Therefore, I Dance

Chapter 4

Luckily, the day I had skipped classes was a weekend, which I found out later when I eventually decided to come out. No one had missed me. No one had noticed that I was gone. Sadly, I was beginning to get used to this. I knew it wasn't something that anyone else dealt with, especially Harry Potter. I hadn't heard much about Harry Potter. I was always away, as if in a different world. I wouldn't say that I fancied him, I simply admired him, because, although he was once alone, which caused You-Know-Who's downfall, he wasn't anymore. It gave me a little hope that maybe someday, I wouldn't be alone. His being alone made him famous. My being alone made me different and so I sunk into being a jealous fan of the great Harry Potter. I knew that Ginny Weasley was a huge fan of Harry's. Her brother was his best friend. Although it seems like I really liked Harry, he wasn't the biggest thing on my mind, Christmas was.

I was so afraid of my father. Professor McGonagall came around in late November to see who wanted to stay for Christmas. I very nearly put my name down, but I remembered the night I spent alone, crying, in the dance room and I knew it would only cause more pain.

As Christmas did come closer, I became more nervous. Each bi-weekly update of my grades would get no response.

I went to go see Professor McGonagall a few days before Christmas break so I could take it home. I had written so many extra essays and studied extremely hard so that my father might not be as upset with me. I was stressed out and I was unnaturally nervous as I went to get my Transfiguration grade. I quietly opened the door to her classroom and walked to her desk.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Turpin," she said as she turned towards me. "I have your grades here."

"Thank you Professor," I said with a shake in my voice. I turned around to leave.

"Oh, and Miss Turpin, I was wondering if I could have a private word with you," she said.

I came back to her desk. "Of course Professor," I said in a weak reply.

"I have noticed your hard work in my class lately, Miss Turpin, and I think that it is wonderful... but you didn't need all those extra credit essays, you know dear," she said.

"I know," I replied, my voice still caught somewhere. "I just wanted my last report to be good so that my father would..." I wanted to say wouldn't hurt me but I quickly filled in.

".... be happy," I recovered, giving a fake smile when I wanted to cry.

"I know Miss Turpin-" she began.

"Call me Lisa," I interrupted. "I don't deserve a miss, Professor."

She looked at me as if I had personally insulted her. Her face held pure shock. I was afraid she would think I was being sarcastic and I immediately regretted it. I had been taught not to say what I'm thinking. I had even been taught not to think. "Why did I have to say that?" I asked myself.

"I'm sorry Professor... I should have known better than to talk out," I said, trying to explain my inexcusable behavior. "I do know better, I've just been stressed and-" I began.

She brought one finger to her lips to quiet me. "Lisa, why would you ever believe that you don't deserve anything? Much less a title..." she said, waiting for an answer.

I knew that I couldn't give an honest reason. It wouldn't be fair to explain everything, like I had to Penelope, who hadn't spoken to me since I left the common room that next morning. But fairness wasn't an issue that I had ever considered. I would have to think about it later.

She opened her mouth to say something, but someone knocked at her door briskly and took her attention. It was one of her students saying that there had been another attack, the second attack of the year so far.

I followed Professor McGonagall to find Harry being teased by Peeves and lots of confusion. On the ground lay Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, both petrified, just like Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris. Somehow, I knew that Harry was just as confused as everyone else in the now-crowded corridor. I quietly walked away, thankful for the excuse to not have to talk to Professor McGonagall. The next day, she tried to talk to me after class, but I went out the door before the last syllable of "dismissed" left her tongue. I didn't like to be disrespectful like that, but I felt like I had to.