CHAPTER 6

The next morning feels glum almost immediately at the realization that classes start today. It fills me with dread just thinking about it, and while this day was always coming, actually having to go back to school sounds miserable. I haven't had to deal with learning alongside classmates since leaving the orphanage.

The other four-poster beds in here are empty, indicating the girls in my year are already dressed and gone, so I hurry along, not wanting to be the last one out of the Slytherin Dungeon. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy are all in the common room as I descend down the stairs. Grimacing, I try to sneak around the group, not really up for much conversation with them right now, but when Draco calls my name from where he stands, pretending not to have heard would be impossible. He motions for me to join him and his posse, and I acquiesce. "We're just about to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. Want to come with us?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks."

Draco smiles. "I'm not sure how they do things at Durmstrang"—though tempted to say that I don't either, I manage to hold it back—"but we'll get our schedules from Snape during breakfast."

As we make our way to the Great Hall, Draco and his friends chat excitedly, sometimes apprehensively, about their classes. Apparently, classes with Gryffindor are their least favorite, mostly because the blood traitor, the Mudblood, and Harry Potter are always in those classes. We take our seats, me farther away from Draco than the rest of the group, thanks to Pansy. Owls swoop in and start dropping letters. None comes to me, as expected.

Draco opens his letter. "My mother and father always want to know what professors return. They like to keep tabs on Dumbledore, you see. Want to make sure he's running things properly around here. They say he's the worst thing to ever happen to Hogwarts." This simply doesn't surprise me in the slightest, as it seems there are very few things the Malfoys actually agree with or can even tolerate. This does alleviate my suspicions about Dumbledore because if the Malfoys dislike him, he can't be working with Voldemort.

Pansy opens a copy of the Daily Prophet. "My parents agree. What kind of mad git would believe Potter about You-Know-Who returning? If you ask me, Potter killed Diggory and tried pinning it on the You-Know-Who." Having read enough of the Daily Prophet to know what she's referring to, I don't have to make a fool of myself again by asking what she's talking about, which is convenient because that's the last thing I need right now.

"My father was just shocked Potter survived to the last round. He thought for sure he'd be killed in the first!" Draco says. Pansy releases an unnatural giggle that I ignore despite the sudden annoyance shooting through me.

Snape and McGonagall are both sitting up at the staff table, and I find myself beginning to fret about having to face them after so successfully avoiding them for days now. Hopefully, my truce with Snape will still stand, and so long as I'm not alone with McGonagall, she won't bring up what I mistakenly said the other day. Looking back at the Slytherins around me, I ask, "So you don't think there's a chance at all of You-Know-Who returning?" I know full well that he has returned but keep this thought to myself because it's definitely preferable to act as if he has not. That's simply better for my sanity.

"You're not saying you believe him, are you?" Pansy sniggers.

"No, Pansy," I sigh, growing more irritated with her by the second, "I'm simply asking a question to see if you think it's possible." Something about her grates on my nerves worse than the other students around me, and I need to figure out why that is and stamp it down. Enemies within the castle walls are not advisable.

"Potter's always had a thing against my family," Draco tells me. "He even made us lose our house-elf. He's always trying to find ways to destroy my father's reputation."

"And our fathers'," Goyle says, motioning to himself and Crabbe.

"Potter says our fathers are Death Eaters," Draco fills in. "I think he wants others to know what it's like to not have a family."

I bite back the sudden tightness in my throat and turn around to look for the Gryffindor table to see Harry Potter. So no one believes him? A pang of sympathy hits me abruptly at imagining what it must be like to have the entire Wizarding World convinced you're a liar. My eyes travel until I find Dumbledore's face. His reputation has also suffered because he vouched for Harry. Voldemort has left his mark already, and he's not even truly made his first appearance since his return. The thought weighs on my chest. How terrible will things become when he actually does make his return known?

"What're your parents like?" Pansy asks me.

My attention quickly snaps back to the Slytherin table. "My parents?" I have no idea what my parents are like because they chose themselves over me, because I was chosen by Voldemort to bear his child, because I am not allowed to have a normal life. A new string of bitterness flares in me. Why me? My eyes land on Draco. "They're gone."

Draco clears his throat, his face reddening slightly—I feel a cruel sort of happiness that he's now uncomfortable after his rude remarks about families—but we're all spared from having to continue this conversation by Snape, who makes his way down the table passing out schedules. When he gets to us, he doesn't even acknowledge me but says to Draco and his friends, "Have a good holiday?"

"Yes, Professor," they answer.

Snape hands each of them a schedule. Then he hands me mine with a curt, "Rodgers," before he continues walking.

"What was that about?" Draco asks, jumping on the chance to leave our previous conversation behind.

