CHAPTER 39

Zoe and I climb aboard a Thestral-drawn carriage with a younger group of Slytherins, two girls and one boy. They all watch us as we sit down next to each other. "Hi," Zoe greets them.

"You yelled at Draco," the boy says, crossing his arms. "Why?"

"He gives Slytherin a bad name," Zoe says. "You should never hate witches and wizards because of their blood status. And you should never rejoice about someone like Umbridge taking control of Hogwarts. It's all completely ridiculous."

The other three Slytherins remain quiet after that, staunchly refusing to say another word to us or to look at us. "It looks like Draco's already gotten to them," I mutter.

Zoe smiles at the comment, but when she speaks a moment later, her voice is serious. "Can you see them, the Thestrals?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

I don't want to tell her—I really, really don't—but there's something about her that makes me feel comfortable and makes me want to talk. Instead of telling her the full, actual truth, I say, "I saw . . . an older man die. A heart attack, they said. My aunt had forced me to go with her to store, and this man—"

"Charlotte," she interrupts me softly, "you don't have to lie to me. If you didn't want to talk about it, all you had to do was say so."

I can't look away from those beautiful honey eyes of hers. "I'm sorry," I breathe, "I just . . . I can't talk about it. It was one of the hardest days of my life." She just nods as if she understands. "Can you see them?"

"No. I was in the car crash that killed my parents, but—well, I was asleep when it all happened, and I woke up in the hospital a couple days later. I didn't actually see them die."

As she doesn't seem inclined to continue speaking on the topic, I don't pry.

The carriage comes to a stop, and I separate from her, climbing down first behind the other young Slytherins. Zoe follows. "When I graduate after this term ends," she says quietly, "you need to stay with Astoria and the others who are against Malfoy's ideologies. Help them keep first-years like those up there"—she points at the group who rode in the carriage with us—"from being lost forever. Don't let that happen."

"Just make sure they also hate the other Houses?" I laugh.

She shrugs. "That's up to them, of course. But someone, some of the Slytherins, need to save the House reputation."

"I'll take it into consideration."

"That's all I ask."

The grand tale of how the Weasley twins escaped Hogwarts on brooms while Umbridge did her best to stop them greets us the moment we enter the castle. It's the main topic of conversation among all the students—even the Slytherins who claim to like Umbridge are more than thrilled to recount what they saw when the twins revolted against the headmistress. Apparently, they released a Portable Swamp of their own creation and flew out of Hogwarts on their brooms. By the way people speak of it, Fred and George will be Hogwarts legends.

Though I'm happy they escaped and will be able to start their own joke shop, I'm immensely disappointed that I was unable to say goodbye to Fred. I know we weren't officially dating or anything, but saying goodbye would've been nice. Another thing Voldemort has taken from me.

When I reach the Slytherin Dungeons, I see a sign posted for all the fifth-years saying that we're supposed report to our Head of House for a short meeting about our future. The absolute last thing I want to do is talk about my future with Severus Snape. My eyes scrape down the schedule of appointments until I find my name. My meeting with Snape is to take place during the Quidditch match, which really isn't that much of a loss for me.

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see Draco. "You left for the holiday."

"Yeah, you noticed, did you?"

"Charlotte."

"Yes, I left."

"You went to the manor."

My throat burns. "It's not really something I want to talk about, Draco."

He places his hand on my shoulder and leads me to a corner of the common room. His eyes sweeping around the room to assure no one is close enough to overhear us, he asks, almost inaudibly, "Was she there? Your mother?" I can't look at him or even speak, so I nod. "And . . . and who else?"

"Voldemort."

Draco chokes on something. "What happened?"

I shake my head, still not meeting his eye.

"You can tell me."

Zoe Accrington saves me when she walks over to us and says, "Hi, Charlotte, I'm about to walk down to the Quidditch pitch for the match. Thought I'd see if you wanted to walk with me." She glares at Draco.

"Is it time for the match already? I have to head to Snape's office for Career Advice." I motion at the schedule posted on the board to make my point and take my opportunity to walk out of the common room with her and away from Draco anyway, even though I won't go down to the pitch with her. "Thank Merlin you showed up when you did."

"Thought you could use some help. I'll see you after the match?"

I nod and part ways with her, her to the Quidditch pitch and me to Snape's office. I knock on the door and wait patiently until he calls for me to enter. My heart aches suddenly when I see him because all I call think about is what a fifteen-year-old Severus Snape must have been like and why not even his own House tried to stop James Potter and Sirius from torturing him. He waves his wand at the door, presumably to silence our conversation to anyone wandering around, though there are probably very few students who are not at the Quidditch match right now, but it's probably better to be prepared. "You ran away from the manor," he says as I sit down. "I expected you not to return at all."

