CHAPTER 26

Opening my eyes again later tells me that I'm still in that tiny closet-room, this time chained to the wall rather than tied with rope. My eyes drift to the clock—it's nearly one in the morning. "Happy Christmas, Charlotte," I tell myself.

"Talking to ourselves now, are we?" someone asks me from behind a newspaper. A yelp of surprise escapes me. I hadn't even realized he was in here this time, a fact that is only made worse by the torch that glows behind his head so he can read the paper.

"Let me go!" Trying to be reasonable did nothing for me last time, and an anger is bubbling up in my chest, a type I can't really control right now. And I'm in no mood to try.

"I would prefer not to. Being chained is for your own safety."

"I'M SICK OF PEOPLE DOING THINGS TO ME AND CLAIMING IT'S FOR MY OWN SAFETY! LET ME GO!"

"And just what good would letting you go do when I still have this?" the man waves my wand at me from behind the paper.

"GIVE ME BACK MY WAND!" I cry, only partly relieved that it is not at the bottom of the Black Lake. The other part of me grows angrier that he has the audacity to wave it at me and taunt me with the fact that he has it in his possession.

"I would prefer not to."

I fight against my restraints despite how badly it hurts. "Let me go!"

"I would prefer not to."

"You son of a bitch, just—"

"I would prefer not to."

"Listen, Bartleby, I—"

The person laughs quietly from behind the newspaper. "I'm surprised you know who that is. I didn't know you read anything besides schoolbooks."

I give up and slam against the bed, fighting back my tears of helplessness and frustration. If no one knows I'm here, there's no way of escape because no one is coming to save me. Assuming, that I ever get out of this, is this what it'll be like when Voldemort finally comes for me? Will he lock me away in a small place like this and keep me prisoner? Hopefully he will at least let me stay in the Malfoy Manor dungeon rather than locked up like this. A few minutes pass, and I finally ask, "Who are you?" The newspaper ruffles as the reader flips the pages. I need to know what Death Eater would take me from Hogwarts and imprison me in Malfoy Manor—because who else would it be? Who else could possibly want to abduct me? It has to be a Death Eater, and I know it isn't Bellatrix because my captor is a man, and I know it isn't Lucius—the hair isn't long enough. And he's talking in such a low voice that I can't seem to recognize it. "Show me you face."

"I would prefer not to."

"SHOW ME YOUR FACE, YOU BLOODY COWARD!"

He sighs and folds the newspaper over to show me his face. I grimace at Snape, my mind wandering to all the ways I would love to hurt him. I hate him. I want to kill him. "How many times must I tell you not to call me a coward?"

My retort is lost in my throat, my face flushing red as the thought of his legs come back to me. Snape covers his face with newspaper to begin reading again (which I am so thankful for because that means I don't have to worry about him seeing my red face). Finally, some quiet moments later, after regaining my composure, I am able to ask, "What happened?"

"Before or after you tried to kill yourself?"

"Before—" The lake . . . "I didn't try to kill myself." He straightens his legs and crosses his ankles, mimicking the position he was in earlier when I had realized how nice—no, that is a dangerous thought, get rid of it immediately. I force myself to look at the newspaper rather than his legs—they're not as attractive now that I know the person they're attached to.

"That's not what it looked like when I saw you walk out onto that ice," Snape says.

"Well, if you thought I was trying to kill myself, why did you save me? After all, I am just swine that's been put under your protection. You should have let me die."

Snape sighs again. "How many times must I tell you that the Dark Lord has charged me with protecting you? If you died under my watch, he would have my head on a stick." Much like I want in this very moment, actually.

"Why does it matter to you whether you live or die? You're miserable, why not go ahead and end our misery of having to be around you."

"Because I pride my life upon—and find much enjoyment in—making the lives of young witches and wizards miserable." His tone is impossibly neutral, making it difficult to tell whether he is serious. "If I were to let myself die on your behalf, Miss Lestrange, who would make you miserable in my place?"

"Don't call me that!" I tremble at the sound of my name, at the thought that all of this is real and Bellatrix Lestrange is my mother. Fortunately, Snape is still behind his newspaper and cannot see how his words are affecting me, destroying me.

"It is your name though, yes? Aurelia Lestrange."

"SHUT UP! I AM NOT A LESTRANGE!"

"Your blood begs to differ." He lowers the paper just enough to show his eyes so he can look at me. "I guess I can't really blame you for wanting to kill yourself then. Lestrange is a hard name to live up to. I can see how you would feel too . . . inadequate to live up to your mother's reputation." And dammit, I can practically see that smirk of his through the paper.

