CHAPTER 9

Draco has been walking in silence since the moment we left the common room to ditch our first Astronomy class of the semester, and I can hardly stand my desperate need to know where he's taking me. We're almost to the fourth floor, and yet he still has not said a thing about our destination other than "you'll love it."

But that is simply not good enough for me because it does nothing to squelch my anxiety. On many occasions already, I've had to restrain myself from literally begging to know where he's taking me, and it almost seems like he knows this because he simply continues trying to make it harder for me to contain myself. He keeps saying things like "you'll never believe where we're going" or "my father told me about it" or "I'll be surprised if you've ever been there before, given what you've told me already."

Nagging paranoia begins to creep through my chest. Snape seems positive someone tried to kill me, and Draco was literally right beside me when the curse hit me. Has Lucius told him something about me? Has he told his son all the problems I've caused? Is Draco hoping to eliminate me in some attempt to get in good with his dad's mates, not knowing what Voldemort has planned for me?

What if he had something to do with that curse?

What if he's dragging me off somewhere to kill me?

Stop it; stop it. Lucius Malfoy would not have told his son to kill you. Stop being ridiculous. If he fears Voldemort's wrath at all, he absolutely would not tell Draco to kill you. That's the easiest way for Draco to wind up dead, and Malfoy wouldn't want his son dying. Possibly. Narcissa surely doesn't want her child to die, so she'd never let her husband endanger Draco because of a bruised ego.

Trying to dispel these thoughts from my mind, I give his hand a slight squeeze. "Come on, Draco," I try again, keeping my voice as even as possible, forcing down the nerves, "just tell me where we're going."

"You've never heard of it anyway," he says. "Even if I tell you, you'll have no idea what I'm talking about."

I frown at him and step closer, further shrinking the small gap that had been between us. "How much farther?" I whisper.

"Not far now," he whispers back.

I ask him normally, "So, am I going to enjoy this mystery place?"

His voice is still a whisper when he answers, "Yes." He grins at me but does not reply as we ascend the steps to the seventh floor. "Closer than ever now." He has finally stopped talking in a hushed tone.

We stop in front of a stone wall, and my suspicions grow. "What is this? There's nothing here. . . ." What if he just wants to hurt you to hurt you, not because his father told him to?

"Give me a moment." A few seconds later, a large door appears in the wall. "This is the Room of Requirement."

"And what do you require at the moment?"

He flashes his white teeth at me. "A place to spend time with a pretty girl." He begins frantically looking up and down the corridor. "I wonder when she's going to get here. . . ." I nudge against him, laughing, but steadily growing a bit uncomfortable. "Shall we?"

"Yes, please."

We enter a room filled with soft light cast by candles floating up and down slowly around the perimeter. In the center of the room sits a lone table covered with a white tablecloth and flanked by two cushioned chairs.

"So, you didn't set a trap for me here where you can kill me?" I ask lightly, a smile on my face despite the paranoia in the back of my mind.

He frowns at me. "Of course not."

The son of a Death Eater does not want to kill me. Does he know anything about who I am? Did Malfoy and Narcissa really just let their son waltz into Hogwarts alongside me without telling him anything about me? Would they not want him to be aware that someone important to Voldemort's plans will be at Hogwarts with him? Why wouldn't they tell him—especially since Snape said my presence would present an increased risk for the well-being of Hogwarts students? Or did they tell him, and he's trying to weasel his way into my life in hopes that Voldemort will reward him for making my time at Hogwarts bearable? Is he trying to use me similarly to how I plan to use him?

If Draco does know what Voldemort has planned for me, he certainly cannot know what those plans are. He would likely avoid taking me on quiet—romantic?—excursions through Hogwarts if he knew what the Dark Lord wants from me. Would he avoid me altogether? See me as tainted by the fate that awaits me?

I'm afraid to know the answer. This is the first friendship I have had in six years, and to jeopardize it by explaining the role I will eventually play seems foolish. People might be able to accept Harry Potter's role in Voldemort's rise to power because he is a foil to the Dark Lord. A girl who has to bear him a child comes with a far different connotation.

"Do you like it?" Draco asks, nervousness in his voice and eyes. "I can make the room to rearrange—"

Excited at the prospect of putting those thoughts behind me and enjoying my time here, I simply say, "It's perfect. So, what'd you have in mind?"

Draco waves his hand for me to walk with him to the table. As we sit, he looks at his watch and says, "We've got nearly an hour." Then he produces two bottles from somewhere in his robes. "Do you like butterbeer?"

My mouth waters immediately. "Absolutely."

He opens both bottles, waves his wand over them, and hands them to me. To my surprise, the bottles are warm, and my heart quickens with excitement. Who knew coming to Hogwarts would provide so many wonderful opportunities for the types of treats I used to dream about? "So . . . how did you know about this place, and what do you mean you could have it rearranged?"