"How do you know that?"

"That is none of your concern."

"So the Malfoys are narcs? Or was it Bellatrix?"

"They were hunting you."

"So they thought I'd come back here?" I laugh. "That's so unlike me."

"And yet here you sit."

"I'm safer here than when I'm on my own, and I'm not planning to stay locked up and hidden away just yet."

Snape watches me, looking for a lie. "Have you given any thought to your future career?"

"Oh, we're—we're actually talking about that?" He just raises his eyebrow at me. "All right, well, I guess—you kind of already know my future will be. I'm going to be raising half-demon child."

He doesn't seem to enjoy this answer much, for he grimaces at me. "I'll give you a few minutes to think about it, shall I?" he finally says a few heartbeats later.

"So I'm free to go?"

"Hardly."

"But I thought—"

"No," he says.

He watches me closely, his eyes probing, and I sigh loudly. "You want me to tell you what happened." He looks almost sympathetic. "Fine. Fine. I'll tell you that it would've went a lot better had you given me any sort of warning as to what he looked like."

He actually smirks at me, and for whatever reason it really angers me. He knew that Voldemort was going to terrify me and still kept that information to himself. I don't know why I find this so frustrating because I really should've expected nothing else from him. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Now you're worried about fun?"

"Being a Potions professor to whiny children doesn't offer me much joy."

"I feel like you bring that on yourself," I snap.

"Mind your temper, Miss Rodgers. What happened at Malfoy Manor?"

"Mind your own business, Professor Snape."

"Detention."

I scoff, "I thought we discussed that I'm not even a real student here! So how can I get a detention?"

"It seems the only way I can punish you that will not result in the Dark Lord's anger."

"You fear the Dark Lord?"

"You're a fool not to."

I slouch down in the chair and cross my ankles. "Then perhaps I am a fool." I mean, I'm sure I am a fool, but not for lack of fearing Voldemort, because that creep is my greatest fear. No, I am a fool for harboring even the slightest hope that I can escape him and this duty. Snape just keeps watching me. With a loud groan, I say, "If you must know, Professor, I almost destroyed the Malfoys' table and chairs trying to get away from him, and I asked if he was actually human—you know, his face and all."

Snape pales and whispers, "You didn't?"

"Oh, I did, and Bellatrix almost killed me on the spot."

"And . . . the Dark Lord? What did he do?"

"He told Bellatrix to calm down." This news thoroughly shocks him, which oddly makes me feel slightly accomplished though I don't know why. "I suspect that he would have killed me had I been someone like Lucius, but I'm irreplaceable or whatever."

Snape's lips twitch at this remark, almost as if he's tempted to smile. "Why did he call for a meeting with you?"

"You mean you don't know? I know something you don't?" He grimaces again, and something about that grimace—it's not angry but rather disappointed and intrigued—convinces me to tell him. "He had me duel Lucius and Bellatrix. He wanted—he wanted to see if he'd made a good decision. By choosing me, Bellatrix's daughter."

"Did they put you in your place and show you that you truly are not 'irreplaceable'?"

"Merlin's beard, no! I am still very much irreplaceable. They just got the upper hand on me. Voldemort seemed somewhat pleased with me."

"Do not use the Dark Lord's name."

"Fine."

"I suspect Bellatrix did not yield to the powers of her sixteen-year-old daughter?"

"No," I confess, almost begrudgingly. "I put her on her back once, but she quickly returned the favor. I believe I could have lasted a bit longer had it not been for the Cruciatus Curse she threw at me." This time his grimace seems irritated—despite how shocking that is, I do not ask him why this news has irritated him. "I wasn't really prepared for it."

"And you still feel as if you're irreplaceable? The Dark Lord let your mother Cruciate you, yet you believe yourself to be important to him?"

"He called her off and let me Cruciate her in return. I mean, he stopped me a moment later, but it felt—well, good almost—to hear my mother scream in pain after she laughed at mine." He fidgets uncomfortably. "So, you see, I am irreplaceable to Voldemort."

"Do not use the Dark Lord's name!"

I continue as if he had never interrupted me: "I am the pureblood daughter of his greatest supporter and soldier, and I have inherited a bit of her talent. He seemed pleased."

Snape doesn't say anything for a few moments, just watches me, probably trying to determine if I am lying about the whole thing or not. Then he finally asks, "The Dark Lord commanded you back to Malfoy Manor to have you duel the two of them, and that was it?"