I flail in the bed, yelling and trying to break free. Neither of which do me any good. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"That's not much of an incentive for me to release you then, is it?"

I remain silent.

Snape takes nearly twenty minutes to finish reading the paper before he folds it up and puts it aside. I glower at him throughout the whole process. "Ready to talk about what happened?" he asks slowly. "Because I, for one, would love to know why you tried to kill yourself."

"I DIDN'T TRY TO KILL MYSELF!" Snape stands and moves toward the door. "FINE! WAIT! Professor Snape . . . wait!" He slowly goes back to his chair and sits down. I take a deep breath. "Tell me what you saw."

Snape watches me. "I saw you walking out onto the Black Lake, knowing it was frozen. I saw you stand there as it cracked beneath your weight. I saw you slam your foot onto the ice, trying to break the ice, undoubtedly to drown—or freeze—yourself."

"I didn't—" I ball my hand into a fist and take a deep breath. "I did not try to kill myself."

"Then why don't you tell me what happened?"

I look away from him. "After dinner, I walked out to the lake. There was something . . . drawing me to it." What I won't confess to him is that I wanted to be out there because I liked the numbness, that I wanted to hurt myself with the ice. "I walked out onto it and sat there for a while . . . nearly half an hour. And yes, before you ask, it was cracking while I walked out onto it." I meet his eye. "I take it you missed that whole part?"

"Yes, I was still at dinner with the rest of the Hogwarts residents, which is where you should have been."

"Well, you know, the holiday cheer of those around me was unsettling."

Snape ignores this comment. "What did you do while you sat on the ice?"

"I cut a hole in the ice . . . and stuck my hand in it."

His eyes watch me closely. "Did that not hurt?" I look away from him, unable to keep the flush of shame from warming my cheeks. He almost sighs. "That was what you wanted."

Tears prick my eyes. "It took away the burning hole in my heart, even if only temporarily. It took my mind off Vol—the Dark Lord—my duty to him, and . . . Draco, and—and my newfound parentage." I look up at my wrist and pull at the chains, then add quietly, "I have less than a year before Voldemort comes for me. This is my last Christmas being free. And I'm spending it chained up because I almost died."

"Then you shouldn't have tried to kill yourself."

"I DIDN'T—"

"My apologies," he says as unapologetically as humanly possible, "you just tried to hurt yourself severely. And for what? To take you mind off of the Dark Lord?"

"To take my mind off of my mother and Draco!" I mean, that was only part of it, but he doesn't need to know just how much I fear having Voldemort's child. He doesn't need to know that I would rather die. Well, it's probably actually too late for that, considering I've already told him to kill me so I wouldn't have to have the child. Perhaps it will be possible to claim that I was not in my right mind—after all, I had just almost died in the lake. A few tears slip down my cheeks. Time is running out. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand that."

Snape meets my eyes but stays quiet.

"Have you ever loved anyone, Snape? Someone who made you happy and safe during the hell that is your life?" I don't give him a chance to reply before continuing, "I thought not. No surprise there, right?" I swallow down the lump in my throat. This is the second time I've lost someone I truly loved, and it hurts just as badly now as I did when Mrs. Stoico died. Almost worse, actually, because I was too young after Mrs. Stoico's death to realize how alone I was, and now I know all too well. Now I know exactly how alone I am in this world. "When you lose the person you care for the most, all you feel is pain. It consumes everything that was once happy. Everything—all joy—is sucked from your soul." I wipe a tear from my cheek. I can't do this again. I can't lose someone else like I lost Mrs. Stoico. I can't be alone again. "I don't expect you to understand. I just expect you to respect what I'm going through."

Snape remains motionless. He looks like a statue, and for a moment, I think he very well could be, but then he says quietly, "I'm a Death Eater, Rodgers."

I want to ask him what he means, but there is a distance in his eyes, like he is reliving something. Hoping it is something that truly makes him understand, I keep to myself. Reality soon hits him, and he looks back at me. Neither of us speaks for a few moments. Then I ask, "Where am I? Why am I not in the hospital wing? Am I in Malfoy Manor?"

"Malfoy Manor?" he asks with a cruel laugh. "Merlin, no, I only go back there when it is required of me."

"Then why am I not in the hospital wing?"

"It is not advisable for the others here to know you tried to kill—" He pauses and throws his hand up to stop me from interrupting him. "I mean . . . tried to harm yourself severely. So I brought you down here to prevent any of them from learning of your . . . issue."

"It's not an issue! I was temporarily distracted and comforted so I took my chance! Believe me, this is not something I am going to be doing every day. It was a mistake."

"A mistake that nearly took both our lives."

"Where am I?"

