Never Let Go

The gravity of the situation didn’t really hit her until she was sitting across from Dumbledore. It was then that she realized her planned fight with Harry was liable to land her detention or worse – a letter home. She cringed inwardly at the thought of her Nan opening up a letter from Dumbledore. The elderly witch would grow furious when she read that her granddaughter had punched the boy who lived, in the face. Not only would she be furious, she would be horribly disappointed. She would feel that it was her fault for having sent Emilia to Hogwarts by herself, and to rectify the situation, she would pull Emilia from Hogwarts and have her homeschooled. She would watch her granddaughter’s every movement, taking great pains to ensure that she was behaving appropriately.

If that letter were to be sent home, Emilia would never ever have fun again. Okay. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but as Emilia sat there, she honestly thought that her life was about to officially be over. She felt stupid for having thought that Ron being mad at her was the worst possible outcome that punching Harry could have. His being mad at her could have easily been fixed. It might have required patience on her part, to wait out his disappointment with her, but it would’ve ultimately been settled in her favor. Her Nan, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

From the very beginning, she had been against Emilia going to Hogwarts by herself. Her Emilia was accustomed to being properly looked after, to having people there to accommodate her needs, and if need be, to restrain her from carrying out idiotic ideas that were more trouble than they were worth. As such, she needed Mitzi there. She needed the house elf to look after her. But her desire to have Mitzi look after Emilia, did not become a reality. And if she were to find out that Emilia had punched Harry, she would run wild, claiming that if things had only been done the way she wanted them done, that the entire situation would’ve been avoided. She would go on a lengthy rant, claiming that she knew best for Emilia. Her rant would end with Emilia returning to the cottage and not being allowed to return to Hogwarts.

Emilia couldn’t let that happen. She had an important role to play at Hogwarts. It was her responsibility to get close to Draco, to find out what he does when he disappears at night. That was her job and she wasn’t about to let her Nan’s worrying stop her from completing her task. But the thing was she didn’t know how to stop it. She could tell Dumbledore that it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, that Harry had asked her to punch him. But would he believe that? Would he believe that someone had willingly agreed to have their nose be broken? She didn’t know. If she were him, she wouldn’t believe it. But she had to try. She had to do something.

“Professor,” she whispered, her voice failing to project at its normal volume. “I – it’s not what it looks like.”

“Yes. I am well aware of that, Miss Renner.”

“If you just let me explain, I can clear this all – wait.” She suddenly registered his words and raised her gaze so that she met his. “Did you . . . did you just say that you know this isn’t what it looks like?”

“Those were my words, dear.” He smiled kindly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Surprised?”

She didn’t answer his question. Instead she asked one of her own. “How do you know?”

“Harry felt the need to inform me of what was to take place.” He explained. “And though, I must admit that I am not partial to violence, the scheme hatched by the two of you, was quite clever. The young Mr. Malfoy would not have responded to a simple shouting match. Words, you see, are not enough to convince individuals such as him. But action – violence, well that sits very well with him. As such, you have surely secured your place with him. His level of trust will certainly not be as high as the one he holds for the young Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, but in due time, I am sure, that you will surpass them, Miss Renner.” Dumbledore paused for a moment, before continuing, “Discretion is of the upmost important. Surely, you understand that.”

“I do, Professor.”

“Very well, Miss Renner,” he stared intently at her face, observing just how much she resembled her late parents. “Might I ask why it is that you have agreed to endanger yourself to help Harry?”

“Suppose it’s the same reason he endangers himself.”

“That is?” he knew her response; he simply wanted to hear it from her.

“Our parents,” her voice grew stronger. “He took away our parents. My dad might not have died at his hands, but his death, that was – that was Voldemort’s doing.”

He nodded in understanding. “And you don’t think you could be of use in some other fashion?”

“I could.” Emilie replied honestly. “But I think helping Harry is the most use anyone can be. He’s the chosen one – the boy who lived. It’s him that that prophecy spoke of. It’s him that’ll do it. Everyone else just has to help him anyway they can. At least, that’s what I think. That’s why I’ll risk my own safety if it means helping him. I mean to help in anyway I can.”

“Of course you do, dear,” he muttered, his eyes looking distant, as if he were remembering something.

