CHAPTER 20

Narcissa refuses to allow a single silent moment in the car, and for that, I am actually incredibly grateful. A moment too long not filled with words might accidentally lead to me spilling some secrets that cannot be uncovered just yet. So I let Narcissa take the lead, her questions steering us far enough away from the truth that I do not have to struggle. "How did you two meet, Charlotte? I can't seem to get the story from Draco." She winks at her son.

I take a deep breath to prepare my lie. "I was at Hogwarts two weeks before any of the other students arrived," I begin, refraining from bitterly pointing out that I was there so early because she and her husband traded me over to Snape like a piece of property to be given back and forth at someone else's discretion. "I'm a transfer student from Durmstrang, remember?"

"Oh, yes," Narcissa exclaims, "now that you mention it, I do remember you saying something about that in Diagon Alley."

I smile smugly at her and continue, "I was sorted in Slytherin. Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were the first Slytherins to get to the Great Hall, so that's who I introduced myself to."

"A brilliant stroke of luck, that," Draco says.

Guilt washes over me. When everything about me is revealed, how will Voldemort react? I've always known he'd punish me for my disrespect, but will he hurt Draco? I swallow. "Indeed," I agree. No, no, I'm sure he'll only punish me. And if I can have this brief happy time with Draco, then my punishment will likely be worth it. Draco gives my hand a squeeze. I suspect he thinks I'm nervous. Which I am, but not about meeting his family. I'm nervous about something much worse.

I force myself back into the present moment rather than fret over what might happen in the future. I reach up and pull out from my shirt the necklace that had been Draco's gift to me. "Thank you so much for the gift, Narcissa," I say, holding the pendant in my palm, almost hoping to provoke her and get a rise out of her. Maybe having someone else expose my lies will be easier than if I have to do it myself. Maybe he'll even forgive me, and I can clear my conscience before it's too late. "It's gorgeous. I love it."

Narcissa stiffens at the sight of the necklace. While it's obvious that she doesn't want me to have it, she does not rise to the bait, and I'm unsure whether I am happy or disappointed about that. Perhaps I'm not ready to have the truth out in the open yet. "Did Draco tell you that his father gave that exact necklace to me in our fifth year?"

I open my mouth and close it back. "He . . . he didn't tell me that," I say quietly, now admiring the necklace even more. Had he known, when he gave it to me, that he loved me?

"Well, it's true," she says, and I wonder if Draco hears the strain in her voice.

"I will cherish it that much more," I say, this time offering her a genuine smile.

"I'm glad you like it." Then she quickly changes the subject completely. "How do you like Hogwarts compared to Durmstrang? Lucius so desperately wanted to send Draco there, but I just couldn't let my boy be that far from me." Draco clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

"I prefer Hogwarts. I feel safer there than I did at Durmstrang. Though that probably has more to do with Karkaroff being a Death Eater, and we all know they can't be trusted."

She takes a breath, her nostrils flared, but is spared from saying anything else because our car comes to a stop. Narcissa quickly scrambles out of the car. "Draco, why don't you take yours and Charlotte's bags inside? I'd like to have word with her—to prepare her for when your aunt arrives later."

"Where should I take her bag?"

"The guest room—the one on the third floor, last on the left," Narcissa says sweetly. "It's been set up for her."

Draco grabs our bags and gives me a swift hug. "I think it's going well," he whispers.

Oh, if only he knew how untrue that is. Narcissa locks her arm through mine, and Draco smiles at the two of us, then starts up a large path that leads to the gigantic house, Malfoy Manor. It reminds me of a smaller version of Hogwarts but without truly feeling like a castle. It's obviously the home of wealthy people, and a hard thought to process about these wealthy people is that I am in love with one of them. It . . . it feels surprisingly good to say that. I thought I would hate it, getting attached to someone after all that happened at the orphanage, deciding to love someone after losing everyone I ever loved, but here I am.

Only when Draco has disappeared inside the house does Narcissa turn on me, her eyes wide with anger, her nostrils flaring again, her fingers digging into my arm. "What the hell are you doing?" she hisses at me.

"Um . . ." I look away from her. "I . . . I thought it was obvious. I'm spending the Christmas holidays with—"

"Silence!"

"But you asked—"

"Enough!" she growls, her hand tightening on my arm. "Come with me." The lady of the manor drags me down the same path Draco took. "How dare you?"

"I—"

"Stop talking!" Her breathing is ragged with fury. "You toy with my son's heart to get back at Lucius and me, and you expect me to accept you with open arms?" Of course that's what she'd assume. And I suppose it's a fair assumption considering I did have ulterior motives when deciding to spend time with Draco, but my ulterior motives were never about revenge. "Have you even told him who you are, Rodgers? Have you told him anything? Does he know the first thing about you that is not a lie?"

