CHAPTER 23

I storm through Hogwarts, infuriated and heartbroken, tears flowing down my cheeks. Very few students are around, so avoiding other people proves very easy. The last thing I want right now is for some-first year to get into my way and slow me down. There is only one thing I need to do right now, one person I need to see, to yell at, to possibly attack. And he's most likely down in the dungeon. I don't want to have this conversation in the staff room if I can avoid it, but if he's not in his office, we'll hash it out in front of the other professors. Frankly, I don't care. They can all know exactly why I'm here at Hogwarts for all I care.

I don't even stop when I find the door. Not for even a second do I slow down. Rather, I grab the doorhandle mid-stride, fling the door open as forcefully as possible, storm inside, and slam the door shut as loudly as I can, my chest heaving both from the exertion of speeding through the castle and the difficulty of keeping my fury at bay. Snape looks up from his desk when he hears the ruckus, thoroughly bewildered, partially angry, partially amused by my outrage, which really only enrages me that much more. By the slightly shocked look on his face, it's clear he was not expecting any company. No Slytherin stayed for the holiday, so why should he be expecting someone?

"What are you doing here?"

In answer, I continue my march toward his desk, then pull out my wand, pointing it in his face, and scream through a fresh wave of tears springing in my eyes, "HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?"

His whole countenance changes, shifting from surprised to slightly worried, perhaps even curious. He won't be able to get to his wand in time if I decide to kill him, which is something I am debating at the moment. He won't be my first. "How long have I known what?" he asks, his voice quite even for his current predicament.

"Is this your idea of a practical joke? How long have you been sniggering and laughing? Answer me! I'm not in the mood for games."

"Obviously," he answers calmly. "But I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You're a Death Eater! You're a smart wizard! I'm sure you've pieced together some things, have you not? Don't act dumb now. Tell me the truth!"

"I assure, Rodgers, that I—"

"Oh, it's not Rodgers!" I shout. "But you already know that, don't you?"

His brow furrows in what could be real confusion. "What . . ." He clears his throat. "What exactly happened?"

"SHUT UP! YOU HAVE BEEN VOLDEMORT'S SERVANT FOR YEARS, AND YOU'RE GOING TO SIT THERE AND TELL ME THAT YOU'VE HAD NO IDEA? THAT YOU HAVEN'T KNOWN THIS WHOLE TIME?"

"I assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about," Snape says, still keeping his voice calm. "Now, just put your wand down, and we can figure this out." I don't say anything, but neither do I lower my wand. "Rodgers?"

"HAVEN'T I TOLD YOU? IT IS NOT RODGERS!"

Snape puts his hands up in submission. "Let's start from the beginning," he says, "and I'm sure we can put everything together."

"Don't talk to like I'm a child!"

"Then stop acting like one." I scowl at him as the insult sinks in. "Sit down, take a deep breath, and tell me what has happened so that I might be able to help you and answer your questions."

I clench my teeth. "You can't help me! No one can! It's in my blood! It's who I am!"

He pinches the bridge of his nose then looks at me. "Who are you?" he asks calmly. "If you are not Rodgers, who are you?"

"Lestrange," I whisper. His face pales. Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he truly didn't know. "Aurelia Lestrange."

Snape opens his mouth but closes it wordlessly. "Lestrange?" he repeats after a few seconds. "Lestrange? As in—?"

"The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange." I gradually lower my wand, my heart rate slowing just a bit. "You . . . you actually didn't know?"

"No. You're telling me that you're the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Yes," I whisper. My anger has crashed, leaving me feeling emptier than ever in my life. Hanging my head, I sink down into the chair across from him.

"So you and Malfoy . . ." He doesn't need to continue. He stops when he sees the tears flowing down my cheeks.

I nod and whisper, "Cousins."

