“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.