Therefore, I Dance

Chapter Seven - Friend

The train ride back to Hogwarts was uneventful. When I got back to Hogwarts, two days early, I went to my common room to unpack and get settled back in for the next semester. There, I found Professor McGonagall. She was waiting for me.

"Lisa," she said. "Have a seat, please." I sat down in a chair that was around a table near the fireplace. In our common room, there were huge tables for students to study and do their work on that were placed right next to the fireplace, which served as a source of light and warmth. I sat on the other side of table that Professor McGonagall had pointed to.

The fireplace magically lowered to a dull roar and it illuminated the professor's face. She looked much older and there seemed to be so many more lines across her face than in reality. She looked tired, but she still looked anxious, ready for some reason. She gave off an almost grandmotherly feeling.

I looked around me and suprisingly, the common room was empty. There was no one studying or doing homework. There was no activity here at all. I knew that this was an unnatural emptiness.

"What is it Professor?" I asked innocently.

"Miss Clearwater and I have had a little chat recently, Miss Turpin," she said.

"What's wrong, Professor? Is she sick?" I asked innocently again. I knew where this was going. The professor seemed to be thinking "Let's try this another way".

She adopted a tone one would use to speak to a young child.

"Lisa, how was your break?" she asked.

"Good," I lied. "My father bought me lots of Christmas presents." I really hadn't gotton anything for Christmas. My time away from Hogwarts was more of a nightmare than a vacation or break.

"What did you get for Christmas?" What did any normal twelve year old girl want? Merlin, I didn't know... makeup, jewelry, clothes, new robes.... a cat! What girl doesn't love animals?

"A cat. I named him Duveteux. That's French for Fluffy," I said.

"You know French? Your father is of French descent, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. I was trying to keep this conversation a little more away from me. I didn't want to have to explain. I had made it clear that I didn't want to talk about my father. Suddenly her face turned more serious and her eyes turned into something else... something different than before.

"Lisa, you don't really have a cat, do you?" she asked. I was tired of seeing that pity in her eyes and I didn't want it. Then, it was like, I didn't care. I didn't care about who knew about my father or my dance room or anything. I just didn't care. It just left me, like an autumn leaf torn from its tree.

"No," I said.

"What did you get for Christmas?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Nothing at all?" she asked. She didn't seem shocked.

"Nothing at all," I confirmed.

"What did you do over the break?" she asked.

"Went to a birthday party," I said. It was the only truthful place that I had gone. It was really the only place I had gone.

"Whose?"

"Froide Amère," I said. She gave a loud sigh.

"Lisa, I know where you went." What? How did she know?

"I was there too. His father is an old family friend of mine," she said.

"Lisa, I know... about everything," she said. "I can help you."

I felt like screaming. I didn't need help. Really, I didn't. I was going towards what I was made for, serving my father and my husband. I knew it and I was ready for it. I had already accepted it. It was just a fact now, just as well known to e as that the sun would most definitely be up and brightly shining at noon.

I remained silent.

"Lisa, if you won't let me help you, at least let me be your friend. Let me be someone you can talk to, who'll just be there for you to say anything to," she said. Her eyes seemed pleading now. "Just let me, Lisa."

She could be my professor, my teacher, someone that I took my scholarly questions to, but not my friend. I just didn't want her to be my friend, especially if it was just out of pity. I didn't want that. Of all the wants I had ever had, of all the wants in the world, I did not want her to be my friend.

"You can be my teacher, someone who grades my papers and gives me reports to send home," I said. "But I don't want you to be my friend." I looked away, somewhere else beside her face. I didn't want to see her reaction.

"Very well," I heard her say. She stood up. "I'll expect you in my classroom on Monday morning." She went out of the common room and through the picture of an eagle that disguised our common room entrance.

Monday morning came and there was nothing different about her. She kept the same attitude as before, as if nothing had happened. She treated me just as she would another student and I was glad for the way she never said anything about it to the rest of that year. I was also glad for the emptiness of the common room. I didn't want any unnecessary explanations or lies.

The following week after our discussion, however, I woke up to find an adult cat with a butter colored face and a light brown body on my bed. His pure black collar read 'Ami'. Ami could be translated to 'friend' in French.