Snape doesn't say anything for nearly four minutes, and then descends upon us an uncomfortable silence—well, I wouldn't really describe it as uncomfortable, but it's certainly not a companionable silence, more of a . . . charged silence, like at any moment the room might collapse or a fight might break out or the potions might spontaneously combust and kill us both.

Finally, I look up at him and shatter the quiet. "There is no escaping him, is there?"

He shakes his head. I pick up my wand, but before I have a chance to say anything, Snape yells, "Expelliarmus!" My wand flies into the air, and he catches it.

"What was that about?" I ask, not even able to muster up anger at his actions.

"I wasn't going to risk allowing you to take your anger out on me."

"Keep it. I don't want it anyway."

He looks at me skeptically. "What? Why would you say something like that? I believe you looked at this like it was your lifeline not too long ago when it was returned to you after Lucius Malfoy disarmed you. What has changed?"

I stand up, frustration and the need to tell someone dragging the words out of me. "It was made from the same dragon heart that Bellatrix Lestrange's wand was made from! The same bloody core!" Snape tosses it to me, and I instinctively grab it. "I don't want it! It's just like my fucking mother's!" I sling it to the wall where it smashes into some of the glass jars he keeps on the shelves, many of them in turn falling to the floor, shattering, and spilling their revolting contents. The sound stirs something deep in my soul, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm rushing toward the shelves and flinging anything I can get my hands on to the floor, crying out, "Why does it have to be me? Why couldn't Voldemort have chosen someone else?" Cuts slice their way across my hands as I irresponsibly destroy Snape's potions and potion ingredients. "Why couldn't he make a living hell out of somebody else's life?"

Two hands grab my arms from behind, yanking me away from the shelves and thrusting me back into the chair. Snape waves his wand and repairs the containers then vanishes the mess on the floor. I bury my face into my bloody hands, sobbing, "Why—couldn't —he-he h-have chosen s-someone—else? Wh-what—what did I d-do . . . to-to deserve—this?"

Snape puts his hands on the armrests and crouches down in front of me. "You didn't have to do anything," he answers quietly, taking my hands in his to turn them over and heal their little cuts. "The Dark Lord does things his way; there doesn't have to be a reason. And it doesn't have to be anything you did."

I look Snape in the eye. "B-but why—why did he —why did he have to take . . ." I pause. "I'm in love with Draco! Why—why couldn't—why couldn't someone h-have told me?" My chest is on fire, a hole forming where my heart once was. "He-he's taken every—everything from me! M-my childhood, my life . . . my parents. Now the one I love."

Snape moves away, picks up my wand, and hands it back to me. "It's what he does. The Dark Lord gets what he wants. He always has . . . with the exception of Harry Potter." I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. "He has enough power, enough influence, to control whomever and whatever he wants."

"He will not control me!"

"I'm afraid you have no say in it."

"I WON'T LET HIM CONTROL ME!"

"Rodgers, you have quite literally never had any say in your life. You've not made a single decision in your life that was not a direct result of your association with the Dark Lord."

"That's not—"

"You chose to flee the orphanage when you were told the truth. You chose to hide rather than come forward because you feared the Dark Lord's followers. You chose to kill rather than be brought to the Dark Lord. You tried to choose death over being captured by Lucius and brought to the Dark Lord. You chose to befriend Draco because you fear of the Dark Lord—"

"Excuse you?" How can he possibly know that?

"You chose Malfoy in hopes that Narcissa would—what?—rescue you?"

"That's not—you can't—you have no idea—"

"Tell me I'm wrong, Rodgers. Tell me you didn't initially cling to Malfoy in hopes that Narcissa would assist you."

"I never thought she'd help me escape. How did you—"

"The Dark Lord suspected you might have a weakness—after all, you murdered a Death Eater for what he did to the orphanage caretaker, yes?"

"No one knows—"

"I saw the look on your face when Narcissa helped you up the day I brought you here and knew he was right. He suspected you would try to find a way to endear yourself to Narcissa—though it's unlikely he suspected a romantic relationship between you and her son rather than a friendship, but some things are unpredictable."