"My private potions storeroom." With a wave of his wand, candles light up the room, revealing all of the potion ingredients that I can't make out—nor do I really want to try, as they all look slightly disgusting. The room itself is much smaller than I had previously assumed. Snape's chair, though in the far corner from me, is within an arm's reach of the little bed I'm currently lying on, which stretches from back wall to the wall with the door.

"Why am I in here?" I ask him, trying to sit up straighter, my hand still chained above my head.

"No one will come searching for you here. And it's easy for me to keep an eye on you."

Silence falls between us again for a few minutes.

"So did you heal me?"

"Physically, you should be fine. Mentally, you still need help."

Snape stands, and his chair disappears. He goes for the door. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to sleep. It's nearly two in the morning," he says, opening the door and stepping out of the storeroom.

"Get back here, you evil git! Let me out!" I strain against the chains.

"I would prefer not to." He begins closing the door, and I start screaming. Snape waves his wand at me, and I can't make another sound. He smirks as I struggle to open my mouth, but it's like my tongue has been glued to the roof of my mouth. He closes the door, leaving me in here to wallow in my own self-pity, unable to break free of the chains or even shout at him through the door.

The storeroom door slams open, waking me violently. I crack my eyes open to find Snape standing in the doorway. I try to speak, but my tongue is still stuck the roof of my mouth.

"Already awake, I see," Snape says.

I glare at him.

"I came to check on you." He looks at me as waiting for an answer. "Very well then, I'll let you figure it out, and I'll return later." He turns to leave, and I grunt at him and fight against the chains. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten." He waves his wand, and my tongue releases its hold on the top of my mouth.

"I hate you," I groan, my mouth dry and uncomfortable.

"That's really nothing new to me. Most of the students find a reason to hate me."

"We don't have to search very hard."

He grimaces at me. "I believe you owe me. I saved your life."

"Saved my life only to throw me defenseless back to the wolves. Yeah, what a hero."

"I liked you better when you couldn't talk."

"And I liked you better when you weren't in here."

"Very well." He leaves the room.

"WAIT! COME BACK!"

Snape opens the door. "Can I help you, Miss Rodgers?"

"Please, just let me go," I whisper, tears once again stinging my eyes.

Snape watches me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he waves his wand, and the chains vanish.

I breathe a sigh of relief before sliding off the bed. "And give me my wand back."

I open my hand, and he places the wand in my palm but pulls it back before I can grab it. "If you put yourself—and, consequently, me—in danger like that again, there will be far worse things in store for you than being locked in here. You're lucky I haven't taken you back to Malfoy Manor already. Continue testing me, and I will have the Dark Lord remove you from Hogwarts. You can learn to defend yourself properly elsewhere—from your mother perhaps. I doubt you want to spend your last year of freedom in the dungeon at the manor, learning from Bellatrix what you can learn better here."

"Fine." He places the wand in my hand again and lets me take it.

Snape waves his wand at the bed, and it becomes a ladder that reaches the top shelf of the potion storeroom. I walk past him to go to the Slytherin Dungeon, and as while reaching to push the door open, I hear him smugly call out, "Happy Christmas."

I ignore his comment and go up to my dormitory where I find a palm-sized package on my bed and a letter beside it. Inside the package is a vial full of yellow liquid with a note attached that says, "Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Do not use the Black Lake next time. Take a small bit of this. Do not use all at once. Side effects can be (and are) irritating." I unplug the top and take a whiff of the potion, a sweet smell filling my nose and bringing a smile to my face. I carefully place it in my trunk with my few other belongings, then grab the letter.

It's from Nymphadora Tonks, my cousin. She will be in Hogsmeade every weekend in February and will gladly meet me somewhere in the village so I can meet some of my family. She obviously has doubts that I am Bellatrix's daughter as she believes there would have been some word had Bellatrix had a baby because Bellatrix would have bragged about having a child to give to Voldemort, but nevertheless, she is willing to give me a chance to explain myself. I write a letter back to her telling her that we should meet in the Three Broomsticks. I slide the letter into my pocket and leave the Slytherin Dungeon.

I walk to Snape's office door and knock lightly. "Enter," he calls. I step inside. "Don't make a habit of coming to my office, Rodgers."

"Wasn't really planning on it." Especially after he locked me up.

"Then what are you doing here now?"

I take a seat in front of his desk. "I came to ask . . . What will happen if—is there a chance that—" Unsure how best to ask this without being too awkward, my voice is shaky with fear and apprehension when I finally struggle out, "Will Voldemort find out about my—actions—from the other day, when I came into your office without permission?"

"So you do remember. I thought you had a lapse of memory?"

