CHAPTER 28

Draco watches me curiously for just a second before his eyes become wide and desperate, as if I'm pulling him in here to help him on his mission despite the fact that he's been nothing but an arse to me since the term started. Please. How can anyone be that naïve? No, I've pulled him in for more selfish reasons. "Have you learned something?"

Tears prick my eyes as I consider his question. Of course I've learned something, just not something that will help either of us. I have to look away from him, but this is why we're in this room, meaning there is no choice but to tell him, to ask for his help. "The Dark Lord has chosen a day."

"A d—" He stops his question short, his expression becoming almost distraught; that sympathy for me almost makes me want to cry even more. "Merlin's beard . . . Charlotte . . ."

I nod, still unable to look at him, sobs threatening. "That's pretty much what I said when I found out." Such lies. I couldn't speak at all, really. Narcissa had to cart me back to Spinner's End, where I downed an entire vial of an Elixir to Induce Euphoria and had to be Stunned by Snape to get me to be quiet. As Draco and I are not on the best of terms anymore and only have a tentative agreement forget all the animosity behind us, he's not entitled to know any of my true reaction to learning of the day, however, so I keep it to myself. The last thing I want is pity from him.

Draco shifts on his feet uncomfortably, his eyes struggling to stay on my face. "When?"

Closing my eyes and forcing down the sob that threatens to burst free, I say airily, unable to make my voice loud in fear that it'll crack and he'll see how close I am to losing all composure right now, "It depends."

Draco's hand gently rests on my shoulder in a way that reminds me almost of his mother for reasons unclear. "Depends on what?" I bite my lower lip and swallow, trying to loosen my tightening throat. "You can tell me."

"It depends on . . . when you . . . fulfill whatever it is that Vol—the Dark Lord—wants you to do."

"No . . . no, this can't . . . you're serious?"

I nod, and for the first time in months, Draco takes me into his arms without any romantic connotations or underlying motive of getting information; he just holds me in one of the most comforting embraces anyone has given me since I found out exactly when Voldemort plans to enslave me. I let myself weep into his shoulder, appreciation growing in my chest that someone here at Hogwarts other than Snape understands a bit of what it's like to be around Voldemort, someone who maybe even fears that monster as much as I do. "What did he say?" Draco whispers, his head on my shoulder, his breath warm in my ear.

"If you succeed by the Christmas holidays, it will take place over the break." His whole body tenses. "If you're unsuccessful until after the Christmas holidays, it'll happen the thirty-first of July."

"Potter's birthday?"

"Yes," I breathe, sobbing into his chest again, his hand rubbing my back while he tries to calm me down. I hope he registers the significance of this without me having to say it aloud, without me having to repeat what Voldemort had said about "his plan to destroy Potter being fulfilled on the day his greatest enemy was born." The thought turns my stomach, threatening to make me vomit.

"What can I do?"

I pull back and look into his gray eyes. "Hold off until after Christmas?" I whisper.

"I can't do nothing. The Dark Lord will become suspicious."

"I understand," I say, wishing that weren't true. Draco will die if he refuses to complete his mission, and asking him to put himself in that kind of danger for me is impossible. He's in too much of it as it is, and the last thing he deserves is to be tortured for trying to help me. Still . . . part of me desperately hopes that he'll find a loophole to this issue, that he'll decide to fulfill his mission more slowly than necessary, if only to give me one last Christmas before the unthinkable happens.

I step away from him and wipe my eyes, trying to pretend that the breakdown in front of him did not actually just happen. "Who else knows? The days, I mean."

"Your mum—I told her right after, but not in detail—um . . . Snape—"

"Naturally," Draco says bitterly.

I ignore his tone, unsure why he seems so angry with Snape and unsure why that seems to bother me so much. "And Zoe Accrington."

"Why her?"

"She's a friend."

"How'd she take it?"

"She's supportive."

Draco places his hand on my shoulder again and looks at me with such sincerity that tears threaten again. "I'll do my best to delay my mission, Charlotte. I promise. I'll find a way to buy you more time."

Relief and gratitude almost overwhelm me. "Thank you." I wipe my eyes again. "What will you do?"

"I'll figure something out."

A hopeful smile comes to my lips despite how dangerous it is for me to become hopeful about any of this. "Thank you, Draco. Thank you." He smiles back at me, and I take my chance to ask, "What's your mission?"

"I can't tell you."

"I guessed as much."

"But I will do my best to help you. I'll make sure you have at least one more Christmas free from him." He hugs me tightly once more, just for a second, before leaving the room.

I slump to the floor. After everything we've been through, Draco is still willing to help me. After all our fights and disagreements, he is still going to keep me from Voldemort for a few extra months. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around my head, and rest my head on my knees, crying freely now that Draco is no longer here to witness it.

