Black [1]

Chapter 60

That night, after tuition with Neville (I was helping him out with some extra practice for the DA and going through some potions after), I can't sleep. It's not tossing and turning like I do sometimes, not having Oreo's and sometimes Crookshanks' company, but rather just staring at the ceiling. I could pull out Sirius' diary, but I don't.

Fred and George's words ring out in my head, repeating themselves. "I can guarantee you'd be great. Trust yourself. We have more faith in you than you have in yourself." And the relief behind Fred's words afterwards. "You're smiling again."

I wasn't that bad, was I? I remember all the questions that I got, how people worried about me, asking me if I was alright. How when I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognise the pale girl looking back at me. Even Snape knew something was wrong, but he didn't have to go as far as to ban me from the classes that I rely on.

I do it myself. I close my eyes, reel in all my thoughts and emotions, form a faux layer and let the rest of my mind go blank. I can't afford to give in, no matter how the people around me act. I don't expect them to understand, not knowing what's truly at stake. And Snape... I expected him to understand. He knows what I'm going through, what I need to do. He's done it himself, to a limit. But to stop my classes? My learning of the thing that just might stop Voldemort killing me on sight?

This isn't fair. No one would understand. Not even Sirius. But Marlene would. Snape may have been her friend, but he didn't know everything about her. He couldn't have. She would agree with me, tell me that I need to keep working hard to save everyone. It doesn't matter what they think of me, as long as I save their lives.

I want to cry, but I don't. I can't. It wouldn't accomplish a single thing.

*

After sorting out the necessary things, including talking to Angelina (who was delighted yet skeptical when she realised I've never been on a broomstick on my own, always having evaded Madam Hooch's lessons back in first year), I had a short conversation with Ron. It didn't go as awkwardly as I'd thought, which relieved me. The only problem is Aiden.

"Did you hear? Umbridge is interrogating everyone, trying to find out what we're up to. She knows something's going on under her nose, and she's getting more and more mad about it. I don't think Dumbledore will be able to keep her under control soon enough."

"Mhm," I hum in response, not really listening, my mind on other things. I glance at my watch, then say, "Hey, uh... I've got another Potions class with Snape, so I'm just going to disappear. Tell Fred not to bother waiting up for me if you see him. Thanks." He glances at me before nodding, not finding anything strange in my alibi.

I use the chance to sneak away, heading down towards the changing rooms and hurriedly grabbing the uniform Angelina left for me. I specifically told her that I'm not making any promises and that she's not to speak to anyone about this, not even the others on the team. I don't need the news spreading, and it's stupid enough that I'm doing this amongst all my other troubles. I guess I'm just doing it for the twins.

I head outside with Angelina's Comet Two-Ninety, meeting with Ron on the Quidditch pitch. We made sure to organise a time where no one would be out, although it doesn't give us much practice time. "You ready?" Ron asks me nervously, dragging the box of Quidditch balls behind him.

"No," I admit. "You?" He shakes his head. "Good. Always start something before you're ready, else you'll be waiting forever. My batty old maths teacher used to say that before giving us the most difficult puzzles I've ever known. Come on, what do we do first?"

"We'll start right from the beginning," he tells me, placing his broom on the ground and gesturing for me to do the same, remembering I know nothing about brooms. "Okay. Er... Hold your hand over it and say 'up' in a firm voice. Make sure to be ready to protect your face in case it whacks you." He blushes a little as he says that, and I get the idea that he knows first-hand. I do just that, and the broom goes rushing to my palm, making it sting slightly.