Many thanks to violeteyes for being a great beta!

____________________________

“Charlotte Marquet!� Professor McGonagall calls. I take a deep breath, put my hands at my sides, and walk forward to the stool. Hesitantly I sit down, taking care not to stumble on my robes. Professor McGonagall places the Sorting Hat on my head. I hear a loud voice inside my skull.

“Hmmm…well now, what have we here? I see intelligence…hmm…let’s see, not the most loyal person out there, are you?� I hear a snide voice inside my head. Was it the Hat? “Oh my, that’s quite a lot of ambition to find in a child…no qualms about what you’d have to do to get what you want, eh? SLYTHERIN!� The Hat had whispered the last few words, so I am shocked by the sudden outburst. I can scarcely hear the loud clapping. There is another matter troubling me: Which table is the Slytherin table? I peek at the robes of the students at each table, and decide it to be the one in the corner; the table that also seems to be clapping the most. I sit down at the far end, far away from everyone. I hope no one will sit next to me. My heart finally slows down, and I am calm enough to turn my attention to the Sorting.

“Harry Potter!� The room erupts in whispers and pointing. I wonder why they’re whispering. Just who is this Harry Potter? The Sorting Hat takes a much longer time with Harry Potter than it had with anyone else. Finally, it shouts out, “GRYFFINDOR!�

The clapping is vociferous. Slowly, it subsides and Professor McGonagall calls out another name. I sink into my mind and wonder about tomorrow. I am excited, no doubt about that, but nervous. What if I can’t do anything? But no, the school wouldn’t have sent for me if I wasn’t a real witch. Strangely, though, I come from two non-magical parents and nobody in my family is magical, at least, as far as I know. It was certainly a shock to my mother when my letter came, and she was very reluctant about letting me come to Hogwarts. I had never been away from her before, and boarding school would be a very big change. It took a lot of convincing on my part to get her to let me go. She agreed, although I was to write her every other day, to let her know how I was doing.

Suddenly, I look up to see food on the table! I don’t understand—how did it get there? Oh well—this is a magical world after all! I start to load up my plate, but stop. I am always forgetting to watch my diet. A person with diabetes can’t eat as much as they want to. I take small portions of everything, and even though I want to eat more, I stop. If I want any dessert, I would have to stop. So, while everyone else enjoys the main course, I look at the teachers. I don’t know any of them, of course, except for the witch who had just introduced herself during the Sorting as Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, who had visited my mother and I in the summer to take us to Diagon Alley. I soon grow bored, and long for a book, but they are all in my trunk (which I assume had been brought up to my bedroom, since I had seen no fellow students carrying luggage), so I keep looking around.

I notice that the Harry Potter boy is sitting between two red-haired people, who are talking animatedly. I sigh. I choose not to have friends, but at times I lament that decision. But friends are nothing but a waste of time, a setback. Besides, I can never gather enough courage to actually speak to anyone.

Dessert appears a little later; I choose one thing and eat half of it. It is torture, but I have no other choice. Once again, I have to wait until everyone finishes. Once they do, the “Prefects� as they are called, lead us to our bedrooms. We are led down to the dungeons. The Prefect speaks the password, “Naga�, and a stone door that had been hidden in the wall slides open. The room is dark and damp, and has not the smallest trace of warmth, except for the fireplace in the center.

“This,� the Prefect says arrogantly. “is the Slytherin common room. The girls’ dormitories are up the stairs on the right, and the boys’ are up the stairs to the left.� I walk around, exploring the room. I will definitely not be spending my time here. I go up to the dormitory the Prefect pointed out, and find three other girls there. None of them are very pretty, except for one with short black hair, and even she isn’t pretty; simply plain.

My trunk is at the foot of the four-poster bed next to the window. I open it and pull out my robes, socks, and shoes and place them on top of the trunk so they could be ready for tomorrow. Then, I pull the curtains around me, take out a book and read until I can no longer keep my eyelids open. I place the book on my nightstand and go to sleep.

