Two Souls

Chapter Fifty Six

     I left the next morning to return to Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley had invited me to spend the holidays at the Burrow with her family and Harry, but I couldn't accept without feeling like an unwanted burden. After all, I was still the Slytherin girl who couldn't be trusted. No matter how many times I could prove myself, my house put a target on my back.

Christmas at Hogwarts was the most uneventful one yet — many of the Slytherins had stayed behind, however, so I had many familiar faces to interact with. Soon enough, classes resumed and everyone was back in Hogwarts.

"Impossible," Draco mutters, holding a copy of The Daily Prophet in his hands tightly.

"What is it?" I ask him curiously, taking a bite of my toast and peering over to look.

Draco holds the newspaper to his chest so that I cannot read it. "None of your business, Grey."

Rolling my eyes, I turn to Blair who has a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Do you know what the big deal is?" I ask her impatiently.

Blair nods. "Oh yes. There was an Azkaban breakout last night," She says apathetically.

"So that's why you're happy," I snap at Draco. "You realize that a load of criminals were released?"

"One of those criminals you're talking about happens to be my Aunt," Draco snaps. "And I'm not happy about it. They may be family, but they deserved their Azkaban sentences."

"Did you hear?" Daphne asks, sitting down.

"That ten Death Eaters escapes Azkaban? We're reading about it right now," I tell her.

Daphne wrinkles her nose. "No, Hagrid's on probation. I hope we have Professor Grubbly-Plank teach us again. I don't know how much more I can handle of Hagrid's lessons."

Draco snaps his head. "The stupid oaf is on probation?" He snorts. "It's about time."

"Cut it out, Draco," I snap. "Hagrid is a good man."

The topic of Hagrid's probational status was nothing compared to the Azkaban breakout. It was now quite common to come across teachers conversing quietly amongst themselves in the hallways and then abruptly stopping when a student approached — they couldn't use the staff room to approach with Umbridge in Hogwarts.

Speaking of Umbridge, her newest decree was the subject of laughter.

Educational Decree 26: Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they're paid to teach.

Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that she can't tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snaps in the back of her class. "Exploding Snaps has nothing to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!" He had said one day.

"Grey!" Draco yells at me from across the corridor one day, storming up to me with angry grey eyes. "Did you see what Potter told The Quibbler about our parents?" He asks me angrily.

"Er — what?" I ask, feeling worried.

"See for yourself!" He says, shoving a copy roughly in my face. "Told Skeeter both our parents are Death Eaters. Same with Crabbe and Goyle."

My heart aches. Harry wouldn't do that. He doesn't even know my parents. They aren't Death Eaters.

******

The following week ever since Harry publicly accused my parents of being Death Eaters was hell. Everyone except for the Slytherins seemed to be terrified of me. I thought I had Harry, Ron, and Hermione back as my friends since I told them about the attack, but I was clearly wrong.

"This is ridiculous!" I cry, as a pair of second year Ravenclaws squeal and sprint away from me after dinner.

"You have to talk to Harry. Tell him to come forward and admit he was lying during the interview," Blair tells me softly. "Sure, he was probably correct about some of the Death Eaters, but he just guessed on the rest. This is damaging to everyone's reputation."

I sigh. "You know I can't. I won't be able to even get into the Gryffindor common room without getting punched," I tell Blair.

She sighs. "So . . . did you ever tell Draco about that prophecy I mentioned to  you?"

My eyes snap to her. "No, I completely forgot about that. Do you think I should tell him?"

Blair shrugs. "It's up to you. I think you should."

The two of us go to the Slytherin common room. The common room is one of my only places of comfort nowadays. The Slytherins are either children of the Death Eaters that Harry had accused of understanding of the fact that we aren't our parents.

That night, I toss around restlessly in my bed before I fade into another vision.

I stand in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. My hands clench on the back of a chair in front of me. My hands are long-fingered and white as though they have not seen sunlight for years and look like large, pale spiders against the dark velvet of the chair.

Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, kneels a man in black robes.

"I have been badly advised, it seems," I say, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger.

"Master, I crave your pardon. . . ." A man croaks whilst kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmers in the candlelight. He seems to be trembling.

"I do not blame you, Rookwood," I say in that cold, cruel voice.

I relinquish my grip upon the chair and walk around it, closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until he stood directly over him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual.

"You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?"

"Yes, My Lord, yes . . . I used to work in the department after — after all. . . ."

"Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it."

"Bode could never have taken it, Master. . . . Bode would have known he could not. . . . Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse. . . ."

"Stand up, Rookwood," I whisper.

The kneeling man almost falls over in his haste to obey. His face is pockmarked; the scars are thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remains a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darts terrified looks up at my face.

"You have done well to tell me this," I say. "Very well . . . I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems. . . . But no matter . . . We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood. . . ."

"My Lord . . . yes, My Lord," Rookwood gasps, his voice hoarse with relief.

"I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me."

"Of course, My Lord, of course . . . anything . . ."

"Very well . . . you may go. Send Avery to me."

Rookwood scurries backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door.

Left alone in the dark room, I turn toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hangs on the wall in the shadows. I move toward it.  My reflection grows larger and clearer in the darkness. . . . A face whiter than a skull . . . red eyes with slits for pupils . . .

I am Lord Voldemort.

—
So someone in my school tested positive for Covid. I hope I'm okay since I only talk to the same 3 people haha.

The last section of this chapter is taken from Harry Potter Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 26 "Seen and Unforseen," Pages 584-585.