CHAPTER 43

I stumble back to the Slytherin Dungeon, unable to speak, unable to breathe properly, covered in the murk of the portable swamp. Tears stream down my face, carving valleys through the thick grossness on my cheeks, as I enter the common room and collapse to the floor onto my stomach. What have I done? Someone kill me before I hurt another person like that. Just kill me. I don't deserve to live.

"Charlotte?" a voice asks me. I don't move, can't move, can't face anyone right now. "Charlotte?"

A gentle hand, a touch much too gentle for someone like me to deserve, rests on my shoulder, and I force myself to roll over and face whoever's found me. Zoe is kneeling beside me, watching me with such concern in her eyes that a sob tears through me before I can stop it. I immediately cover my mouth with my hand and shake my head. "What's happened to you?"

Another sob prevents me from answering her.

"The other fifth-years returned almost an hour ago. Where have you been?" she whispers.

I shake my head, still unable to answer, and try to pull myself to my feet but stumble and catch myself on the back of the sofa in front of me, leaving behind the mud of the swamp on the upholstery. Zoe grabs my arm and helps steady me. Ignoring the grime covering me from head to toe, she drapes my arm around her shoulder and helps me to the bathroom. She keeps her voice low when she asks, "Would this have anything to do with what happened to McGonagall? Daphne told me what happened during the Astronomy."

I meet her eyes and hang my head.

"Will you get into trouble?"

I can't answer her.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" She lowers me to the floor and turns on one of the showers. "Then you should probably wash off." She's right, of course. Being covered in the swamp is the most damning evidence that I was near Umbridge's office recently, but I can't make myself move. She watches me for a moment, then sighs sadly. "Charlotte."

My stomach wretches, but I manage not to vomit on the floor. After taking a few slow, steadying breaths, I whisper, "I hurt someone."

Zoe crouches in front of me. "Whatever has happened," she says kindly, "you'll be all right." She offers me her hand. "Come on, let me help you up."

"I can't move," I breathe.

"You need to get washed off. This is from the swamp, isn't it?" I nod. "That's by Umbridge's office." I hang my head, another sob escaping. "We have to get it off of you before anyone sees you and starts asking questions." I try to shake my head to tell her no, that I don't want to move, but she's beside me, sliding my arm over her shoulder and pulling me to my feet, before the thought can make it out of my mouth.

"Merlin, you're stronger than you look."

She chuckles. "A joke. We're moving in the right direction."

I start to weep in earnest at that, and she lowers me to the floor in the shower, the water soaking through the grime and my clothes. "I never should've come here," I whisper.

"Hey, hey, no, don't say that. You're fine."

"Zoe . . ."

"You'll be fine." She removes my arm from her shoulder. "I swear it—you're fine." She starts to get up, but I grab her arm, silently pleading with her not to leave me because nothing in this world sounds worse right now than being alone with my own thoughts. She sits back down, pulls her knees up, and puts her arm around my shoulder. Another sob wracks through me, and I place my head on her knees. She holds my head and lets me weep as the water soaks both of us.

I haven't spoken at all since Zoe walked me to my bed last night after helping me clean off the swamp mud. I owe her more than I can ever repay. She didn't push me to say what happened, she didn't try to make me relive what I did. She just sat silently while I cried and made sure I was relatively fine before she left me on my own to sleep.

Now I'm sitting in the Great Hall for my History of Magic exam, my final exam, but can't find it in myself to care about it. Not because of the class itself but because I currently just want to die. I can't live knowing just how alike my mother and I are. McGonagall was wrong all those months ago—Bellatrix and I are too similar for me to ignore our relation any longer. She's my mother and has gifted me her propensity for violence.

Merlin, what would Tonks and Sirius say if they found out what I've done? The Cruciatus Curse was taking it too far. Why did I do that? Something is wrong with me.

All I want is for this exam to be over so I can lie down.

Professor Marchbanks stands in front of the Great Hall where McGonagall should be standing, where McGonagall would be standing had Umbridge not let those Ministry goons attack her. A new wave of anger surges in me. I'm going to kill Umbridge. That wave of anger vanishes, quickly replaced by shame and regret at the very thought of murdering that bitch in cold blood. You deserve Azkaban.