***

Somehow, I wake up right on time, according to my watch. I guess there must be some sort of silent magical alarm or something. I quickly go to the bathroom, while the others in the dorm are stretching, and then get dressed.

I go down to breakfast by myself. Not everyone is there; people are still filing in, however the food is already on the table, awaiting someone to come and hungrily devour it. I do just that, eagerly eating my toast and porridge. As soon as I finish eating, I hear someone say, “Keep eating like that and you’ll soon become a pig.�

I look up into the eyes of a blond boy with pale skin and cold gray eyes.

“And that would be such a shame for someone as pretty as you.� I want to just ignore him, really I do, but for some reason a voice inside me screams, “Fight back!� So I do. Well, it isn’t much of a fight, or even a comeback. I have never been good at those. I take things logically.

“Did you just insult me and compliment me at the same time?� I ask.

“Looks like it,� he shrugs, “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way. You are…?�

I hesitate for a second, thinking about his strange name, and finally deciding that all wizards must have strange names, since I’d heard quite a few yesterday at the Sorting, I say, “I’m Charlotte Marquet.�

“Mm. Your parents?� he questions in a bored tone.

“What about them?� I ask.

“Their names?� he clarifies somewhat impatiently. I narrow my eyes.

“Since when does someone get to know another by asking their parents’ names? What are you up to?� I reply suspiciously.

“Straightforward, aren’t you?� he smirks. “So, who are your parents, Marquet?�

“Clarisse and Thomas Marquet,� I answer, still a bit confused. He frowns slightly, pondering something, it looks like.

“I’ve never heard of them. What do they do?� Draco inquired.

“Well, my father’s is dead, and my mother is a housewife.� The questions are really beginning to get on my nerves, but I answer him once more, only to be followed with another question.

“How do you live without money?�

“We live on Social Security.� Honestly, doesn’t the boy know anything?

“Social what?� he asks, as if he heard wrong.

“Social Security. It’s sort of similar to life insurance, you know?� His look remains blank as ever. I am lost. Don’t wizards have Social Security? “The point is, we have enough to get by.�

“I take it that ‘Social Security’ means your parents are Muggles?� he asks distastefully. I grimace. Muggles?

“What are Muggles?� I inquire.

“Yep, that says it all,� he snorts. “Muggles are non-magical people. You know, they’re not witches or wizards.�

“Oh, yeah, I’m the first witch in my family,� I inform him. Just as he’s about say something back, a loud flapping noise interrupts him and causes him to look up. I do so as well. My interrogation ends as hundreds of brown and black owls swoosh down, with letters in their beaks or tied to their legs. Draco Malfoy’s large owl drops a large package in his hands, which turns out to be cake. I myself had wanted an owl, for I love birds of all kinds, but my mother refused to ‘waste money on something so ugly and dispensable.’

A little while after the owl chaos, I receive my schedule. Today, Monday, I have double Transfiguration, then Herbology, then lunch. After that I have double Charms and History of Magic.

Professor McGonagall is very strict. I like her already; how she controls her class with a glance or a gesture. It is a basic introduction today, explaining she plans to do with us in class, and then she makes us take notes. Herbology is alright, but I was never much interested in flowers. After lunch, it’s Charms. Professor Flitwick is very funny, and I like him right away as well. Even though his class doesn’t have the strict, controlled atmosphere of Professor McGonagall’s, it’s fun. History of Magic is taught by a ghost, which makes me laugh at simplicity of it. His voice is really boring, though, and the atmosphere of his class only encourages sleep.

Throughout the rest of the week I experience the rest of my subjects. I really like Astronomy, for I have always been fascinated with the Solar System, only here we are taught things about the planets and their moons in more detail that I had ever taken. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, stutters more than he speaks. The students all make fun of him and I dislike him for his lack of control. And last of all, I have the professor and class that interest me the most: Potions with Professor Snape.