"Professor Snape and I had a disagreement one of my first days here," I say carelessly. "He's been a little cold since then."

"What'd you do?" Pansy asks acidly.

"Jumping to the conclusion that it's my fault? Are you some kind of psychic who can see into the past?" I reply, hating myself for letting her get on my nerves like this.

"I—" But she doesn't complete the sentence before Draco cuts in with, "What happened?"

"I might tell you one day," I say, then avert my eyes from him and look at my schedule. I don't know what—or where—any of the classes really are, so my only hope of not being completely lost is that I share classes with at least some of these Slytherins because they're probably the only way I'll be able to navigate around the castle.

Our first class of the day is Transfiguration, which is a nice surprise. I don't bother asking Draco and his friends what they think about McGonagall because I already respect her a good bit and don't want to hear any of them disparaging her in front of me because that might eventually distort my opinion of her.

When it's time for class, I follow Draco and his group slowly, letting some distance grow to make it possible to sit away from them, but Draco, seemingly displeased with this when we step into the room, directs his posse toward the table where I now sit.

McGonagall takes her place at the front of the classroom and spends the first fifteen minutes of class talking about how important O.W.L.s are to our future careers. I don't care about my "future career" because, if Voldemort has his way, I will probably be pulled into his circle of Death Eaters after having his child, and I doubt the Wizarding World would ever approve of someone like me being a normal member of society. Snape seems to do just fine.

After what seems like a year-long rant about our future, McGonagall switches gears. "Today you will be learning the Vanishing Spell. It is one of the most difficult spells you will learn before N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration." McGonagall waves her wands, and snails appear on everyone's desks. "We will start small, using these snails." With a flick of her wand and an, "Evanesco," the snail disappears. She summons another into its place. "Begin."

I know the spell, have even used it on a few occasions. All those times when I couldn't find houses to temporarily live in had forced me to learn to Vanish unwanted creatures; they often lived in the caves or cellars I found myself staying in. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I look down at my snail, knowing very well that Vanishing it would only take me a moment but feeling unwilling to make a spectacle of myself like that. Instead, I try a few times to Vanish it without speaking, which unsurprisingly does not work as nonverbal spells have never been my forte. McGonagall's disapproving expression bears into me, but I do my best to ignore it.

"How does she expect us to do this?" Draco growls. "One demonstration is not enough to show us how!"

"Perhaps you should have read the book," I say softly.

"You haven't managed to vanish your snail yet either!" Pansy hisses, coming to Draco's defense.

His face slightly pink, he cuts Pansy an irritated expression that she completely misses because she's too busy glowering at me for having insulted Draco. Then he says, "Are you telling us you read the book before term even began?"

"It's Transfiguration," I say pointedly, "of course I did the reading." That is only half of a lie. While I have read this class's particular Transfiguration book before, I did not read it for this class specifically.

"And yet you still have not Vanished your snail," Pansy sneers, desperately trying to make her snail disappear and growing steadily irate when it won't oblige.

"I take it you care about this class then?" Draco asks me.

"It was my best class at Durmstrang."

"And yet you seem to be just as bad at Vanishing Spells as we are," Pansy interjects.

I stare blankly at her, realizing now what's going on. Draco is hers, and she wants me to be aware of that, wants to cut me down as if I would be interested in pursuing him, a Malfoy. Please. Having to spend time with Lucius and Narcissa in that fashion? Willingly going back to the manor? I'd honestly rather die. Unless you can befriend Draco and earn Narcissa's sympathy and potential help that way. That thought is so very, very tempting. "Is that so, Pansy?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" she says.

"Let it go, Pansy," Draco says, a layer of sweat now on his forehead from how strongly he is concentrating on this spell. "None of us are doing that well right now. Why focus on only her?"

"Why are you defending her?" Pansy hisses. "She's a nobody."

"She's one of us, she's a Slytherin," Draco says, his face pink again. "And therefore, she deserves our respect." Strange that he doesn't feel that way about the Mudblood in our House.

"Ten minutes left!" McGonagall announces later. I catch her eye and receive a subtle, disapproving shake of the head in return. Why does that hurt me so much?

Sighing, annoyed that McGonagall is disappointed in me and frustrated that this class will likely be covering most of what I've already taught myself, I say very quietly, "Evanesco." The snail disappears into nothingness.

Draco stops completely, exhaling deeply. "How did you do that?" he whispers. "Can you teach me?"

Pansy looks at me as if she is fantasizing different ways to kill me, and I can't stop my grin at the look on her face. I meet Draco's eye and say evenly, "I read the book."

"Seems that you did. Do it to mine!" he says, smiling.

I point my wand at his snail when the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat stops me. Closing my eyes briefly in frustration, I take a short breath, then look up to see McGonagall standing beside Draco. "See me after class, Rodgers."