"Turn over your papers," Professor Marchbanks commands from the front of the room, flicking over the large hourglass. "You may begin . . ."

I turn the paper over and groan to myself when I find that there are more questions on this exam than there were on the others. I guess it makes sense, though, considering that there is no practical exam for this subject.

My eyes glaze over the questions, my brain refusing to focus on them or even think about potential answers. I want out of this room. I want to lie down. I want to speak with my mother. Was she always evil or violent? With enough effort, could I reverse this course my life is on?

Almost halfway through the exam, I lean back in my chair to give my eyes a short break from reading. That's when I see that Harry is asleep. Apparently, I'm not the only one who struggled sleeping last night, but his sleep now is obviously not restful: his face is contorted as if he is in pain, a gleam of sweat forms on his on his forehead. Then, suddenly, he screams, falls out of his chair, grabs his forehead scar, and continues to scream. Professor Tofty runs to him, helps him up, and ushers him from the room. What just happened?

I cut my break shorter and turn back to the exam in front of me. Nothing about the questions really registers with me, honestly, and when I finish, as tempted as I am to follow Ron and Hermione, who are no doubt going to find Harry, that's not what I truly want to do right now.

Instead, I sprint to the hospital wing, skidding to a stop at the door. I push it open, expecting to find Professor McGonagall lying in one of the beds protesting the fact that she's trapped in there. But she's not. The hospital wing is chillingly McGonagall-free. Where is she? Madam Pomfrey, the only person in here, watches me curiously as my eyes viciously roam over the room trying to find the Transfiguration professor. I refuse to accept that she is not here, because if she isn't here, then those spells damaged her so severely that the matron nurse of Hogwarts was powerless to help her. Finally, Pomfrey asks, "Is there something wrong, dear?"

"Wh-where . . . where is Professor McGonagall?"

"You're the second student to come looking for her. She was transferred to St. Mungo's this morning."

My heart plummets as panic sets in. "Is she . . . will she . . .?" I cannot ask the question I truly want to ask, for even just putting the thought into the world that she might not survive feels like I am signing her death warrant. Instead, I settle on asking, "How is she?"

"She took four Stunning Spells straight to the chest. At her age, it's a wonder it didn't kill her," Madam Pomfrey says.

If she dies, you know what you must do. Umbridge cannot live while McGonagall is dead. You cannot allow it. I force the thought away. "Will—will she live?"

"I believe so."

I nod my thanks and leave immediately.

I want to talk to Snape. Well, "talk" isn't really the word to describe this conversation I'm planning on having with Snape. Why was McGonagall the only one trying to save Hagrid? Where was Snape? If Dumbledore trusts him so much, he should have been willing to assist Hagrid—another man Dumbledore trusts and relies on. There is absolutely no reason McGonagall should have been going down there alone. Snape should have helped her. He could have done something, and she wouldn't be in St. Mungo's now. He could have done something.

Storming down the stairs to Snape's office, I run into Draco, who is making his way out of the dungeons. He's alone, which is odd for him. His eyes land on my for a moment, and he comes toward me, takes me by the hand, and goes with me down the stairs, the opposite direction in which he had just been going. When he pulls me aside, I glance around really quickly and see that there is no one else around. "I don't have time for this!" I hiss at him.

"Please, I have to talk to you," he begs. "It's important."

Had it not been for the tears on the verge of spilling out of his eyes, I would have stormed off, but his sorrow keeps me from leaving. I nod reluctantly.

"I . . . Easter—I should've—it . . ." He closes his eyes. "I should have been there with you."

"You couldn't be."

"But I should've been. I should've been . . ."

"Draco, you couldn't have been."

He hangs his head, his grip on my hand tightening. I don't have it in me to share my sorrow with him right now, but my throat burns with the desire to as I watch his grief. "Who's going to be there—when You-Know-Who . . ." He puts his hands on my arms. "You shouldn't have to go through that alone."

"Why do you care?" I ask, pulling away from him and coming to my senses. "You and your posse ambushed me in the corridor. You don't care. So don't act like you do. It's just insulting."

"It was wrong of me to—"

"Yeah, it was." I take a step back from him. "You can't pretend around your friends that I'm some pathetic orphan and then try to act like you care. That's one of the last things I need in my life right now."