Professor Snape keeps the class as controlled as Professor McGonagall, but where McGonagall inspires respect, Snape inspires fear. He goes around biting at everyone, except at those in his own House (I had learned quickly from Draco Malfoy who the Heads of the Houses were), and is completely unfair. He seems not to worry about falling into trouble because of his unjust treatment to the students and does things his own way.

I have been extremely careful and precise in my potion, wanting to receive a compliment from the stern Snape. I get what I want and, in my opinion, deserve.

“Excellent work, Miss Marquet,� drawls Professor Snape as he passes by. “Ten points to Slytherin.� I can see the jealous yet gleeful faces of my fellow Slytherins and the furious faces of the Gryffindors. I feel a certain pride overtake me, and I allow a small smile to grace my face.

Later at dinner, I think about my achievement in Potions and pick at the amounts of food my illness will allow me to eat, and chew slowly, savoring each bite, wondering about tomorrow. I’ve already gotten to like Hogwarts more than I had expected. The school has a certain aura about it, an atmosphere of coziness. The air seems to be saturated with magic, and that alone seems to be enough to cheer a person up.

I'd like to thank my beta, violeteyes, for her great work!

________________________

They say the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. The monster inside slithers around, petrifying Muggle-borns and half-bloods that are wandering the halls. I don’t want to admit that I’m scared, but I am. I’m one of those Muggle-borns wandering around.

***

There’s talk. They say that Hogwarts might close. I don’t like to listen to this. I don’t want to think about what would happen to me if the school closes. I would go back to living as a Muggle, which would be impossible with my knowledge of the magical world.

Classes go on as usual, except now more security measures are being taken. For example, teachers now have to take us from class to class; no more walking alone in the hallways. Everybody’s nerves are stressed, including mine.

***

I don’t know much about this “Chamber of Secrets.� I don’t know who to ask except Draco Malfoy, who has come to tolerate me. In his words, I’m a Muggle-born, but I’m still a Slytherin, and he says he spares his pride by not informing anyone of my blood status. Indeed, it is only Draco who knows of my Muggle heritage. He has warned me that revealing such a matter would have me ostracized, so I chose to avoid such troubles.

“Well,� starts Draco, munching on an apple. “My father has told me that the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago. But that time, a Mudblood died. Personally, I hope it’s Granger.� He sticks his two front teeth out, raises his hand, and jumps up and down.

I have no idea what he has against Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. From what I can see, they have never done anything to him. It’s usually Draco who provokes them.

“Does this chamber open by itself or does someone have to open it?� I ask.

“Only the Heir of Slytherin can control the beast inside,� Draco replies matter-of-factly.

“Some people think Harry Potter is the heir of Slytherin,� I dare to say.

Draco snorts. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Saint Potter, the Heir of Slytherin?�

“Who is it then?�

“I don’t know. I wish I did, though.� He takes another bite of his apple. “I could help them,� he says with a full mouth.

“Well, who opened the Chamber the last time?� I ask impatiently.

“Dunno,� he answers. “But whoever it was got expelled. I expect they’re still in Azkaban.�

“What’s Azkaban?� I ask, confused.

“Wizard prison,� he says promptly.

Suddenly, we hear Professor McGonagall’s magically magnified voice say, “All students return to their House common rooms at once. All teachers to the staff room. Immediately, please.�

“Has there been another attack?� I ask, startled.

“Probably,� says Draco calmly, still eating his apple.

“Professor McGonagall sounded really, really serious, though,� I say worriedly.

“Doesn’t she always?�

About ten minutes later, Professor Snape walks into the Slytherin common room. “Am I to assume everyone is here?� he says with raised eyebrows.

I nod along with Draco and everyone else.

“Is this about Professor McGonagall’s announcement?� I inquire.

Professor Snape looks at me. “Yes, it is.� He looks around. “A girl has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets," he announces. Gasps fill the room.

“Who?� A first-year girl asks.