They lapsed into silence. Emilia sat in the chair, wondering if he was still going to punish her even though Harry had explained everything to him. And Dumbledore sat there, immersed in his thoughts; he would have to pay a visit to his pensieve later on. There were a few memories he had to examine.

“Professor?” she called to him. “Sir?” she said, hoping to get his attention.

“Yes, Miss Renner?”

“Are you . . . are you going to write a letter to my Nan?” she inquired timidly.

“No reason to involve her now is there?” a friendly smile decorated his lips. “If memory serves me correct, your Nan is a very, shall we say, expressive woman. To upset her, would surely lead to your being removed from Hogwarts. Am I correct in assuming that?”

Emilia broke out into a smile. “Yeah, you are. That’s one of the reasons why I was so scared. I thought you were going to writer a letter and that I’d never be able to get back to Hogwarts.”

“Well, that won’t be happening.” Dumbledore reached out for the note that Professor Slughorn had sent. “Now, we have to discuss what is to be done about today’s incident. Although I will not be sending a written letter home, it is necessary for you to receive a form of punishment, so as to not raise suspicion. And for your punishment, I believe that detention with your head of house will be in order. I shall personally see that Professor Slughorn is made aware of these arrangements and you will be contacted by Professor Snape. He will inform you of when you are to serve your detention. That alright?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” she nodded.

“Very well, you are free to go, Miss Renner.”

Emilia stood up slowly. “Thank you, Sir.”

“There is – I believe – no need to thank me. We are doing one another a favor.”

“We are?”

“Yes. We are both looking after Harry, attempting to help him.”

“Right,” she slung her book bag over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll be going now.”

“I believe that it will soon be time for lunch.” Dumbledore commented. “Miss Renner, before you go, I must repeat my former statement. It is of the upmost importance that you be discreet and careful.”

“I will, Sir.”

“Very well,” with that, he grabbed a bit of parchment and proceeded to write a letter to Professor Slughorn.

Emilia didn’t linger any longer. She made her way out of the office and into the corridor, where Ron stood waiting for her. She’d told him that he didn’t have to stay, that she’d manage alright. But he’d insisted, claiming that it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to wait for her. She was glad he’d decided to stay. Knowing that he would be there to walk with her, made her feel a bit calmer about the fact that the Gryffindors were most likely going to hate her for having hurt Harry.

“Emi.” He rushed to her, eager to hear what happened. “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just got detention with Snape, is all.”

He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “You know, I bet if ya told him what happened – with Harry and all, he might get you out of detention.”

“It’s because he knows about Harry that I only got detention. S’alright though. It’s not too bad. You know?”

Ron nodded. “Could’ve been loads worse, but Snape’s a greasy git, you’ll have to wash your hair out twice if you’re gonna be around him for long.”

“Think he’ll get mad if I offer him some of my shampoo? It works real well, take a whiff of it, smells like wildflowers. It’s called fields of Europe.”

“Smells good,” his eyes were shut tight as he inhaled her scent. “Is that a muggle brand or a potion?”

“Muggle brand,” she answered. “I’ve tried using potions for my hair like everyone else does, but it doesn’t really take well with the curls. S’alright though. I like muggle shampoos. They’ve got so many. I'm pretty sure; I could use a different shampoo for everyday of the year.”

“You’re joking!”

Emilia laughed. “When we can apparate, I’ll take you to a muggle shop and show you.”

“In America?” he’d never been to America before.

“Was thinking a muggle shop in London, but yeah, we can go to America. Oh! We’ll go to San Francisco. It’s brilliant there. Really brilliant and then we can go to D.C. that was where Grandpa was stationed. It’ll be exciting, Ron.” She linked her arms with his and they began to walk towards the Great Hall. “We’ll go to these great restaurants and just have a go at everything.”

“We gonna have to wait till I'm of age or when you are?”

“Hmm, I think, when I am. That way we can go over the winter holidays. Oh! I know. We’ll make an event out of it. Be gone for a few days. No! Wait. Stop. Better idea – why didn’t I think of this before?”

“Think of what?”

“Mexico!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Mexico?”

“Yeah,” she said. “When my parents went down there for their honeymoon, they ended up falling in love with Veracruz and bought a house there. And now it’s my house. Don’t really go there. Only been there twice, but we can stay for a few days. Look around there instead. I mean, we can still go to America. I've got my license to apparate in America, so I'm good at it and we can go to America for awhile then go back to Mexico to sleep. Am I rambling? Think I might be rambling, stop me.”