When he doesn't say anything for a moment, I push away from the wall. Before Draco sidetracked me, I was on a mission, one that needs to be finished. I'm going to talk to Snape, more furious now than I was before.

I don't even knock, instead just throw the door open. By the look on his face, Snape is sincerely frustrated with me and my rudeness, but he doesn't speak. He just stares at me, probably trying to figure out why I look so infuriated. "Where were you when she needed help?" I sneer, bitterness filling each word, anger bubbling just under the surface, threatening to break free like it did last night with Umbridge.

"I would appreciate it if you did not enter my office without permission. You'll learn."

Suddenly, an invisible force begins pushing me out of the room, and I can do nothing to stop it. I gape at the door as it slams in my face. I try to open it, but Snape has put a charm on it. So I begrudgingly knock but receive no answer and begin banging against it furiously. Silence is my only answer, and I slam my fist against the door as hard as I can. "I know you're in there, Professor!"

"When someone doesn't answer a door," the reply comes, "it means that the person whom you seek is busy."

I bang and kick the door with my hands and feet. "I don't care! Open the door!" For some reason I don't understand, he relents, but he doesn't pay me any attention as I burst into his office, shouting, "Where were you when she needed you?"

"Miss Rodgers, if you could please keep your voice down," he says airily. Then he goes back to marking what seems to be a stack of essays.

Try as I might to sound livid, my voice comes out as more of a desperate whisper when I say, "Why did you not help her?"

"Can one really blame an unknowing professor of letting his colleague wander into danger?" he asks, finally looking up. "Had I know what Professor McGonagall was planning on doing, I would have accompanied her, I assure you."

"I don't believe you!"

"That's your prerogative, of course, but that doesn't mean it's correct. Minerva McGonagall is a friend, and I would not have let her be sent to St. Mungo's by the actions of four cowardly Ministry employees."

I collapse into the chair in front of his desk. "Why . . . why did she . . . why?"

"Her heart was in the right place, no doubt, but as it has become abundantly clear this year, when the headmistress wants something, hardly anything will stop her. She managed to send Professor Dumbledore away, did she not?"

"Will she die?"

"Professor McGonagall die at the hands of Dolores Umbridge?" he asks, his eyebrow raised. "Do you really believe she would let herself be bested by Umbridge and Umbridge's little helpers?"

A smile comes to my lips, but before I have a chance to reply, I hear a familiar voice call, "Professor!" through the door, followed by frantic knocking.

"Enter," Snape says.

Draco throws the door open. "Professor, the headmistress needs you in her office." My cousin and I glance at each other but don't say a word. Snape stands to his feet, motioning for me to do the same, and steers me out of his office, closing the door, giving me a warning glance for me not to follow. Then he rushes away with Draco.

Never having been one to listen to Snape and not in the least bit tempted to start now, I cast the Disillusionment Charm over myself once they turn the corner, then dart after them and follow a few feet behind them as they make their way to Umbridge's office. Draco walks with a spring in his step, which means whatever is happening in that office is quite possibly going to be the worst thing that's happened this year. Otherwise it couldn't have changed Draco's mood so quickly. The thought makes me ill.

Draco opens Umbridge's office door, and I slide inside the office around Snape, my heart stopping as I graze his leg with mine, his eyes landing on me for a moment as he steps into the office. A short surge of panic rises in my chest—it's almost as if he can see me, but I know that's impossible. Then he looks away from me and glances around the room, his face completely indifferent as he takes in the sight before us: Ron's lip bleeds into the carpet where he is being held down by a Slytherin whom I've not spoken to; Ginny tries to stamp on the feet of the sixth-year girl who tightly holds her upper arms; Neville claws at Crabbe's arms, which are around his neck too tightly; Hermione tries in vain to throw Millicent Bulstrode off her; Luna gazes out of the window as if bored; and Umbridge sits at her desk seemingly completely unfazed by the students struggling around her.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?"

Umbridge stands, smiling victoriously, and says, "Ah, Professor Snape. Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please." I'm glad to see that she is relatively the same as she was before I attacked her with the Cruciatus Curse. So, I mean, I couldn't have done too much damage to her, could I? Stop thinking about it.