"But—but it was predictable that I'd want—"

"Yes," Snape says plainly. "He's predicted many of your actions already, and he hasn't been wrong. There's absolutely nothing you can do about it. He controls your life now, Rodgers, and you'll have to continue living the way he intends for you to."

"He will not control me," I say under my breath. "He will not control me."

Snape sighs then says softly, "There's nothing that can be done to stop what has already been put into motion."

I stand to my feet, my mind reeling, groping for any hope there might possibly be. "He won't be able to predict everything I do. He will not control me."

"There's nothing you can do. You're trapped in this life whether you like it or not."

"There's something I can do."

"Like what?" Snape laughs mockingly. "You are a sixteen-year-old witch. Witches and wizards much more powerful than yourself have tried to stop him and look how that's turned out for them. They're all dead.

"I might be forced to bear his child, but he will not control me! Not anymore!"

"And just what do you plan to do? How will you show the great Dark Lord that he has no control over you? You're a child!"

"This." I grab him by the back of the neck and pull his lips down to mine. He stiffens; then I put my hands on his chest and shove him backward. "I bet he wouldn't have predicted that. He no longer controls me. And you can tell him that." I dash from the room, not wanting to endure Snape's wrath.

With only the slightest regrets about kissing Snape, I storm through the castle, fury in my heart. There's really only one person I want to talk to right now, and even though it's a bad idea, I can't stop myself from approaching Professor McGonagall's office. She's the only person inside the castle I trust, but she reminds me too much of Mrs. Stoico for my own good. When I reach her door, I move to knock but stop before my hand can rap on the wood.

She's not Mrs. Stoico, I reprimand myself. She is a professor at Hogwarts, and I doubt she'll care that I just want someone to talk to. With a huff of frustration, I sink to the floor beside her office. Plain and simple, there is no other Mrs. Stoico. She raised me until I left the orphanage. She was the mother I never had—not even Bellatrix will change that. And she is not McGonagall. I slam my head backward against the stone wall.

I have no one.

Draco was the person I went to, and he's out of my life now. Mrs. Stoico is dead. Bellatrix is nothing to me. McGonagall is a professor at Hogwarts. Snape is a disgusting—he was relatively nice to you just then. But that doesn't change the fact that he's still a Death Eater, and Death Eaters can never be trusted.

I am just as alone as I was before coming to Hogwarts.

But now I know what it's like not to be alone, and I can't just go back to the way things were. I close my eyes. I don't want to be alone anymore. The tears are warm as they slip down my cheeks, and I do nothing to stop them, instead just burying my face into my knees and let them flow freely.

When I jolt awake sometime later, the emptiness in my chest is heavier than anything I have ever felt before. I take out the pocket watch—the one Draco gave me, which causes my breath to catch in my throat—to see that it is nearly three hours later. I can't believe I fell asleep and no one's come by.

Sobs start wracking through me again.

Bellatrix is my mother.

My mother is not dead.

Everything I once had is ruined.

Thanks to Lord Voldemort.

I slam my fists into the stone floor, then hop up and bang on McGonagall's office door. It doesn't matter that it's nearly midnight and that I should have done this when I first came here. I bang on the door again.

McGonagall throws the door open, disheveled and adjusting her dressing-gown. She looks even more shocked to see me than Snape had. "Rodgers?" It's obvious that I have awoken, but simply unable to care about that right now, I push by her and enter her office. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Please close the door," I whisper.

She doesn't, instead saying, "I thought you were with the Malfoys for the holiday."

"Something's happened. I need to talk to someone."

"What about Professor Snape? He is the Head of your House, is he not?"

"Snape can't help me."

McGonagall watches me for a moment, assessing the situation, then closes the door and approaches me. Putting her hand on my shoulder, she directs me to her desk and softly pushes me down into the chair. "What's happened, Rodgers?" she asks me as she sits down behind her desk.