“Ginny Weasley.�

“Ha,� Draco whispers softly.

“But that Weasley girl is a pureblood,� says Pansy Parkinson, a dark-haired girl who shares my dormitory.

“Are we to question the actions of a deranged murderer? Furthermore,� he continues softly, “this means that Hogwarts will indeed be closed. The Hogwarts Express will take you home tomorrow morning, so I suggest you start packing.� With that, he turns and leaves.

I feel as if something is stuck in my throat. I am finding it hard to breathe properly. Everyone around me is shocked as well; people talking in loud voices, disbelievingly. I walk slowly up to my dormitory, leaving the racket below. I sit slowly down on my bed, looking at my trunk. There is really nothing that needs to be packed. Whenever I take something out of my trunk, I always put it back where it belongs. But even if I did have to pack, I don’t think I could have faced it. I am not going to close my trunk or change into pajamas. I am going to stay up till morning. Something will happen. I know it. Something has to happen. Hogwarts cannot close.

***

At about two or so in the morning, we are called down for a feast. At first I think it is sort of a farewell feast, but when I see Dumbledore at his usual place at the staff table, along with all the other teachers, looking down on us happily, I know something wonderful has happened. Dumbledore explains about Tom Riddle’s diary, how it had possessed Ginny Weasley, and how Harry Potter had fought the Basilisk and rescued Ginny. I cheer alongside the others. However, Harry’s little heroic adventure earned him and Ron Weasley four hundred points for Gryffindor. They win the House Cup for the second year in a row.

Thanks to my beta, violeteyes!

_________________________

To me, an escaped wizard convict is no different than a Muggle one. They are both supposedly crazy, have supposedly murdered in cold blood, and are supposedly out to murder again. Who knows? Maybe a ruthless convict is really an innocent victim who wants to escape unjust imprisonment. But everybody seems so sure about Sirius Black that I can’t help but think they’re right.

Posters of him are all over the place, offering a 10,000-galleon reward to anyone who manages to catch him. He allegedly killed thirteen people with one blow, in front of plenty of eye witnesses. I suppose there’s no way out of something like that. How can he possibly have been framed?

Nonetheless, his capture would be of no difference to me whatsoever. So I shove Sirius Black out of my mind, indifferently picking up a Charms essay to work on.

***

Draco is practically jumping up and down with happiness. The hippogriff that belongs to Professor Hagrid had hurt him at the start of the semester. Of course, being Draco, he couldn’t let that go and admit he had made a stupid mistake by insulting the beast. His father was called in, and somehow a decision was made that the poor creature would have to be executed.

Draco is being very arrogant about it, in my opinion. He’s mocking Professor Hagrid whenever he gets the chance. I don’t care. Although sometimes inklings of sympathy within me reach out to the huge man, I must admit a small, microscopic part of me occasionally enjoys the teasing and the laughter at his expense. I’m afraid Draco might have rubbed off on me.

Speaking of Draco, last night he was seething. Apparently Hermione Granger, or as Draco had said “that filthy Mudblood,� had slapped him across the face. He’s been muttering and cursing under his breath ever since. Quite amusing, actually.

***

It’s scandalous. Sirius Black had been captured, locked up in the North Tower, and a while later he disappeared. It’s a complete mystery to everyone as to how he managed to escape, since the door only opens from the outside. Not only that, but Buckbeak, Hagrid’s hippogriff, also managed to escape. Draco keeps complaining about that, too. Honestly, sometimes it’s too tiring to listen to him bad-mouth everyone. It gets tedious after a while.

For some reason, Professor Snape’s mood is at an all-time low. He’s been treating Potter, Granger, and Weasley with as much foulness as he can muster. It’s obvious to everyone that his hatred for Potter has definitely escalated in the last few weeks. I wonder what happened to cause that elevation, though.

