True Love is Blind (A Charlie Weasley Love Story)

Chapter 11

Hogwarts had been in session for almost two months now. It was nearing the end of October. The leaves on the trees had, from what Fred and George had described, turned brilliant hues of yellow, red, and orange. Most of them had fallen by now, and they crunched under my shoes as I walked across the pathways connecting different places on the grounds. I had recently taken to wearing a thicker cloak to class, as the cold autumn air left me shivering, making my cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. I did not particularly mind that, though; I loved the feeling of the cool wind tousling my hair, occasionally blowing it across my face so that I would have to brush it back, tucking it behind my ears.

During my time here, I had gradually grown accustomed to the feeling of students staring at me. I could only imagine what the scars on my face looked like, but, in all honestly, I found myself caring less and less what they thought of my appearance. I had voiced my anxiety and self-consciousness to Charlie on numerous occasions, and he, finally letting down his “tough” and “manly” attitude,  insisted that I was beautiful, even with the scars. I knew that he had scars as well, but I could not care any less about that. I loved Charlie for who he was, as opposed to liking him for what he looked like, not that I could see what he looked like anyway, but the concept still applied.

It was nearing Halloween and the first Hogsmeade visit was scheduled for this weekend. It was Friday night, and we would be taking the students into the village tomorrow. The students were, of course, ecstatic. I remember being so excited to have a day of freedom; a day to wander around town, going from shop to shop, and just enjoying a day outside the grounds of school. I remembered walking around with Charlie, enjoying butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, and having a snowball fight in the middle of December. I smiled inwardly, thinking of all the wonderful experiences I had had with Charlie.

During the past month, I had been careful, making sure to give regular reports to the Order at least once a week. It was frustrating, though, witnessing the injustices going on and not being able to do anything about it. Umbridge had, unfortunately, been using any means necessary to implement the “Ministry approved” curriculum.

The poor students were learning absolutely nothing. Even the fifth-years, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione, had complained, were starting from “the basics.” They were not even practicing spells, as Umbridge claimed that they would not need them, as they would never be attacked. Bloody idiot, I thought. She had no idea how many times I had used defensive spells in my life. These students needed to be taught these skills, especially since Vold-- rather, You-Know-Who, was no back from the dead.

And then, I had heard, and witnessed first-hand the effects of  her so-called “detentions.” I had given a few detentions in my time here, but I had usually had the student, or students, re-write old, decaying texts from Hargid’s hut or the library. Dolores Umbridge, on the other hand, took things to a whole new level.

Most students would claim detentions were “cruel and unfair,” but in the case of Dolores’ detentions, this was actually true. I was horrified to find out that she had used a cursed pen, one that used the student’s blood to write the cruel lines until the message “sunk in.” I shuddered thinking about it. Of course, I had let the Order know about this immediately, much to the protestations of Harry, but they needed to know what was going on. I had to do my job, even if that meant that Harry would be a bit upset with me.

Mrs. Weasley had written back almost immediately, saying she was outraged. She had, apparently, told the other members of the Order, who were equally upset. What was most frustrating, though, was the fact that we could not do anything about it. Going against Umbridge would be, essentially, going against the entire Ministry. I knew she had more power than she let on, and would not hesitate to use it. It would be a dangerous to do anything that would show that I did not support her.