Sometime later, after I've finished crying and am just sitting in silence and wishing my life could be so much different than what it is now, the door opens, and I do my best to compose myself entirely. "Charlotte," Daphne's kind voice reaches me just before she sits down beside me on the stone floor. "Are you all right?"

I sigh loudly. "Not really. How'd you know where to find me?"

"Full disclosure, I was being incredibly nosy after you ran off like you did. I followed. Then saw you pull Draco into this room, then saw him come out without you. Then threatened him to tell me if he hurt you. He swore on pain of death that you were fine, so I waited to see if you'd come out. You didn't, so . . . here I am."

Without thinking about it, I let myself slump to the side to lean against her. "Thanks for checking on me, but I'm fine."

"I don't believe that for half a second. You've been crying."

"Yes, and?"

"What'd Draco say to you? I have zero qualms about hexing him. Just say the word, and that little bitch will be in the hospital wing by the end of the day."

A laugh bubbles out of me. "Nothing bad, I promise. We just had a disagreement. He is absolutely not the reason I'm crying."

"Are you two still pining for each other?"

I make exaggerated gagging noises. "Not a chance in hell. Most everything about him pisses me off now. From his pointed little face to his annoying whiny voice. He's the worst." But he's being kind to me and helping me, so I should probably not be as hateful.

It's her turn to laugh, and she takes full advantage of it, almost to the point where she topples over. "That's good to know. I'd hate for you to still be hung up on him when you have someone outside of Hogwarts who loves you. I'm assuming you're in love?"

"I . . . I'm not certain," I say, sitting up straight, the thought of Fred imbuing me with some modicum of strength while also making me feel immensely guilty due to all of my lies. "He means so much to me, but . . . I don't think we know each other well enough to say we're in love. We've spent far more time apart than together at this point since we first . . . decided to be together. But I'm happy when I get to see him and talk to him and read his letters."

Daphne watches me curiously but not judgmentally. "Good. Would you like to go to the dorm, get some chocolate because you deserve it, then go to the library to finish up that DADA essay?"

"Absolutely."

Daphne helps me to my feet, and together we make our way to the dormitory. To my utter dismay and great frustration, Pansy is in the room when we arrive. She takes a look at the two of us and scowls but doesn't speak. Instead, she simply leaves the room. "Hmm. Uncharacteristically not terrible, wouldn't you say?" Daphne asks. "Surprised she didn't curse us on the spot."

"I'm just glad she seems to think it's no longer worth her time to say anything to me. Life will be easier when we can ignore each other."

"That's true." Daphne digs into her stash of sweets and begins loading it into her rucksack. "Whatever makes life here easier, yeah?" She hides her stash once more, slings her bag onto her shoulder. "Well, what're you waiting for, Rodgers? Let's go get sick on sugar and write an essay we'd rather die than write."

I'm terribly grateful that she's here with me. Who knows how awful it would be here at Hogwarts without a friend to spend my time with? It'd likely be miserable. Without at least a few friends, what would I be doing this year? Skulking around with no hope in the world, no outlet to forget everything? Would I be sitting around the dorm all the time, wishing for death that would not come? Would I have tried to run away? Should I still attempt to run away? No, no, I can't do that. Snape would be punished. And it wouldn't solve anything actually. It'd just delay it, send me on another lonely attempt at freedom. But I can't do that now because I have too much holding me here.

Is that why Voldemort sent me here? Send the orphan girl to Hogwarts and force her to make roots so escaping becomes more difficult? Was that his whole plan? Have I been manipulated so easily?

"What's on your mind there, Charlotte? You look . . . deeply concerned."

"Just thinking about what to say in that essay."

We turn into the library and claim seats by a window. I pop my back before sitting down in the chair across from Daphne, then pull out my work and heave a great sigh; though this is the last thing I want to be doing right now, here I sit. Despite all the misfortunes of being on the run, at least I learned at my own pace and didn't have to be tested on some bullshit like this. I could just learn for fun. Why does homework suck the joy out of everything? "So how long do you think this tutoring thing will continue before those kids get sick of it?" I ask.

"Is that really what you want to talk about? Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happened between you and Draco?" I swipe a piece of chocolate from her pile. "Was it something pertaining to last year?"

"What d'you mean?"

She shrugs. "Just curious if there's some bitterness simmering from the relationship last year. You said you aren't pining for each other, but he pisses you off so terribly that I wonder if something happened that you've kept to yourself that you'd like to finally let loose."