"My father's told me stories about the room from his days at Hogwarts. This—the Room of Requirement—will take on whatever properties you want it to. It can be used for anything, really. I've hidden things here before—in those cases, the whole room is a maze of artifacts and trash from centuries worth of students. The Room of Requirement is one of the many Hogwarts mysteries to be discovered."

"Do all of the students know about?"

"No, at least not in Slytherin. I hinted at it a couple of times to a few of them, and none of them seemed to have any clue what I was talking about. So, it can be our secret."

I grin at him, and we both take a sip of our drinks. "What exactly did your father say about the Room of Requirement?"

"Just that he stumbled across it while he attended Hogwarts. They used to hide things in here and have meetings away from some of nosier Housemates."

"He attended Hogwarts?" With all the complaints about the place, I just assumed Draco's parents had nothing to do with Hogwarts until Draco needed to attend.

"Oh, yes, both of my parents went to Hogwarts. Both were Slytherins. That's how they met, actually. My father was a prefect."

"You're one too, right?"

"Yes." Pride floods his voice. "My parents were thrilled. But it was no surprise. Snape has always been close to my family. He came to Hogwarts when my father was a prefect, so my father kind of took him under his wing, you know? Helped steer him in the right direction." He watches me closely, as if waiting for a reaction. "He still comes round every now and then." Suspicious. Draco takes a long swig of butterbeer, then sets it down. "He visited about a month ago, actually. My mum told me it was for business and that I should stay in my room, which is weird because they usually don't mind if I listen in, use it as a chance to learn more about the family business. Something felt odd, so I didn't listen to her."

I slowly set my bottle back on the table. "Did she catch you?"

"Merlin, no. I know how to sneak around the house I've lived in all my life." He clears his throat. "I heard a commotion and caught the end of their 'business' meeting." Despite the butterbeer, my mouth runs dry when, with a flick of his wand and a quietly spoken spell, the candles in the room grow brighter, removing the soft light. "I saw you slide across the floor with blood on your face—broken nose, I think. I saw my mum wipes tears from your eyes and send you away with Professor Snape." He's planning to kill me in here. I start reaching my hand into my robes for my wand. "Why were you at my house?" I stand abruptly and yank my wand out, pointing it directly at him. "Whoa, Charlotte," he says, placing his wand on the table and raising his hands. "I'm not planning to hurt you. I just want to talk. Look, I'm not touching my wand. Please sit." At my hesitation, he adds, "You can keep your wand aimed at me if it makes you more comfortable."

I sit back down but keep my wand in my hand. "What do you want?"

"Why did Snape collect you from my house?"

"The Dark Lord demanded it."

Shock crosses his face momentarily before he schools it back to indifference. "Why?"

"I suggest you ask your parents. I'm not at liberty to say."

He smirks. "You're important to the Dark Lord. My mother already told me that much. Father wouldn't answer any questions; he seemed particularly uninterested in discussing you. What she wouldn't tell me is why. Why are you important to the Dark Lord?"

"You don't need to know." My chest begins aching, both with embarrassment and betrayal, though I am aware that such feelings make me a hypocrite. "I can't believe I—fuck you, Draco. I thought you were trying to be my friend."

"I am," he says quickly, reaching out but stopping when I turn my wand back toward him. "I just want to know the whole picture."

"I'm important to the Dark Lord for reasons I'm not willing to discuss. They won't affect you in the slightest. What do you want from me?"

He places his hands palm-up on the table. "You're important to the Dark Lord, new to Hogwarts, in my house and year, and seem interesting. I want to be your friend."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Because?"

He sighs. "If I befriend someone important to the Dark Lord, he might look more kindly on me one day."

Of course, Draco wants to be a Death Eater, and he wants to start in good standing immediately. That's why he's been so nice to me. I smile at him, my hurt feelings evaporating. "Full disclosure: I initially began befriending you in hopes that one day your mother will show me sympathy and help me accept the Dark Lord's plans for me."

He starts laughing, actually laughing, his smile wide and bright. "Ulterior motives all around!" This brings a bubble of laughter out of me too, which I stifle by drinking more of my butterbeer. "But I wasn't lying about you being interesting," he says once he quiets back down.

"Being my friend might drive Pansy away from you."

"Brilliant. She can be irritating."

I slide my wand back into my pocket. "I'll be your friend, Draco, and I'll make sure to let the Dark Lord knows you were kind to me, but I won't tell you what he wants from me." I haven't had a friend in so very long. "On one condition." He raises his eyebrows and motions for me to name it. "Tell me how you almost died in Care of Magical Creatures."