Pansy giggles gleefully, and I watch her for a moment. How can I hurt her without drawing too much unwanted attention to myself? Deciding it's not worth the hassle and punishment, I turn back to McGonagall. "Yes, Professor." She walks off without another word. Stashing my wand into my robes, I look back at Draco. "Maybe next time? You'll have to keep an eye on McGonagall though. Can't get caught trying to help twice."

He grins and says, "I'll keep a better lookout next time." He starts packing up his bag. "I'll save you a seat in Potions. It's in Snape's dungeon." Pansy's smile immediately drops.

"See you then."

The other students leave to go to Potions when class ends, most carrying with them their frustration of having Transfiguration homework, as I walk to McGonagall's desk. "I wasn't really going to make his snail Vanish, Professor."

"Oh, I am aware of that," she says. "It took you long enough to make yours Vanish, yet you had no issues Vanishing the daggers in my office the other day. You could have accomplished that much earlier today." I look down, feeling ashamed by her tone. "I care about each individual student's success here at Hogwarts. I don't want to see you underachieving in my class again." Her tone is strict and to the point, finalizing the discussion, but I can't let it end like that.

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive, seeing as I'm a quote-unquote transfer student from Durmstrang?" I ask, trying to tamp down the combativeness in my voice. "I can't come in and perform better the Hogwarts students. . . ."

McGonagall seems to ponder this. "That would require considerably more work from you, Rodgers, and from what Professor Snape tells me, you've already asked not to do any." Something akin to amusement shines in her eyes, as if she can't possibly believe a student asked to do no work, and something about her expression brings a small smile to my face.

"Well, I can be a fast learner . . . just not too fast."

McGonagall waits a moment, thinking about what I've just said. Then she says, "Very well. Hurry to your next class. Professor Snape does not easily forgive tardiness."

I nod and walk swiftly to the door. Once out of her earshot, I begin running, hoping to avoid giving Snape another reason to dislike me. Being late for his class will definitely not help me garner any favor with him. Not only that, but seeing as he will likely be reporting back to Voldemort regarding my compliance following my capture, I need to not be overly defiant. The other students are still talking and preparing for class when I enter the classroom. Draco waves me over to sit next to him at his table.

"Settle down," Snape says, closing the room door. He sweeps across the room and stands behind his desk. As McGonagall had done, he spends the first few minutes emphasizing how important the O.W.L.s are and that he only accepts top scores into his N.E.W.T. Potions class. He talks about how most of us will be saying goodbye after this year, meaning he doesn't expect many of us to achieve his high standards. His voice tells me that he doesn't regret this at all, and that his black eyes stare at Harry Potter tells me he cannot wait to say goodbye to that particular student. Though I want to know why he seems to dislike Potter so much, asking Draco and his disciples will surely only result in entirely biased, untrue answers.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," says Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students." My throat grows tight with shame and frustration, my face growing hot because there is exactly zero chance that my subpar Potions studies up until this point will help me reach that level.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation . . ."

He goes on to warn us of the dangers of this potion if it's too strong, but I'm not paying that close attention. Taking the Draught of Peace . . . it sounds kind of nice. Especially if I can get my hands on it before my duty. Could it calm me down? With a flick of his wand, the instructions write themselves on the board and the cupboard full of supplies opens itself. "Start," he commands.

Draco assists me with getting the supplies, and we begin the very precise instructions. Everything has to be done just right, according to the board, which makes this class seem even more daunting. One mistake could ruin a whole hour's worth of work. Only once in the class period do I make eye contact with Snape, who seems uninterested in me and Draco and Draco's followers and far more interested in watching Harry closely.

"Not that good with Potions class, are you, Charlotte?" Pansy asks me.

My face flushes, but I remain silent, wishing there had been more opportunities to learn Potions before now. The textbooks were intriguing, and learning about the ingredients was also a great change of pace, but actually managing to brew a potion? I've only done that about three times in my life. I find myself shaking slightly, trying to focus all my attention onto making a decent potion, one that will perhaps impress Snape enough to get on his good side. "I just don't care that much."

Draco, focusing intently to adding the ingredients to his cauldron, doesn't seem to hear Pansy. "But the right potions can save a life," she points out. "Why wouldn't you care for it?"

"I just don't." Why do I want to impress Snape?

Because if you impress him, he might like you more, and he might be more helpful in preparing to meet other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

When class is reaching its end, Snape announces, "A light silver vapor should be rising from your cauldron."

Draco and I exchange worried looks. Both of our potions are releasing a dull gray smoke. Snape walks to the back of the room. "I think it's close enough," I say to him.

"What's this, Potter?" Snape asks.

