Lost Memories

xlviii. jewellery

Today was the first Hogsmeade trip of term. I had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione that I couldn't go with them to Hogsmeade because I had forgotten to get my permission signed.

"I'd ben so focused on my O.W.L. results and getting my wand that I didn't ask Mrs Weasley to give me permission," I groaned. Mrs Weasley had claimed guardianship over me during the summer since I had been staying with her; she needed to sign it.

"So you can't come with us?" Hermione sighed.

"No, I'm sorry, guys. Tell me all about the trip though!" I smiled.

"Not going to Hogsmeade?" a voice said behind us.

"No, Professor Snape," I breathed turning around to face him. "I didn't get permission over the summer. I... I forgot."

"Hmph, if only you had someone who could give you your permissions," Snape looked around, clearly waiting for me to ask him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood behind me, each of them judging me slightly, waiting for me to say something.

"Ask him. He's your... y'know," Ron whispered into my ear.

"Can I have permissions to go to Hogsmeade, please?" I mumbled to Snape.

"Once more? I didn't hear," Snape taunted me.

"May I please have permissions to go to Hogsmeade with my friends, Dad?"

With a hmph, Snape called out to Filch, "Argus, I give permission for Charlotte Rae to go to Hogsmeade this term."

"Professor?" Filch asked.

Instead of going up to Filch and telling him, Snape decided to purposely announce it to the entire line waiting to be checked by Filch's Secrecy Sensor.

"She is my daughter and I wish to give her permissions," Snape said and turned around, leaving the corridor full of questioning eyes and hushed voices.

The walk into Hogsmeade was not anymore enjoyable than the spectacle in the entrance hall. I wrapped my scarf over my lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb in the cold. The road to the village was full of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once I wondered whether getting permission was worth it; we would have had a better time in the warm common room. Ron pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Harry, Hermione, and I staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.

"Thank God," I shivered enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. "Let's stay here all afternoon."

"Harry, m'boy!" said a booming voice from behind them.

"Nevermind," I mumbled as Slughorn clapped Harry on the back.

The four of us looked up to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with a matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

"Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, "they're really —"

"You've also missed them as well, Charlotte," Slughorn took notice of me, even though I tried to hide more in the large scarf. "So why don't you two ever come along?" demanded Slughorn.

"Well, we've had Quidditch practice, Professor," said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, Harry and I wouldn't be forced to go, and usually ended up having a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.