"Deal." He smiles and begins his story, his voice full of humor and exaggerated dramaticism, "It was a normal day in third year. Little Draco and his friends were wasting their time in the oaf's class as we were forced to do far too often. Only this time was different. This time it was dangerous. Then again, the half-breed's class was always dangerous. We were standing around, watching while the half-wit tried explaining to us the devil creature that is a hippogriff. This particular one had a name: Buckbeak." He raises his eyebrows theatrically. "Little Draco was simply asking the monster—'monster' here meaning the professor, of course—how to approach the creature when Harry Potter, the Bastard Who Lived, possessed a hippogriff to charge at me and knock me down. Pinned down and helpless, I could do nothing as the beast's eyes flared red. Its hoof slammed into me, trying to rip me open, while Potter and his friends laughed." He takes a deep breath before lifting the butterbeer to his lips. "I could have been killed had my friends not batted the beast away."

This story is so obviously a lie—albeit one that has entertained me—that I don't even know what to say besides, "What happened next?"

"They actually blamed me! My father tried to get the creature executed, but Potter and his friends found a way to set it free. The creature who tried to kill me is lurking out there somewhere. . . . So that's the story of when I was a victim who was blamed for what happened to me. Tell me one of yours."

"None of mine are as humorous as yours."

Draco is quiet for a moment before saying, "You don't have to talk about them if you don't want to."

"How about this: I promise to tell you one day if you don't make me pay you back for this butterbeer." Because I have no money.

He grins. "I'll take that deal."

We both finish our butterbeers and push them aside. "Well," he says, "I'd take you to explore more of the castle, but I'm afraid we're low on time."

"That's fine," I say cheerily. "I've enjoyed just being out of class and out of the crowd of Slytherins in the common room."

"It's been nice," he agrees. We head for the exit and re-enter the corridor. With any luck, we won't run into our classmates on the way back to the dungeon.

"If your parents hate Hogwarts so much, why didn't they send you elsewhere?"

"Believe me, my father wanted me to go to Durmstrang, but my mother was firmly against me being that far from her." He sighs. "Just think about it, we could have met years ago had my mother let me go to Durmstrang. Then I could have avoided the Weasleys, the Mudblood, and Potter." Poor, misguided Draco. A twinge of guilt pulls at my chest for lying to him. Seeing as I so rarely have a reason to tell anyone the truth about my past anyway, I don't understand why it bothers me so much now. "I'm glad you had the idea to skip Astronomy."

"And I'm glad you thought to go to the Room of Requirement. Just think, we could've been up on the tower shivering instead of enjoying a nice, warm butterbeer."

The door to the Room of Requirement disappears while we stand there. Draco leads me away from the room and toward the stairs. Halfway down the spiral staircase, he stops me and looks at me earnestly. "I really did have a nice time."

"And I'm glad we don't have to hide ulterior motives anymore," I say with a grin.

"Definitely makes life easier." We continue on our way.

Luckily, we arrive back at the Slytherin Dungeon before most of our Astronomy class has returned, meaning there aren't many people in the common room. Draco walks with me to the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitories. "Goodnight," he says once I start up the steps.

"Goodnight." Perhaps, if I can tamp down the paranoia, my duration at Hogwarts will not be as dreadful as I first imagined.

I briskly prepare myself for bed, hop onto the mattress, pull the covers over me, and close the curtains around me, blocking myself from the others when they return.

The next morning flies by, and in what feels like no time at all, I'm sitting in the Great Hall next to Draco, his knee bumping into mine every now and then as he shifts around talking. Pansy's eyes continuously flutter to us, growing more bitter with each passing second and giving me a sick sense of joy. "Where were you during Astronomy last night?" she asks.

I look surprised as I say to Draco, "You weren't in class last night?"

His face drops. "No . . . I . . . I skipped. I was with Professor Snape. There was some—er—things I needed to talk to him about."

Pansy frowns at him. "You're lying." Then she looks at me with piercing eyes. "Where were you?"

"Hospital wing," I say smoothly, having already been prepared for Pansy's interrogation and realizing now that I should have given Draco some kind of warning. Oh well. "Madam Pomfrey wanted to check on me, make sure I'm recovering fine. I was in there all day on Tuesday, you know."

Her eyes dart back to Draco. "Are you sure that that's not where you were, Draco?"

"Positive," he answers quickly. Pansy doesn't seem satisfied, and she gets up and storms from the Great Hall, pointedly refusing to look back at us as she leaves.

Our only classes today are Potions, Arithmancy—well, Draco and the rest of his friends have Divination at some point—and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potions is our first class, but it doesn't start for nearly half an hour. "So anyway," Draco says, turning to me, seemingly not caring at all the Pansy left, "the Quidditch tryouts are Saturday. You should come by."

"I might just do that. What position are you?" The only time I have ever paid much attention to Quidditch was when there was literally no other form of entertainment, but at least that gave me a basic idea of what Quidditch is and how to play it, preventing me from looking like a complete idiot right now.