Draco's head snaps up, followed quickly by the rest of the Slytherins. "Watch this," he says. "Another year, another chance to watch Snape put Potter in his place."

I try to block out Snape's tormenting of Harry but can't miss the "Evanesco" from Snape. Whatever happens, I cannot allow Snape to hate me as much as he seems to hate Harry.

Snape then tells the rest of us to turn in a vial of our potion and write twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making. I turn in my vial and leave the dungeon with Draco, heading up to lunch.

My curiosity finally overcomes me as we enter the Great Hall, and I can hold my tongue no longer. "Why does Snape hate Potter so much?"

Draco laughs and says, "Who doesn't hate Potter?" That's my fault—I should have seen that one coming. We sit down at the Slytherin table, and I turn to get a glimpse of Harry and see him fuming as he talks to his friends. The two of them seem to be bickering until Harry suddenly shouts something at them and storms off, leaving them looking shocked.

"So, what'd McGonagall want from you anyway?" Draco asks me around his food.

"Wanted to know if I'd ever used the spell before."

He stops eating. "That's how you did it! There I was thinking you were just brilliant!" he laughs. "When'd you learn it?"

"For the record, I am brilliant, and don't forget that." Pansy knocks over her water. "As for when I learned it, it was nothing special, just some spills in Durmstrang we couldn't let anyone discover."

"So, what's your next class?" Draco asks.

I consult the schedule Snape gave me. "Arithmancy. You?"

There is an almost inaudible groan from Draco. "I have a free period," he says. "You're taking Arithmancy? You should switch to Divination. You can suffer through Trelawney's psychotic rambling with me." I laugh at what I assume is a joke. "Seriously, you should speak to Snape about switching to Divination."

"To learn about 'psychotic rambling'? No, thank you." In truth, Divination absolutely never made sense to me, but Arithmancy kind of did, which makes it more of an enticing class to take because I might actually learn something rather than dread going each time.

"But you'll be with me." Pansy makes a noise that reminds me of sound of a calf dying, and Draco quickly adds, "Besides, it's better than being with the Mudblood in Arithmancy. . . ."

I throw my head back. "Decisions, decisions . . ."

Pansy looks at the watch on her wrist. "You have to get going, Charlotte, or you'll be late."

I smile pleasantly at her while gathering all of my belongings. "Thank you so much, Pansy."

As I leave, she throws me a glare that would have frightened me had all my fear not already been dedicated to Voldemort and his followers. I smile back at her, then leave, asking students in the corridor for directions.

The Mudblood Draco so despises and a few others are already in class when I arrive. One girl was in my dormitory last night, but I did not introduce myself. Not sure what I'm thinking, I sit next to Hermione. "You're Hermione Granger, right?" I ask, trying to act curious. "Gryffindor?"

She looks at me strangely. "Yeah, who are you? I've never seen you in here before."

"Charlotte Rodgers, Slytherin, transfer from Durmstrang."

"Durmstrang? Did you come last year for the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I wish. I hear it was amazing. Harry Potter was in it, right?" She nods. "You're his friend. You were sitting with him in Potions. Who was the other boy with you?"

"He's Ron Weasley. We've all been friends since our first year." I'm not sure if she meant to, but she sounded a little protective . . . or defensive. I'm not sure exactly which. "Were you the one sitting with Malfoy?"

"Draco? Yeah, he's one of the only Slytherins I've met. Well, him and his group of disciples: Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy." She doesn't respond to this. I take a deep breath. "I know we just met, but could you do me a favor?"

She watches me curiously, and I decide to ask anyway. "Next time you see Harry, which I assume will be soon, could you tell him that I believe him about You-Know-Who returning? I know I've never met him, but if I were in his shoes, I'd be happy to know someone believed me."

She slowly nods. "You sure you're a Slytherin?"

"Didn't want to be. It's the Sorting Hat who did it. . . ." I shake my head. "I think it might have made a mistake." But deep down, I know the Hat didn't make a mistake, that for some reason I am indeed a Slytherin.

"I don't think anyone besides a family of Dark Wizards wants to be in Slytherin," Hermione laughs. "After meeting Draco for the first time, I knew Slytherin was not for me. And Snape . . . ugh, he's the worst Slytherin of them all!"

After just a moment of my silence, she quickly says, "You don't like Snape, do you?" I guess she assumes my not answering means I'm offended.

"Oh, not at all. I was thinking back to the first disagreement I had with Snape." She looks intrigued, and while I have a feeling she's about to ask me for details, Professor Vector comes into the room and saves me from having to talk about what happened. "Let's just say it's a story for another time."

She nods, obviously a little let down. I can only imagine that she had wanted to know something about Snape that she could have told Harry to make him feel better after what transpired in Potions. I pull a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink out of my bag and begin taking notes.