"He knows that—"

"I told you to stop talking!"

"Then why do you keep asking—" She waves her wand, and I am no longer able to speak at all as we step into the manor.

Taking my first look inside Malfoy Manor (other than the cellar and the room leading down to the cellar) knocks the breath out of me. Never in my life have I seen a family live in a more prestigious home. The great marble floors and high chandeliers indicate that this family comes from wealth—likely going back very many generations.

The manor's parlor by itself is larger than many of the houses I've stayed in over the years. Narcissa leads me past the grand staircase that has two branches leading to the farther levels. Before we reach the stairs, she jerks me to the side and forces me through an open door and into what seems to be a drawing room. Lucius stands by a crackling fireplace. "How was she?" he asks, his back to us.

"Turn around and you'll find out," Narcissa answers.

Lucius turns around and freezes, his face turning red, his hand reaching for what I assume to be his wand. "What the hell is she doing in my house?"

"This is Draco's new girlfriend," Narcissa grinds out.

"No." He takes a step toward us. "Absolutely not. You will leave this house immediately and never return. You will end things with my son, and you will never interrupt our lives again. Or I shall be forced to inform the Dark Lord that perhaps Hogwarts isn't best for you—perhaps you should await your fate here, in the cellar."

I look at him defiantly, turning my chin up.

"Now, I want you to go up the stairs, find Draco, tell him that you have realized that you are not worthy of him, and you will leave. We will even escort you back to Hogwarts." He is less than an arm's length away from me. "Do you understand?"

I narrow my eyes at him but do not look away.

"Answer me when I speak to you!" The back of his hand strikes my face, and Narcissa keeps me from falling over when I recoil, my hand covering my cheek as the pain stings tears into my eyes. I bite them back. He didn't hurt me badly enough for tears, and I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Lucius!" Narcissa scolds him. Then she waves her wand at me and returns my ability to speak though I do not attempt to make a noise. "I had her under a spell so she couldn't speak."

"Well, now she can. You will do as I say, and you will never return."

"No, I won't. I am in love with Draco, and I will not leave him like that."

He closes his hand into a fist, his lips thinning. "I don't know who you think you are—"

"I am Charlotte Rodgers, the girl who is in love with your son, the girl who will bear the Voldemort's child, the girl who will not leave because you tell me to."

"You insolent child! You will regret playing games with our son."

"I'm not playing any game!" I say. "Draco makes me happy, and—"

"That's enough," Narcissa says, grimacing at me. "You've chosen to get revenge through our son, and—"

"That's not true. That's not true! I—I love him. I would never—"

"Mum!" Draco's voice floats into the room.

"Play nice," she quietly commands her husband. "We're in here, Draco!"

A few short moments later, he enters the drawing room. "Oh good, she's met Father," he says, a smile still on his face. "I was just about to show her to her room, if the two of you don't have anything else planned."

"That's fine," Narcissa says evenly. "There are some things your father and I need to talk about."

Draco takes me by the hand and leads me from the drawing room, which I am all too happy to leave. Dealing with Narcissa is one thing, but if I'm honest, Lucius frightens me. Probably because he's the one who caught me and turned me over to Snape and seems incredibly indifferent, almost pleased actually, that I will have to bear Voldemort's child.

Before we get to the stairs, Draco points to a set of open French doors, revealing a room with hardwood floors, much different than the stone floors and the marble floors that seem to make up the majority of the manor. "That's the ballroom," he comments. "When the house was built, dancing was popular, extremely popular. We don't use it much unless my parents throw a party, which is rare as of late."

I don't ask why this is, mostly because I'm sure the reason why is because of Voldemort, and I'd rather not spend too much time thinking about Voldemort when I should be enjoying my time. We go to the third floor and walk down the hallway to the last door on the left. "This is where you will be staying," Draco tells me as he opens the door.

Once again I lose my breath. In the middle of this stone room sits a large cast-iron bed, a bed much too large for one person. Three of me could fit on there with loads of elbowroom left over. What must it feel like to live in something like this all the time? A large rectangular black rug rests under the bed, probably so the iron and stone do not harm each other. The sheets are shiny silver and the pillows are black. It looks outrageously warm, and I want to crawl in it and rest for a moment. But I don't. An open door on my right leads to a bathroom, and one on the opposite wall is closed, which I can only assume conceals an obnoxiously large closet. The rest of the furniture in the room is a very light-colored wood. I walk over to the bed and rub my hands across the sheets. They're silk. A smile comes to my face. This room alone is nicer than most homes I've invaded and slept in.

"I think you'll be comfortable here."