"That . . . that wasn't the extent of my meeting with him."

Snape sits quietly, waiting for me to continue, but I can't bring myself to say everything to him. Instead, I say, "I don't believe he knows that you're aware of who my parents are. Not even my father is allowed to know. So you might want to keep that to yourself. Wanting my father to know actually caused some tension in the meeting. I thought—Merlin, I thought we was going to kill me, honestly. Until I pointed out that he needs me. After that, he just threatened to kill my father—and torture me so maybe you're right about my importance to him—should he ever learn the truth. And I don't think—I don't think he'll be too pleased to learn that you know."

And if Voldemort decides to kill Snape for knowing the truth, it seems unlikely I would be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. And as much as I want to be as far away from Voldemort's plans for me as possible, I know that Hogwarts is the first place in years where I've been safe. But without his Death Eater here to keep a watch on me, he wouldn't trust me to be here, and I'd much rather be here than locked away somewhere else.

Snape remains silent, eyeing me as if trying once again to determine if I am lying. Finally, after what feels to be an agonizingly long silence, he waves his wand at the door, probably lifting whatever charms he put on it when our discussion of Voldemort began, and, probably just to say that he followed the rules of this meeting, asks, "Have you given any real thought into your future?"

"I have, actually." He frowns at me, likely lamenting the fact that the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin so now he has to deal with me. "And no, I do not mean raising Voldemort's—"

"Do not use the Dark Lord's name!"

"—child this time. Though, that's always going to an option, right?" I swallow down that thought. "Anyway, I think I'd enjoy being a teacher here at Hogwarts."

"And why is that?"

"It's a beautiful place."

His eyebrow goes up.

"Fine, I would like to shape the next generation's minds."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Good, because it's all a lie." He clenches his jaw, so very obviously growing more annoyed with me by the second. "I seriously don't think I'm cut out to be in any career field. I'd prefer being a stay-at-home mum." He opens his mouth, but I cut him off quickly, "I don't mean the Dark Lord's child! I mean in general." He's still skeptical, and I can't stop myself from sighing. "I never had a family, or a mother. I want to have a child and love that child like no one else can. I want to raise a family like I never had. I want to create the family I never had."

"Well, what if that doesn't go the way you hope?" he asks. Though I'm surprised he didn't try pointing out the flaws in my plan, I'm grateful that he didn't.

"An Obliviator would be fairly nice. I'd love to erase memories for a living."

"If you aren't going to take this seriously, you need to leave," he says harshly. "I'll report that you simply have no plans for your future."

"But I am serious. Sort of. I know the spell, and I'm very good at it. Like really good at it. Like I can get away with almost anything if I wanted. It was one of the things I taught myself while on the run. I hurt—I hurt a Muggle family and decided I never wanted to do that again—so I taught myself memory charms so that I wouldn't have to hurt anyone again unless it was absolutely necessary." Snape does not look convinced. "All right, fine, don't believe me." I clear my throat, almost embarrassed that I just admitted that to him. He doesn't need to know what I did when I was on the run. "If neither of those two plans pan out . . ."

A few short moments pass. "I'm waiting."

I take a deep breath. "I . . . I would like to help children who have been abused and bullied and who struggle to find comfort or love in their lives."

Snape seems completely unfazed. "And why is that?"

"Because I've heard some things, seen some things, been a part of some things, and I would almost like to make up for that. That, and having been an abused and bullied child, I know firsthand the kind of toll it takes on a person. Know what I mean?"

His wand twitches, probably his subtle way of once again putting charms on the door. "No."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh. Well, congrats to you, I guess. It's not a fun way to live."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Where did you say you went after you ran away from the manor?"

"I don't believe I did."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to see some of my family."

"What family? Your family was at Malfoy Manor, were they not? At least, the only family you have, who should know the truth about you, was at the manor."

"The daughter of Bellatrix's sister Andromeda knows. Dumbledore gave me permission to tell her."

"You were with Nymphadora Tonks?"

"For a couple of hours. Then I stayed with another cousin."

He is so clearly frustrated with me that I never want this to end. If only I could get under Bellatrix's skin this easily. "Does this other cousin have a name?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course he does. Why wouldn't he?"

Snape glowers at me. "I suspect this family you went to see is on your mother's side?"

"Yeah."

His eyes darken. "Other than Nympahdora Tonks, I believe the only cousin you have on your mother's side was Draco." He's trying to hurt me, but I won't let him. The pain of Draco is basically completely gone now, just the few lingering aches every now and then. There are bigger things happening to me than going through a breakup. "And I believe he was still here."