I start laughing through my tears, unable to stop myself. Though I must look and sound insane, I cannot seem to get control of myself. "It's not even 'Rodgers'!"

McGonagall has almost the same exact expression that Snape did. "What?"

"My name! It's not even 'Charlotte Rodgers'! My name's not 'Charlotte'!"

"What is your name then?"

I look back at her with wide eyes that I cannot bring back to their normal size. "Aurelia!"

"Aurelia?"

"Yes!" I laugh hysterically. "And-and that's not even the best part!" I run my hands through my hair, then hop to my feet again. "That's not even the best part! Wait until you hear what else I learned just a few hours ago!"

"You can tell me when you're ready."

She's just humoring me, I know that, but I can't stop myself. "Ha! Wait until you hear this!" I put my palm toward her as if to stop her from saying anything else, still laughing and still unable to subdue it. My emotions are out of control, but try as I might to rein them in, I have lost control of them and myself. "My mother—the one who supposedly died in Azkaban—is, in fact, not dead at all! Not in the least!"

"Rodgers," McGonagall begins.

"Ah-ah-ah! It's Aurelia now, remember?"

"Aurelia," McGonagall says patiently. "Who is you mother?"

I bang my hand on her desk, laughing, smiling through a breakdown that has spiraled far outside of my control. "Wait until you hear this! It—is—wait for it—wait for it—Bellatrix Lestrange!"

McGonagall's brow furrows.

"Quite some news, right?" I continue laughing hysterically. "Do you know what she did to get thrown into Azkaban?" I don't give McGonagall a chance to answer, though I'm sure she knows exactly why Bellatrix was in Azkaban, especially since the Longbottoms were her students and McGonagall no doubt knew them well. "No? Well, let me tell you, because she was courteous enough to brag to me about it! She used the Cruciatus Curse on Neville Longbottom's parents until they lost their minds! She threatened to do the same to me! We have a winner of the 'Mother of the Year Award'! Wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

"When did you see Bellatrix?" McGonagall asks, ignoring my crazed tirade.

"Only six hours ago!" I laugh again. "Oh, and get this!" I say, running my hand through my hair again. "Guess who Bellatrix's sister is!" Again, I don't give her a chance to answer. "Narcissa Malfoy! Do you know what that means?" I answer for her again, "I'm Draco's cousin! Aha! What wonderful news, yes? I've been snogging my cousin for the past four months! I've fallen in love with my cousin!" I bang my hand on her desk again as I laugh. "Isn't that wonderful? We're closer than any other cousins I know!" Laughter verging on crying burst out of me again.

"Why don't you take a seat?" McGonagall says calmly.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Get this"—I'm still laughing but stop, and honestly all I want to do is go lie down for a few days—"not only has the fact of my mother being dead a lie . . . my whole life has been a lie!" The laughter finally concedes to the sobs, and my hand flies to cover my mouth. I say quietly, hiccoughing, falling back into the chair, "It-it's all b-been a—a lie!"

McGonagall clears her throat. "Calm down. It'll be okay, Aurelia."

"P-please d-don't c-call me that."

"It will be all right, Rodgers," she says quietly. "Just because you were born to . . . bad"—the look on her face convinces me that she was probably planning to say "evil" but decided against it for my sake—"people doesn't mean you're going to turn out the way they did. You don't have to follow the path they took."

I look down at my fingers. "I'm more like her than you think . . ."

"I taught Bellatrix Lestrange, and I can say with unwavering confidence that you are nothing like her."

I show her my wand and explain how it is like my mother's, but McGonagall sticks to her story and says again, "You are nothing like her. Your wands might be similar—"

"Made from the same dragon heart a little more than 'similar,' Professor."

"Even so, that does not mean you are exactly like her. The wand could have simply recognized your parentage, which made it choose you."