"No," I say. "There's nothing like that. I'm begrudgingly friends with him because of his mother. Things are just rough right now, you know? But it's fine, and it's not about him. Just some . . . family stuff. Let's complain about the first-years. I've only been in one lesson with them, and I can already tell you that I'm annoyed with some of what's happening. Didn't even consider bringing a match to a tutoring session on how to turn a match into a needle. Honestly, what were they even thinking? Or were they thinking?"

"They're children, Charlotte. You have to give them some leniency. Surely you weren't so forward-thinking when you were a child, right?"

I was running for my life and therefore had to be a little more thoughtful about my actions and plans lest I end up dead or taken captive. This thought remains unspoken. "I mean, I guess. But I still feel like I was a little more commonsensical when I was their age."

"That Butler boy—what'd you think of him?"

"Kill me now. Did you tell him you were a pureblood?"

"He already knew. The Greengrass name and all."

"So when you worked on homework with them earlier this week, he didn't act like that toward you?"

"Toward me? No. Toward the other first-years? Yes. He listened to me fairly well but continued to ask why I bothered hanging around non-purebloods. A little weird."

"I'm not quite sure what all he's been told by his parents, but at least he has you—a pureblood—who willingly hangs around non-purebloods. He can see from example that it doesn't ruin someone's life or reputation. I mean, you're a Greengrass. Wealthy. Pureblood. Everything he apparently aspires to be. Hopefully, that will start breaking down his attitude. I don't know how long I could handle tutoring him in his current state, if I'm being completely honest. My patience is very thin for this sort of thing."

She smiles and dips her quill in ink. "I think you have more patience than you realize."

Perhaps she might be right, but I don't want to push it because spending time with a prejudiced first-year is not exactly something that sounds interesting. But maybe for the sakes of Christopher, Julia, and Ella, I will endure it. They're good kids. It's not their fault they're trapped in the same year as Jacob.

"See, you're already caving."

"You don't know me."

"Besides, working with these first-years might be good for you in other ways."

"Explain."

"Well, I enjoy working with them because I know I want to be a professor—I'm sure you recall our conversation about that after your career advice session with Snape last year. I'm sure you remember everything we've ever talked about." This actually makes me laugh briefly. "So I'm kind of hoping that if you get into teaching them, then you'll also develop a love for it, and we can come back and be professors together. Hogwarts has been so much better since you arrived, and I think it'd be even better if we could be here without any rules actually applying to us."

"Do they apply to us now?"

She grins. "I'm serious. Think about it."

"I'm sure you remember that I want to be an Obliviator."

"Yeah, but I'm hoping to convert you. Who wants to work for the Ministry? You want to answer to someone who answers to Scrimgeour? Scrimgeour, Charlotte."

I shrug. "Frankly, I know nothing about the man. Could be interesting though. Better hours than being a professor, that's for sure."

"Also less fun."

"Less fun Obliviating people than arguing with students all day?"

"Less fun reporting to a department head than reporting to Dumbledore."

I have to concede that point as much as it pains me. Before I can question whether she believes Dumbledore will be headmaster that long, none other than Theodore Nott plops into the seat beside me. "Afternoon," he greets us.

"Nott."

"Greengrass." He looks at me. "Rodgers. Working on an essay or writing Accrington back? Or is it Weasley?"

"Essay."

"Do you still write to both of them, or have you narrowed it down to one?"

"What do you mean?"

He raises his eyebrows at me, then turns his attention to Daphne. "How do you feel, Greengrass, about Rodgers writing to Accrington so much?"

"Fine? How else would I feel? They're friends. Of course they write each other."

He shrugs. "Just thought you'd feel a way . . . considering."

She clears her throat. "Considering what?"

"I heard rumors about Accrington. Everyone in Slytherin heard rumors. Personally, I always assumed the two of you"—he gestures vaguely—"and then Charlotte arrives, swoops into Accrington's life, and suddenly she's the one keeping in touch with her after Hogwarts."

"We write each other as well, but I think you have the wrong idea."

"I'm not judging, Greengrass. I understand the position you're in."

"The position I'm in?"

"Yeah, you're attracted to someone, around someone, in communication with someone quite a lot but know you probably can't be with them due to circumstances outside your control, and though it hurts to be around them, communicate with them, you continue to put yourself through it regardless because you know, in your soul, it'd be worse if they were out of your life."

"You have the wrong idea, Nott. Zoe and I were always just friends. I was not attracted to her."

"Who says that's who you were attracted to?" He cuts me a glance. "And what about Weasley? How do you feel about her writing to him?"

"That's enough, Nott!" she hisses. "That's enough. I don't know what game you're playing, but you need to knock it off."

"I'm just saying, I know things. You keep your ear close to the ground, and you learn things. Just thought I'd give you a chance to get everything out in the open before it eats you alive."