"Until recently, I thought Draco was my only cousin too, but I found some more," I say loftily. "Besides the Malfoys, I have Ted and Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, my first-cousin." I pause. "And I just recently found out that I have a second-cousin." This has the effect I desire: Snape's suddenly looks as if he wants to yell at me or worse. "I believe you might know him. Sirius Black."

"And why would I know him?"

"I thought you were in school with him?" I say innocently. "At least, that's what he told me."

"Is that right?" he asks as nonchalantly as he can manage.

"Yeah, he told me a lot about his time at Hogwarts." I give it a minute while Snape tries to read my face. "He told me that he and a certain Mr. Potter were right jerks back in the day. But that's about all . . . no details. Do you have any details?"

"No," he says softly. "I don't." But he is calming down.

"I also heard that your Occlumency lessons with Harry are over. Could you teach me now? I think it'd be a good thing to know, what with the Dark Lord looming over me." Before he can answer, I add, "And dueling—it'd be good if you could teach me something about that as well. I'm sure Vol—the Dark Lord—will appreciate it if I am taught how to fight better. In fact, he thinks it would be beneficial for me to learn. He doesn't want me wandering around so ill-prepared to defend myself."

"With this little time left in the term?"

"Yeah, something about how I'm going to be here for another two years."

"Then your lessons will begin first thing next term." He smirks at my disappointment. "Until then, study and be prepared for the O.W.L.s. You can leave."

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will reward you for your efforts, Professor," I grumble. "Let's just hope he doesn't find out from me that you know who my parents are."

"I'll be fine."

I stand and make for the door. Then I hear him say, "Think seriously about your future, Miss Rodgers. You can't be the Dark Lord's bed slave your whole life."

My whole body goes rigid, and I round on him, drawing my wand. "Call me—"

"Expelliarmus," he says softly.

The spell wrenches my wand from my hand and sends it soaring into the air, flying toward Professor Snape, who snatches it from its flight without removing his eyes from my glare. With a look of victory at my anger, he places it on his desk. All I see is red, and I find myself rushing at him, my fists clenched. He waves his wand, and a spell strikes my chest, knocks me back, and throws me onto the floor. Groaning from the new pain in my back, I roll onto my stomach and push myself to my feet, my chest heaving as I try to take deep breaths to calm myself.

I can't rush him—that'll lead to another rough landing on the floor. And I don't have a wand to attack him from afar. I put my hands on the back of the chair in front of me, digging my nails into it, and hang my head as I try to bring myself together enough not to angry-cry in front of him. "Rodgers."

"Don't speak," I growl.

"Rodgers—"

With one swift movement, I jerk my shoe off my foot and throw it at him. He barely manages to swat it away before it whacks him in the head. In an instant, he has gathered himself from the shock of the assault. "Are you going to attack me?" I snarl. "It makes sense then, I guess, that you would take my wand. You're a bloody coward who attacks people when they don't have any way to protect themselves. You're no better than James Potter and Sirius Black. At least they were children."

"Detention! Rodgers, you must learn to hold your tongue and—"

"And you must learn to hold yours!" I shout, frustrated tears slipping down my cheeks. I wipe them away without looking at him, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

"I know you're not willingly going to the Dark Lord. I know you will not be his—"

"Don't say it again!"

He dips his head once. "Rodgers, the Dark Lord will not tolerate disrespect, nor will he tolerate your temper." Though I know that all too well, I won't tell him this and give him the satisfaction of being right. "If you are incapable of steeling your emotions around me, what chance do you have of keeping them from the Dark Lord?" I wipe my eyes again as an excuse not to look at him and as a way to refuse to answer for the moment. "You must learn to keep your feelings about your duty to yourself or else you will likely be punished."

"When is my detention?" I ask, still not looking at him.

"Rodgers—"

I gaze intently at my feet. "Just—when is it?"

"When it is least convenient for you."

"Which would be when?"

I hear a cruel chuckle before he says, "The next time you get an owl from Professor McGonagall about your lessons, disregard it." My eyes jerk toward him without my full consent. "That will be the time of your detention." I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with, "You may leave."

There's no point in fighting with him, and in any case, I don't have the energy to try it. He hands over my wand, and I'm making my way to the door when my shoe lands on the floor beside me. As I'm sliding it back onto my foot, he says, "Think seriously about your future, Miss Rodgers."

Do I have much of a future with Voldemort still alive?