_________________________________________________________________________


My fourth year at Hogwarts starts rationally enough, and I do not expect anything to make this year any different from its counterparts. However, I am shocked when Professor Dumbledore announces that an event known as “the Triwizard Tournament� is going to take place at Hogwarts this year. After Dumbledore is done explaining what this Tournament is, he mentions that the two other schools that are going to compete will arrive sometime in October. I have half a mind to compete. It’s not hard to imagine: standing there with the winning trophy in my hands, basking in glory… it’s not a terrible option to consider. However, this thought is unpleasantly driven out of my mind by Dumbledore’s next words: “Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – are eligible to compete.�

Many protesting voices rise, and Dumbledore raises his as well, assuring that this is only for safety of the younger students. I stare at him in disgust. Nobody here is that young – most of us can fend for ourselves. It should be our choice whether we enter or not, our responsibility to know our own limits.

***

The other two schools, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic from France and Durmstrang Institute from somewhere in the far North, have arrived. The students from Beauxbatons appear dainty and underfed. The latter look quite the opposite, with husky figures and strong voices. Draco is sucking up to Viktor Krum, a Durmstrang Quidditch player who is apparently very famous.

As soon as the judge, who will choose only one champion from each school, is recognized, the entrees begin. This judge happens to be a small chalice that devours added parchments in blue fire. To ensure that no one underage inserts their name, Dumbledore has added an Age Line around the Goblet.

The night of the judging, everyone is apprehensive. The air is saturated with the unease and anxiety of hopeful volunteers and supporters of those volunteers. Dumbledore seats himself in front of the Goblet and grabs the piece of parchment that the Goblet ‘spits’ out.

“Fleur Delacour,� he reads carefully. A girl from Beauxbatons stands up and struts to the door beside the staff table, for that is where the school Champions are to go when they are chosen – to receive their first task, perhaps? A second name is emanated from the strange blue chalice.

Again, Dumbledore reads the name cautiously, as if afraid to mispronounce a single letter. “Viktor Krum.�

The boy Draco has been sucking up to is modest about his choosing. He calmly follows Fleur’s path to the door. The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff table explodes with cheers. The Slytherins’ heads droop like wilted flowers. Someone from our House had entered, but I did not care, nor did I cheer for anyone. If I couldn’t enter, I really couldn’t be happy for anyone else that could.

Just as we turn away from Dumbledore, the Goblet unearths another piece of parchment. I squint my eyes in puzzlement, along with most everyone else. With a sense of impending dread and doom, Dumbledore reads out the lettering on the parchment. “Harry Potter.� It seems that whenever Harry Potter is in the vicinity, amazing things occur with no rational motive.

The Great Hall is dead silent. There is no cheering or booing. Just nothing, merely the emptiness that is always present after shock. Harry Potter is told to walk through the door the other Champions have walked through as well. After Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape disappear after him, the Hall erupts into stunned whispers and protesting yells.

***

Harry Potter, whether against or by his will, I do not know, is Hogwarts Champion along with Cedric Diggory. The other schools are, of course, furious about this unfair situation, but I assume there is nothing they can do about it. Strangely, the other Houses are also furious at Potter, especially Hufflepuff. You would think they would at least be happy that our school has a higher chance of winning.

The months pass, and the Champions pass the first task with flying colors. Stealing an egg from a dragon – certainly not the equivalent of stealing candy from a baby.

A while after the first task, news spreads about a “Yule Ball.� So this is what use our dress robes will be put to. I had been slightly perturbed when the school had requested dress robes along with the school uniform.

I wonder if I should ask someone, or wait until someone asks me. I don’t want to wait too long. I’m not arrogant; I know I am not the prettiest, nor the most popular girl in our school, so my chances of getting asked are not high. However, there is no one in particular I would like to ask.

I am in luck, though. A boy in my year, Theodore Nott, confidently asks me. I have never had any run-ins with Theodore, nor have I ever spoken to him on more than one occasion, but I don’t refuse the offer. What good would it do?