"Seeker," he says proudly. "Crabbe and Goyle are trying to be Beaters."

Crabbe and Goyle cheer like they know they already have the position, as if they know the captain wouldn't dare to give the position to anyone other than Draco's friends. Regrettably, they are probably right.

"How long've you been on the Quidditch team?" I ask him.

"Since my second year. I would've made it on the team my first year, but there're rules against it." Then he adds bitterly, "Of course, that didn't stop them from bending the rules for Potter."

"Would you expect any less?" Crabbe growls. "Honestly, Dumbledore would allow him to do just about anything. As if he's something special. He got lucky against You-Know-Who. A baby defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time? Please. Hufflepuff stands a better chance of winning Quidditch Cup."

This must be some sort of insult to Hufflepuff, because everyone around Crabbe begins laughing. "Dumbledore just treats Potter with special privileges because he pities him. But it's not like he's the only student in Hogwarts who doesn't have a family," Draco says.

I silently thank Goyle when he steers the conversation back to Quidditch, which distracts the Slytherins around me so thoroughly I can keep quiet and to myself. While Draco probably didn't mean anything against me by his last comment, I simply don't feel like speaking anymore because of it.

Shortly after this, we head back to the dungeons for Snape's class. Walking alongside Draco to class, I silently hope Snape sees—I could use a good laugh, and seeing Draco and me together will surely make Snape nervous because he'll likely worry that I've told Draco about Voldemort's plan. Would Voldemort punish Snape if he found out that I've been telling people about my duty right under Snape's nose? Would I really be against Snape being punished? He's just some son of a bitch who doesn't think my life matters, so why should I be concerned for his?

To my great amusement, when we walk into Snape's classroom, his eyes land on me and Draco. I smirk at him, but his only response is to clench his teeth together and glare, a well-controlled anger in eyes that fades moments after Draco and I take our seats in the front.

It's not until Snape puts the instructions for today's potion up on the board and tells us to begin that I realize just how dangerous it could be to taunt him like this. If Lucius Malfoy and Snape truly respect each other, Snape surely wouldn't allow Draco to put himself into the kind of danger that being my friend might entail. Would he inform Malfoy? Would Malfoy try to step in and warn Draco that I'm actually a huge problem for the Death Eaters right now and that befriending me won't benefit him in the slightest? If Voldemort decides that Draco is just as much of an issue as I am, would Snape be blamed for not putting a stop to it?

I turn my full attention back to my cauldron. Today is a Wit-Sharpening Potion. If I somehow manage to make it correctly, taking a dose might be a good idea to help save me from making too many mistakes regarding Snape. It might help me stay out of trouble while I'm trapped here.

At the end of the period, after I take my vial up to Snape's desk—though my potion is again the wrong color, it's at least not wildly different, just a dull orange rather than gold—and gather my things at the table, Draco says, "I guess I'll see you for lunch then. You've got Arithmancy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Lunch it is then," he says with a smile.

We part ways, and I take the time to enjoy the solitude on my way to class. It feels like it's been a long time since I was actually alone. People are exhausting. As nice as having a friend is, Hogwarts is too crowded.

Upon arriving at the classroom, I ignore the part of me that wants to be alone and take a seat beside Hermione again. "Hello."

"I saw Malfoy carry you out of Umbridge's class. What happened?"

"Long story short, my insides were ripped by a stray curse." A smile comes unbidden to my face as her eyes widen and her mouth drops slightly agape at my casual tone. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"It sounds pretty terrible. You're all right now?"

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey took care of everything."

Hermione taps her quill on the desk, and though it's clear she wants to ask something, I refuse to acknowledge it until she makes a decision. Suddenly, she blurts, "What exactly happened between you and Snape?"

"What do you mean? Nothing happened."

"I've never seen him hate a Slytherin, but I can tell he doesn't like you. I saw his face when you walked in the Potions room today and when you turned in your work. Harry and Ron saw it, too. They're pestering me to find out what happened. . . . So . . . if you wouldn't mind, I'd love to know."

Having been dying to tell someone, I can't bring myself to say no. Besides, with how Snape treats Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they more than anyone would appreciate the story. "You can only tell Harry and Ron," I say. "I could get in some serious trouble if this spreads. Got it?"

"Of course," she agrees, obviously ecstatic.

I recount my fight with Snape, starting with my destroying the Slytherin common room and ending with McGonagall's valiant rescue. Hermione listens intently, even laughing quite loudly at some points, particularly the lie I told McGonagall to escape Snape. When I finish, all she says is, "That explains so much."

"I don't think I'd be here now if McGonagall hadn't arrived and saved me."

We spend the next few minutes discussing Umbridge. It seems we both hate her, which she finds surprising because most of the Slytherins are fine with the pink-obsessed professor. When Professor Vector calls for silence, we turn our attention to taking notes.