"You need to leave, Nott," I say.

"I thought I told you to call me 'Theodore.'"

Daphne's eyes narrow, and I continue, "I don't know who you think you are or what you think you know, but you need to shut your mouth and leave, Theodore."

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I know things, Charlotte. So many things. You can lie to yourself, to your friends—"

Daphne spouts off a spell and sends Theodore Nott crashing to the floor a few feet away from me. With a wave of her wand and some quietly muttered spells, she lifts him off his feet and drags him toward the table. "Listen to me, and listen to me well," she says. "I don't care what you think you know or what you might actually know, you need to shut your mouth and stay the fuck away from us, understand? Bother me or Charlotte like this again, and you'll regret it."

She drops him to the floor, and he smiles broadly. "I meant no harm," he says silkily. What game is he playing? "Your secrets—all of your secrets, the both of yours—are safe with me."

"You don't know anything," she says.

"I'm here if either of you ever wanna talk," he says with a slight bow. Then he calmly walks out of the library.

"What a twat," Daphne says, sitting back down heavily into her chair.

"Was there any truth to it?" I ask quietly, suddenly.

"Truth to what?"

"You and Zoe." Why does the idea of that bother me so much? Why does it concern me? Why am I so desperate for an answer from her? "Was there something there?"

She drops her forehead onto the table for a second and sighs. Then takes a deep breath, sits up straight, and shakes her head. "No, there was nothing there, though that rumor did circulate for a while. Zoe and I were just great friends—still are, but that's it." Why does that make me feel relieved? "We keep in touch, write each other semi-regularly. Not as regularly as the two of you write, but still." She looks away from me. "It was never romantic between us. I never wanted it to be that way with her." Her cheeks redden slightly. Why does she seem bashful all of a sudden? I've never seen her this way. After a quiet throat clearing, she says, "And you? Did you—do you want it to be romantic with her?"

"With Zoe? I'm happily with Fred."

"It's just . . . you write her as often as you write him, and you seem just as happy to get her letters as you do his. And she . . . she's great. And . . . and you're great. So I was just curious."

Something about her seems off, but I can't quite put my finger on it, or at least it seems improbable. "I'm happy with Fred." Why haven't you told him the truth about what is to come? Further: why did you tell Zoe and not Fred? And if I'm really gonna claim that I told Zoe because she's not connected to either side of the war, why haven't I told Daphne who also is not connected? Do I have feelings for Zoe?

"The look on your face is concerning. What're you thinking? Are you actually happy with him? Or have you convinced yourself that you're happy with him? Is there . . . is there anyone else you'd be happier with?" Her cheeks grow red again, and she looks away once more.

Does Daphne have feelings for me? Surely not. I would've seen that by now, right? I would've put that together by now. I can't be that oblivious. We're just friends. We're the only sixth-year Slytherin girls who don't like Pansy, so of course we spend all of our time together and enjoy being around each other. But that doesn't mean Daphne has feelings for me. I'm just getting a big head. "I don't think so. Fred makes me incredibly happy. My heart skips a beat a little whenever I get his letters, and I can't stop smiling when I read them. I dream about the times we can see each other again and actually spend time together."

She closes her eyes briefly and swallows, then opens her eyes and smiles brightly at me, though that does not reach her eyes. "Then don't let anything Nott said get to you. You're happy, and he's been known to stir up trouble. You should've seen him sewing problems between Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy in our fourth year. I mean, don't get me wrong—it was genuinely hilarious, but it showed me that he can't be listened to. He likes to cause drama, which is great fun unless you're the victim of his puppetry."

"It's not just that though. I feel like he actually knows things about me that others shouldn't. He's implied as much."

"What kind of secrets could you possibly be keeping that he would know?"

My parentage. My duty. My living arrangements over the summer. My private lessons and what they really are. "I'm not quite certain, but I'm vaguely uncomfortable."

"Should we go kill him? I will totally go kill him with you."

"I don't know if that's entirely necessary. I think I just need to keep a close watch on him. He could be lying but . . . I mean, you never know. Maybe he's discovered some stuff that would make our lives miserable."

"Merlin, I hope not."

But I can't really get some of his words out of my mind because they bring further issues up to the surface. Namely, why can't I tell Fred what I've already told Zoe? What is stopping me from talking to him about the truth when I already bared my soul to another? What reason could there possibly be? I don't think I have feelings for Zoe but . . . what if I do?

My eyes drift to my bag, which contains the letters from Zoe and Fred. My heart grows lighter at the idea of both of them. Can I have feelings for more than one person at a time? Can I be attracted to Zoe while being in love with Fred?

I need to see them both, I think. But I'm not quite certain if this is something I want to find out. In fact, I fear the answer.