On the night of the dance, I am in my dress robes of dark purple. I have left my wavy hair untied and let it flow to my waist. I have held back a strand with a lavender barrette.

Theodore is dressed in navy blue, and his long hair is brushed back and tied neatly with a matching ribbon. He looks undeniably handsome.

The Ball is, however, uneventful. Theodore and I dance a number of times. His chatter is intriguing, and I find myself more inclined to speak to him then ever to Draco. Theodore is quite charismatic – his company isn’t unpleasant.

Theodore bids me goodnight with a light kiss – very succinct – and a hesitant smile. I smile back briefly, and head up to my dormitory.

***

The end of the third task is chaotic. Harry Potter has just popped out of the maze that is the third task, clutching Cedric Diggory’s dead body in his arms. Dumbledore approaches him and pries Cedric out of his hands. Then Professor Moody, a weirdo if I ever saw one, takes him away from the tumultuous atmosphere.

The next day, Dumbledore makes a speech about the return of Voldemort. As soon as he says the name, people gasp. I look up sharply as this happens. “Voldemort…� I whisper to myself. Draco hears me.

“The darkest, most evil wizard who ever lived, Charlotte,� Draco says condescendingly.

“I know who he is, Draco,� I reply scathingly. “I’m not that ignorant.� He shrugs indifferently and turns away.

In fact, Voldemort had been occupying my mind for quite some time… I am not yet sure what my brain is thinking of in regards to him, though. Or rather, I can’t bring myself to admit towards what path my thoughts are straying.

Kudos to violeteyes for her help!

_____________________________

“Charlotte Rose Marquet, you had better get down here right now!� I hear my mother scream. At first I think I am dreaming, but then I realize her voice is very real. I hurriedly untangle myself from my bed sheets and groggily put on my rectangular glasses. The oversized shirt I am wearing is somehow stuffed inside my shorts, and my tousled black hair, which is now past my waist, is all over my face.

I splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I haven’t any time to change my clothes, for my mother is yelling for me again. I descend the stairs, expecting the worst. My mother is in an apron, holding a large square envelope in her hand.

“An owl just flew in and knocked over my cooking!� she shrieks. “I am tired of these bloody owls flying in every summer!� I calmly approach her and snatch the envelope from her hand.

“Calm down, Mother,� I snap. “It’s only once a month every year. I’ll clean up the mess, if you’d like.�

My mother glares at me. “While you’re at it, make your own breakfast and your brother’s, as well,� she says, and marches off to the one other room in our tiny apartment, slamming the door behind her so hard that my brother Joey’s chair trembles a bit. I quickly steady it and look at my brother. He is gazing at me innocently with hazel eyes, exact replicas of mine. I muss his mop of wavy dark hair and give him a peck on the cheek.

“Why does Mommy always get so angry, Joey?� I ask my brother. He shrugs his shoulders in response.

I sigh and turn to the envelope that has caused so much commotion. My heart pounds as I examine it. Of course, my O.W.L. results! I take a deep breath and unfold the parchment.


Astronomy E
____________________________________________
Care of Magical Creatures A
____________________________________________
Charms E
____________________________________________
Defense Against the Dark Arts E
____________________________________________
Divination D
____________________________________________
Herbology E
____________________________________________
History of Magic P
____________________________________________
Potions O
____________________________________________
Transfiguration A
____________________________________________



I let myself breath. I had done well; very well. I place my letter on the kitchen table, pick up a wet cloth, and get to cleaning the mess on the floor.

***

I stiffly hug my mother before boarding the Hogwarts train to my sixth year in Hogwarts.

“Bye-bye, Salt,� my brother says. He’s six years old, and even without his speech impediment, I doubt he would be able to pronounce a name like “Charlotte� properly.

“Bye-bye, Joey.� I kneel and give him a hug. He kisses me sloppily on the cheek. I say good-bye to my mother one final time, and get on the train. I see Draco soon enough.