After a few minutes of silence, I say, "I haven't been completely honest with you about some things this term, Professor." She looks at me expectantly. "But I want to be."

She nods for me to continue.

"And I feel that you deserve to know the truth," I push on. "But just know that I don't—I don't want to do any of it. I was chosen . . . and there's nothing—nothing I can do about it." I'm more nervous about telling her this than I thought I'd be. What if she hates me because of it? What if she decides that Hogwarts is not safe with me here because of what I am to do and the fact that Voldemort could attack at any moment to claim me?

Again, she nods for me to keep going.

"I am supposed to be dead," I start from what feels like a logical place to begin. "But I don't know why. There is no record of me. I was marked as being dead from the time I was born, I guess, or at least around that time. The Ministry doesn't even know that I am alive." I clear my throat. "Um . . . I was chosen—I was chosen by—" I look away from her and take a deep breath. "I was chosen by V-Voldemort."

I hear McGonagall's sharp intake of breath and meet her eyes, which I have been avoiding since starting this whole explanation. "You were . . . you were what?"

"I was chosen by Voldemort."

"What do you mean? Chosen for what?"

A sob escapes me, and I can't look her in the eye, not while I say, as quickly as possible, "Tobearhischild."

Professor McGonagall does not make a sound, but I can feel her staring at me, likely trying to decide whether I am a liar or crazy or making a poor joke. I concede some moments later and look back, and only then does she speak again. "When was this decided?"

"I don't know." It's the first time anyone has ever really asked me when my fate was decided. "I guess . . . I guess when I was a baby?"

"Can you be positive that this is true?" Her lips are in thin line, and for whatever reason that unsettles me.

"Yes, my great-uncle, Al—Alphard—told me in a letter . . . Bell—my mother—confirmed it when I saw her. She said that all the Death Eaters know who I am. But I guess Voldemort didn't believe it worth his time to mention the fact that I am a Lestrange. I guess he has only ever referred to me as Charlotte Rodgers, because she was just as shocked as me when she found out who I am." Tears well up in my eyes and spill over, running down my cheeks. My own mother was not pleased to discover that I am alive. What kind of awful child was I that my own mother was not happy to see me?

"Who else knows about this?"

"Now? Voldemort—obviously. The Death Eaters. The Malfoys." My throat clenches. Draco . . . "Me—obviously. You. Professor Dumbledore—"

"The headmaster knows?"

I nod. "As does Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape knows?"

"Professor Dumbledore saw fit to tell him because he is the Head of Slytherin—which is my House," I say. Though it's a lie, I feel as if Snape would murder me if he learned I told McGonagall he is a Death Eater. Does anyone know that he was a Death Eater? Seriously, what is the nature of his being here? What do people know about him?

Another silence falls between us until McGonagall asks, "Who . . . who else knows about your newfound parentage?"

"The Malfoys, me, Bellatrix, you, and Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape knows that too?"

"Yes, I went to him when I got back—I owled Professor Dumbledore when I had to leave the Malfoys'. But I couldn't . . . couldn't bring myself to tell him what happened. I just couldn't," I says quietly.

"The headmaster does not know."

"No."

McGonagall stands and walks around her desk, then puts her hands on my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. "I will speak with him so that you may have a meeting with him as soon as possible," she says reassuringly.

I nod slowly.

"For now though," she continues, "you should go get some sleep. You've had a rough day." She leads me to her office door and walks with me in silence the whole way down to the dungeons. Before we get to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, she stops us. "Charlotte."

"Yes, Professor?" I whisper.

"I think nothing less of you because of what your parents have done."

"Thank you," I say airily, unable to find my voice.

"And my door is still open if you ever need." I can't stop myself before I throw my arms around her neck and sob into her shoulder. "Everything will be fine," she says soothingly, patting my back kind of awkwardly.

I turn and go through the Slytherin common room and find my bed, not really expecting to sleep.