"It's wonderful!" I go to him and wrap my arms around him.

"My parents' room is on the second floor, and Bellatrix's is in the basement," he says casually. "Really, she's kind of claimed most of the basement for herself, actually. So if you want to see it, you shouldn't go alone."

I don't like that thought, but I keep this to myself. "What about your room?"

"Down the hall. C'mon, I'll show you."

Draco takes me to the opposite end of the hallway and opens the last door. His room is considerably larger than the guest room, which is probably the norm with wealthy families, but I'm almost too ashamed to ask if that's true. I'd prefer not to emphasize just how . . . pathetic my life has been up to this point, especially compared to his. His room is set up in Slytherin colors and looks similar to the guest room except the furniture is black wood as opposed to the lighter wood. On the back wall sit three windows overlooking a garden and a frozen lake behind the house; over the lake I can see the faint light on the horizon where the sun has already set.

Draco points to the garden, "I'm going to teach you how to fly over there. That's where my father taught me."

"This place is . . . magnificent."

"It's been in the family for generations."

He leads me from his room down to the drawing room where his parents are still sitting. They hush when we enter the room, and Lucius Malfoy turns to me. "Charlotte," he greets me as casually as if our dispute earlier had taken place decades ago and not fifteen minutes ago.

"Mr. Malfoy," I says.

"Lucius," he reprimands me. "Call me 'Lucius.'" It makes me slightly uncomfortable how both Narcissa and Lucius have gone out of their way to strip away all formalities between us. I can't help but think that it is all a ruse to get me to let my guard down. But after being backhanded in the face, I won't be letting my guard down around these people any time soon. Especially not Lucius.

"Bellatrix is away," Narcissa tells Draco. "She won't be here until tomorrow evening." She looks at me. "Bellatrix is my sister, Draco's aunt." I nod to her. "Has Draco told you much about her?"

"Just that she went to Azkaban and has recently gotten out."

"The dementors took their toll on her, so don't expect her to welcome you with open arms. She might warm up to you eventually, though; you just have to prove you're not here to harm the family. Bellatrix can be extremely protective."

I smile at her. Is that a threat? "I would never try to hurt your family." I glance up at Draco. "You're his family, so you're important to me."

Draco kisses the back of my hand.

Narcissa clears her throat, her eyes almost pointedly not looking at my hand in Draco's. "I take it the two of you ate at Hogwarts before you left?"

"Yes," Draco says.

"If you need anything, the house-elves will be more than happy to help. And we'll be down here if you need us," Narcissa says. We nod to her and go back to the guest room in which I will be staying.

"They've never been so informal with any of my friends before. I think that's a good thing."

Which confirms my suspicions that they're trying to trick me into lowering my guard.

We light the torches when we reach my temporary room. "I mean it, I really think my mother likes you," Draco says when we sit down on the bed.

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"Of course. She wouldn't have told you that you were allowed to ask the house-elves for help—or even tell you where to find her for that matter—if she didn't." He reaches for my hand but stops when he feels the bandage. "Does that hurt still?"

"Yeah, but it's faded a bit since when it first happened."

His eyes light up. "Hang on a minute!" He dashes from the room and returns a few minutes later. "I asked Professor Snape if he had any of this. I didn't tell him what I needed it for of course, but he trusts me." He holds up a jar of some type of potion. "It's Murtlap Essence. I told you I'd be able to get some." He waves his wand and summons a bowl, probably from the kitchen. Then he empties the jar into the bowl. "Put your hand in it. Snape said it soothed cuts."

I submerge my hand into the potion, and instantly the pain begins seeping away as if it's literally being pulled from my hand. A sigh of relief escapes me; tears of joy spring up in my eyes.

"I take that as it worked?" I nod silently and close my eyes, then let my head rest on his shoulder, the bowl of potion sitting between us. "How did she do it—Umbridge, I mean—how did she do this to you?"

"She used a quill that writes in blood, the blood of the writer. It carved the line I was writing into my hand."

He looks down at it and shakes his head. "I must not tell lies," he reads it bitterly. "I shouldn't have let you take the blame . . ." He looks up at me, a mixture of sorrow and shame in his eyes. "What can I do to help?"

I smile. "Get some tea?"

"Cosmo!" he commands. With a crack!, a little house elf appears beside the bed. "Bring us some tea. Sugar, too?" I nod. "And some sugar."

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf says in a voice that is not as high as Dobby's was, but is still just as squeaky. Then he disappears again.

"How many house-elves do you have?"

"We have four left," he says. "We had five, but Potter found a way to free one of them . . . But it doesn't matter. The rest of them picked up the slack."