“Hello, Charlotte,� he greets me. “How was your summer?� Before I can answer, he is speaking again. “I’ve got to go to the Prefects’ compartment, but I should be seeing you soon.� He grins. I know how pleased he is to have been made Prefect.

“All right.�

He nods. “I’ve got to patrol and such, so I’ll see you later.� He walks past me. Next I see Pansy Parkinson. She opens her mouth to speak, but I walk past her hurriedly. She and I don’t like each other, and I have no desire to be anywhere near her; it’s bad enough we share a dormitory. I find an empty compartment soon enough.

As promised, Draco later joins me. Unfortunately, with him he brings Pansy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Blaise Zabini. They chatter on and on – they talk about school, and about Slughorn’s interest in Zabini, whom he had called to his compartment, along with a few other students, for a chat. The conversation eventually turns to the purity of blood. Draco glances at me a few times, but never says anything. Nobody knows about my parentage – nobody knows I’m Muggle-born, and Draco hasn’t said anything yet. However, the question is bound to come up sooner or later.

Draco’s head lies in Pansy’s lap. She strokes his hair slowly, and smiles smugly at me every minute or so, as if I should somehow be jealous. Draco himself is also looking quite pleased. I find myself growing bored of their conversation, so I look out the window for a while, focusing on the scenery outside. It is only when Draco says something very suspicious that I look up.

“I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?�

I look at Draco curiously, along with everyone else in the compartment. Pansy looks annoyed, and stops stroking Draco’s hair.

“What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?� she says irritably.

“Well, you never know,� says Draco, smirking slightly. “I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things.�

“Do you mean – Him?�

I stare at Draco expectantly, awaiting an answer to Pansy’s question. He doesn’t meet my eyes, though, and only stares at the ceiling and shrugs nonchalantly. For some reason I feel jumpy, as if something is about to happen and I can’t control it. I feel danger.

“You think you’ll be able to assist the Dark Lord somehow?� I ask slowly. “You, a sixteen-year-old boy?�

“Maybe what he wants me to do doesn’t require me to be any older.�

I raise my eyebrows and stare curiously at Draco, who’s looking at me very seriously now. His expression gets rid of any doubts I had about him being truthful. We continued staring at each other a little longer, but Draco did not say anything more. *

***

After the feast, Professor Dumbledore stands to make his customary speech, which I don’t pay attention to, until he utters a single sentence: “– welcome Professor Slughorn, who will be teaching Potions.� My head shoots up. Potions? I am not the only one who is shocked. The entire hall has erupted in mutterings and mumblings.

“Professor Snape,� Dumbledore continues, “shall teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.� My eyes widen in surprise. What could have caused this strange turn of events? It is widely known that Professor Snape covets the Dark Arts job – but it is also known that Dumbledore refused him every time he applied. So why accept now? The rest of Dumbledore’s speech stresses how we must follow all rules and be extremely careful and vigilant, now that Voldemort is back. As he speaks, I allow my mind to wander off. I have lately been thinking about the war; how it will end and who will end it. I wonder if Voldemort takes only pure-bloods…

***

After breakfast the next morning, the Heads of the Houses are in a slightly hectic situation, handing out the schedules.

“Didn’t do so well, did we Crabbe?� I hear Professor Snape’s voice behind me. “I’m afraid the only subjects you’re cleared for are Charms and Care of Magical Creatures.� Professor Snape looks down at Crabbe. “Not much of a career, I’m afraid,� he says nastily, and hands Crabbe his schedule. Crabbe takes the schedule and walks off, hanging his head.

I’m next. I move closer to him, and look at my schedule.

“Well, Miss Marquet, you’ve been cleared for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, and Potions.�

I nod and brusquely head off to Herbology, my first class.

***

Draco has been acting strangely for a while now. He spends less time with me than is customary for us, and his usual appearance has clearly changed. His hair, which he was always so keen to style perfectly, is now always disheveled and matted to his head. His eyes have become empty and sunken; his cheekbones deep and hollow. To say that he has lost weight is an understatement. He remains missing for long periods of time, which is odd, since his usual haven is the Slytherin common room.

