. "Draco!"

"Charlotte, I'm trying to read, as per the instructions of Professor Rodgers."

"Draco!" I still manage to keep my voice down. Finally, Draco sets his book on his lap. "I Conjured it!" I hold the quill up. "I Conjured it!"

He tosses his book onto the table at our feet. "You're Conjuring things, and I can't even Vanish something yet. Professor Rodgers, please help me."

I begin laughing. "You don't understand. I have been trying to Conjure things for months now."

He gives my forearm a comforting squeeze. "Congratulations!"

His eyes are pleading again. "All right, I'll help you."

"You're a lifesaver."