“Won’t I burn there?”

“You burn everywhere. It’s the curse of the gingers.”

“Oh shut it.”

“Don’t get so mad. I happen to like your pasty skin. And I promise to look after it. We’ll get some cream so you won’t burn.”

Ron couldn’t help but smile. “You think they’ll let us, though? Mum’s probably not gonna be to keen on it, ya know.”

“It’ll take some convincing but I'm sure they’ll let us. We’ll take Mitzi if we have to.”

“So it’ll just be us and Mitzi?”

“Yeah,” she suddenly began to get very nervous at the prospect of being alone with Ron for days at a time. “We can take Harry and Hermione if you –”

“No! No. I mean, don’t think they’d enjoy it. You know?” he tried and failed at seeming nonchalant about it.

Thankfully for him, Emilia didn’t notice his outburst. “Brilliant. Yeah. It’ll just be us.”

“Just us,” he repeated, his lips breaking out into a goofy grin. He soon realized how mental he was acting and covered it up by asking, “So we going to lunch then?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I'm nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because I punched Harry in the face and I'm not positive about this, but I'm pretty sure I broke his nose. I can feel it! And people are gonna be all talking shit about me and ah, I don’t want to deal with it. Not right now.”

“Reckon its better you get it done with now.”

“But they’re gonna think I'm a real Slytherin.”

“That’s what you wanted? Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled.

“Then you’re gonna have to deal with it. But, if it makes ya feel any better, I’ll be there for you.”

“Not during lunch though. You’ve got to sit with the Gryffindors, tell them what happened with me and I guess I’ll sit with them.”

Ron grimaced. “What if we both go sit with the Hufflepuffs? They let anyone sit there. Usually that’s one of the things I'm to keen on about them, but it’ll work out.”

“Thanks Ron, but I have to sit with them. Think Draco might talk to me.”

“Bloody git,” cursed Ron.

Emilia nodded in agreement. “How my mum came from that family is beyond me.”

“Was one of those rare moments, like Sirius,” Ron came to a halt, they were at the entrance to the Great Hall. “Ready?”

“No,” her lips trembled. “I don’t think I can do this. Not right now. You know? I thought I could, but I think I was overly confident. Yeah. That’s it. I was overly confident. So later, I’ll try again, not right now . . . no, not right now.”

“Emilia Rose Renner.”

When someone said her entire name, it was never a good sign.

“Quit acting like a tosser. You wanted this. Now go do it. Off you go now.” Ron pushed her forward, into the Great Hall.

She had half a mind to turn around and curse him out, but the moment she entered the Great Hall, all eyes were on her. She’d never felt so self conscious before. It was as if their eyes were literally burning into her skin. The Gryffindors were the ones whose gaze held the most anger – disgust. There was distrust in the eyes of the Ravenclaws. They were trying to figure out where the friendship had gone wrong. The Hufflepuffs were curious. And the Slytherins, oh, those damn Slytherins were wearing smug looks on their faces, as if to say, she’s finally come around.

Not wanting to seem weak, she held her head up high and sauntered towards Slytherin table. She meant to sit on the edge where there wasn’t that many students, but Draco caught her gaze and with a nod of his head, motioned for her to go to him. She took in a sharp breath. There was nothing to be nervous about, this was perfectly normal. She was going to have a bit of lunch with a cousin, that’s all.

“Move,” ordered Draco to Crabbe.

Crabbe did as he was told, scooting down one seat in order to let Emilia sit.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and took the seat.

Draco said nothing, instead focusing on his plate. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked after a short silence. “None of it’s poisoned, you know.”

Hesitantly, she grabbed a plate and served herself.

“I suppose you’ve heard what people have been saying about you.”

“Haven’t actually, but I'm pretty sure I can make a good guess about it.” Emilia poured herself some pumpkin juice. “The Gryffindors think I'm a massive cunt. The Ravenclaws are thinking that I'm undergoing some quarter life crisis. And the Hufflepuffs are thinking that it must be some sort of understanding.”

“And the Slytherins?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

Draco smirked. “I knew I wasn’t wrong about you.”