"I did, but it's recently come back . . . Probably something to do with being attacked by my Potions professor."

"You mustn't worry about it. You won't be meeting the Dark Lord for a while."

"What about you though?"

"I can take care of myself. I find myself to be quite skilled in Occlumency. He won't learn what happened from me."

I look at my hands. "Is that something that can be learned? Is that a way to hide thoughts from people?"

"Yes, it can be learned, and when you are skilled enough, thoughts can be hidden."

I meet his gaze. Despite everything, he's kind of my only hope right now. "Could you teach me?"

"I would prefer not to."

"Please stop saying that."

"There is a student to whom I must teach it. I cannot use the same cover for both of you."

"It's Harry, isn't it? The one you're teaching." He does not look at me. "I know more than you give me credit for, Professor. No other student would need to know something like that, would they?"

"I cannot teach you," is all he says.

"Does the Dark Lord know you're teaching Harry?"

"The Dark Lord knows that I must do whatever Professor Dumbledore requires of me."

Is there a chance he's actually on Dumbledore's side, or is that just wishful thinking because he's the only Death Eater within the castle, the only Death Eater I might someday be able to trust? I stand and leave.

After reaching the Owlery and sending an owl off with my letter, I slouch against the wall and sit down. Why would I have tried drowning myself in the freezing waters of the Black Lake when I could just have easily thrown myself from one of these towers? I mean, really, Snape, I am not a fool. Not completely, anyway.

And after everything he's learnt about me, why would he believe that I would want to take my life? I mean, the only time I ever actually attempted it was thwarted by Lucius Malfoy because I hesitated and took too long to jump, giving Malfoy enough time to rescue me.

If I'm truly honest with myself, I waited so Malfoy could save me because death isn't something I necessarily want. Frankly, I am too selfish to take my own life. If there is even the slightest possibility of escaping my fate, I plan on trying it before ending everything. I certainly don't want to end my life unless I literally have no other choice. I thought Snape would know this by now.

An owl swoops down and lands on my knee. "Happy Christmas," I say to it. It tilts it head to watch me. "How many years have you been here?" I wonder aloud. "Were you bred to be a Hogwarts owl?"

"Rodgers," a gruff voice says. The owl flies away, and I look over to see Filch watching me impatiently. "Professor Umbridge would like word with you. Head to her office immediately."

I sigh and obey him—well, I obey Umbridge, seeing as she's the one who sent for me.

"Ah, Miss Rodgers," Umbridge says when I reach her open office door. "Do come in."

"Professor Umbridge," I greet her as politely as possible, the back of my hand twinging.

"Have a seat." She waits until I am seated before continuing, "Have you been using the Hogwarts owls?"

"I—"

"And don't you dare lie to me. You must not tell lies."

I grimace. "Yes, Professor, I have been using the school owls."

"For what, exactly, Miss Rodgers?"

"Sending letters?"

Her sweet face becomes slightly angry. "All letters and packages are to be examined by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor—that is to say, me—before they can be sent or received."

"I didn't know, Professor, but I will certainly keep that in mind for the next time."

"And do you have the letters which you received already?"

"No, Professor."

"And where are they?"

"I burnt them. There were things in them that made me angry, so I burnt them." I take a breath. "I'm an orphan, I'm sure you know, a transfer from Durmstrang. The letters were from a woman claiming to know why my parents abandoned me. I don't want to know why they did such things. I told the person as much and burnt the letters. I'll bring the next one to you, if I get a next one, and you can read it and burn it for yourself."

"All letters will come through me before they reach the students, Miss Rodgers," Umbridge informs me again.

"I'll keep that in mind. Am I free to go now?"

She nods, and I retreat.

If this whole situation—almost dying, I mean—has convinced me of one thing, it's that I can't bear this . . . all of these burdens alone anymore. I just can't do it. And if I don't let out at least the one—the one that's been haunting me since I found out who Bellatrix is to me—I fear I might tell Tonks when I meet her. And Merlin knows that would be a mistake because all it would do is reaffirm the fact that I am Bellatrix's twisted daughter. I can't have her and her family, the only family of mine who do not willingly serve Voldemort, hate me because of what I did. If McGonagall hates me, so be it. It'll hurt, but I lived after Mrs. Stoico left my life, and I will live if McGonagall does as well.

In fact, it'll be easier if McGonagall hates me as I hate myself because then I won't have to worry about it anymore. She'll hate me, and I will have no Mrs. Stoico figure in my life to make me regret what I've done, or to make me fear what I am to do. I will have no one other than family who cares—if the Tonkses decide I'm worth caring about—and that will only make having Voldemort's child that much easier, because I won't have to worry about anyone else mourning me.