I wonder if Al had house-elves. Could I have been raised with a creature waiting on me hand and foot rather than struggling my whole life? Could I have lead a privileged life, as Draco so obviously has? Could I have lived comfortably these past five years? Better yet, could I have been safe for the past fifteen? Because even the orphanage was not the safest place for me—not with the kids there who despised how much Mrs. Stoico used to care for me.

My life could have been so much better.

If not for Voldemort.

And now I'm staying in a house with one of his most loyal Death Eaters.

What have I been reduced to? Suddenly, it doesn't seem as nice being here.

The house-elf returns with a tray of steaming tea, places it on the table beside the bed, and asks, "Is there anything else Cosmo can get Master Draco and his friend?"

"That'll be all." The little elf disappears again. "Have you ever seen a house elf?"

"Yes, when I was at Hogwarts by myself, I would have them bring me food. They always seemed so eager to please."

"Oh, they are," he says. "Most of them adore serving their masters."

"Except for the one that Potter managed to set free?"

"Dobby." Dobby was once a house-elf for the Malfoys? There's so much about this family I don't know. "We lost him after my second year at Hogwarts. Potter thought he was clever. Managed to get him a sock and set him free. That's how house-elves are set free, you know. Their masters have to give them an article of clothing."

Draco grabs the tea tray and puts it between us on the bed, beside the bowl of Murtlap Essence. We add our sugar and stir it. I take a big whiff of mine before taking a sip and enjoying the warmth spreading through me. "This is great." Draco doesn't answer. "Where do you think your aunt is?"

"Probably doing something for the Dark Lord, but there's no telling, really," he says. "It's a shame you have to wait until tomorrow to meet her. You'll just have to keep your guard up for a while. And never go anywhere without me."

"Why is that? What if I want to avoid you?"

"You can do so at your own risk." Then he adds more seriously, "If she thinks you're invading Malfoy Manor, she won't take it lightly. Kind of like what Mum was saying—she's protective of those she cares for. And if Bellatrix Lestrange cares for you, consider yourself blessed, because she doesn't do that often. In fact, I'm not even sure she cares much for my father. She only tolerates him because she loves Mum so much. And me, I suppose. Mum said she asks about me a lot. She helped raise me when I was first born."

I take a few more sips of my tea and try to calm my growing nerves. "Will . . . will she kill me?"

"She'd use the Cruciatus Curse on you. It's one of her . . . specialties."

Having read about the Cruciatus Curse, I know without a doubt that experiencing that particular curse should be avoided at all costs. Of everything I've learned about the Wizarding World, the Cruciatus Curse and Azkaban frighten me the most. I shudder and push the thought aside. "Then I won't leave your side, will I?"

"I certainly hope not. But not because of her of course. I just don't want you to leave my side, especially when we're away from Hogwarts and all of the prying eyes in the common room." Heat rushes to my cheeks.

We finish our tea a few minutes later.

"Will she have any reason to come up here?" I wave my hands around to let him know I am referring to the room. "Will she find me in here and . . . and Cruciate me?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ." He gingerly takes my empty teacup from my hand and puts it on the empty tray. "Cosmo!" The little elf appears. "Take this." Draco hands him the tray. Then Cosmo leaves again. Draco looks back at me with dark eyes. "There's no way to know what Bellatrix will or will not do." He takes my shaky hand in his. "I won't leave you, if you don't want me to. I'll stay with you, so she knows you're not an intruder."

"I would very much appreciate that."

He laughs. "You should really put your hand back in," he says, holding out the bowl of Murtlap Essence. "I really don't want you to be in pain for the rest of the Christmas holidays. You need to have full use of your hands for Christmas morning when you open all of the gifts I got you."

My face drops. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Our first Christmas together and you think I wouldn't get you something? Don't you know me at all?"

"I suppose not," I laugh, "but I would like to spend as much time with you as possible to fix that." I sigh. "I wasn't able to get you anything."

"You don't need to get me anything! You being here is the best Christmas gift I could have asked for."

I look down at my hand, which is almost pain-free now, before saying, "I still wish I could afford to buy you something." I can't bring myself to look at him when I add, "I mean, I bring nothing to this relationship. If we ever . . . ended up together, I guess . . . it wouldn't be one of the 'respectable' marriages because I have no money. And . . . I don't know—I think your parents realize that to an extent."

"Look around this place, Charlotte," he says kindly. "The Malfoy family name and wealth has been around for generations. You don't need money to make me happy. Just be you."

But he doesn't even know who I am, and that's a problem. He deserves to know everything, doesn't he? He's been supportive through everything else. And if he accepts this—my duty, being forced to bear Voldemort's child—he might be able to help me through it.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and take a deep breath. Yes, Draco deserves to know everything. So I'm going to tell him.