Late on a Saturday evening, when the common room is empty except for me, Draco walks in. He stops when he sees me sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, calmly watching him.

“What are you doing up so late, Charlotte?� he starts slowly.

“I think that question is more appropriate directed towards you.� I snap my book shut and stand up. It’s not an attempt to look intimidating, for Draco is much taller than I will ever be, but merely a way to fool myself into thinking I have the upper hand.

Draco walks past me and falls into the armchair I had been seated in. I bite my tongue to refrain from raising my voice to him. Despite Draco’s arrogance, he is still one of the only people at Hogwarts who I feel is my friend, and I worry about him even though I try not to.

I approach him and sit in the armchair beside him. “Draco…� I start, hesitant as to what to say to him. “You’ve been acting very strangely for quite a while now. And look at you! You look practically dead.�

Draco looks at me appraisingly, waves his arm and opens his mouth as if he is about to speak, but then looks away without uttering a single syllable. “Good-night, Charlotte.�

He stands up and makes for the boys’ dormitory. I reach out quickly and grab his left arm in an effort to prevent him from leaving. He reacts less than pleasantly, and snatches his arm away with a look of utter fury on his face. With his impulsive gesture, however, he had pulled his arm upwards, allowing the sleeve of his robe to fall and reveal an ugly green mark on his forearm.

I immediately recognize the Dark Mark that is branded onto the Dark Lord’s followers. My hand freezes in mid-air, and I continue to stare at the mark. I slowly take my eyes away from it and transfer my gaze to Draco’s face, which is looking quite forlorn.

“You’re a…Death Eater?� It somehow seems painfully obvious – with everyone stressing the Dark Lord’s return, Draco’s father’s past, and the way he has been acting recently, I should have guessed that this was the case a long time ago.

“Charlotte…you can’t tell anyone,� Draco pleads. He looks more desperate than I have ever seen him. His eyes have taken on the frantic appearance of a crazed convict about to be imprisoned.

I go over this slowly in my mind, very quickly coming to a decision that I had been slaving over for months. Draco’s alliance with the Dark Lord is very useful to me. He could really help me.

“I won’t tell anyone,� I start, carefully calculating my words.

For a minute he looks relieved, but the frenzied look returns once he realizes I have more to say. “What is it?�

“I know this will sound odd to you, but I want you to help me become a Death Eater.� I have never said it out loud before – hearing myself state it so implicitly stuns me momentarily. However, it has clearly shocked Draco to his core.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?� he whispers in an urgent tone. “Have you lost your mind?�

“I know perfectly well what I’m saying and what I want.�

Draco runs both hands through his hair and looks at me disbelievingly. “No, I don’t think you do. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t – it’s not a game. I can’t believe you’re even thinking about this!�

“Don’t treat me like a child,� I say coldly. “Just because you’re too much of a coward to appreciate your position doesn’t mean that I will also be.�

Draco staggers backwards. I don’t have time to consider the fact that I might have hurt his pride with my words, because in that instant, Draco frigidly says, “I’ll try to inform the Dark Lord as soon as possible.� Without another word, he turns around and heads straight for his dormitory.

I lean back in the armchair, gazing at the fire that is crackling merrily and totally oblivious to the feud that has just occurred right in front of it. I don’t allow myself to feel guilty over what I said to Draco – guilt is a waste of energy. I ponder only what I have just asked him to do for me. It is something I had thought I wanted for a long time…but I can’t help but think that Draco is right; I acted too impulsively, as a child might. However, I ruthlessly shove those shameful thoughts from my mind and resolutely walk to my dormitory to sleep on what has just happened. Maybe tomorrow it would make more sense.

____________________________________

* Dialogue taken from HBP, pages 151-152, altered to suit the purposes of this story.