"You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he says, watching her coolly. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."

Umbridge flushes, and my respect for Snape rises, as it often does when he is pitted against Umbridge and makes her look like a fool.

"You can make some more, can't you?" she asks, her fury causing her voice to become more high-pitched.

"Certainly," he says, his lip curling, possibly with annoyance. "It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."

"A month? A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" Snape says, seemingly interested now in what she has to say. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much indication to follow school rules." Harry watches Snape intently, as if trying to communicate something of importance, but I've no idea why he would want to do that. It's always been obvious how much they hate one another.

"I wish to interrogate him!" Umbridge shouts, her whole body shaking with fury. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell the truth!"

"I have already told you," Snape says, his voice smooth despite the tone she's taking with him, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter—and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did—I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling . . ." The look on Harry's face becomes desperate, but Snape is either oblivious or simply does not care. If forced to guess, I'd say Snape doesn't care.

"You are on probation!" Umbridge shrieks. Snape watches her, his eyebrows slightly raised. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you!" That's really nothing to be proud of. "Now get out of my office!"

Snape gives her an ironic bow then and turns to leave. I quickly jump to his side so I can sneak out, and his eyes watch me as he reaches for the doorknob. He stops when Harry shouts, "He's got Padfoot!" I turn to Harry, not caring that Snape has noticed my movement again. Padfoot is what Lupin called Sirius . . . "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!" Snape spins and looks Harry in the eye.

"Padfoot?" questions Umbridge. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"

"I have no idea. Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if you ever apply for a job." Snape opens the door, and I duck through it. He snaps it shut and swiftly walks away.

I remove the charm and follow him. "You're going to do something, right?" I ask him urgently.

He doesn't reply. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge me.

I grab his arm, jerking him to a stop, and he rounds on me, fury in his eyes. "You're going to help him, right? You're going to help Sirius!"

"I was rather hoping I managed to trap you in her office," he comments, sidestepping my question. "You didn't want to stay to find out what the headmistress does next?"

"I don't care what she does! You have to do something about Sirius!"

He ignores my pleas and starts walking again. I quickly catch up and grab his arm once more. Snape wastes no time using that arm to ram me into the wall. "Tread carefully, Rodgers." Then he releases me and walks away once more.

I hurry to catch up again. "You didn't help McGonagall! You have to help him!"

"I do not have to do anything," he says coolly, not so much as looking back at me. "But you must let me be now. Go away."

"NO! He is my cousin! He said he'd help me get away from Voldemort! You might be a loyal little Death Eater, you might be faithful to His Highness, but I am not! If Sirius truly stands a chance of helping me, I want to help him! You must do something!"

He looks sideways at me. "As I am a loyal Death Eater, why would I ever help a man who claims to be able to stop the Dark Lord?"

I pause, begrudgingly admitting to myself that he raises a valid point. He smirks at me as I scramble for an answer. We're nearly to the dungeons before an idea finally comes to me and I say, "Because the Dark Lord will not be happy if he finds out that I went wandering about and left Hogwarts in the dead of night under your watch, will he? He'll be angry that you let me leave Hogwarts, and I'll do just that. I'll leave, putting myself in danger, and what will you do? Voldemort—"

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

"—will be none too pleased to find out that I escaped under your care, will he?"

"And you expect that to save your dear cousin by leaving Hogwarts? You don't even know where he is."

"That's right, I don't know where he is—though you obviously do or else Harry would not have said that just then. But I know where he was. I'll go there first. Maybe somebody there will know!"

"And you plan to get there how, exactly?" he asks cruelly, wrenching his office door open.

"I'll get off the Hogwarts grounds and Apparate!"

"Wanting to Apparate does not mean you'll be able to accomplish it."

"I know the difference! I've been Apparating since I was fourteen!"

He pauses, his office door open, and watches me intently. No one else knows that I can Apparate aside from Narcissa and Bellatrix who both watched me Apparate out of the manor; I keep it to myself for the most part. "And you expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe that somehow you, an orphan who's been on the run for the past five years, knows how to Apparate illegally?"

"Yes," I answer plainly. "Because this isn't worth lying about."

He smirks and says, "Then I wish you the best of luck, Rodgers," before slamming the door in my face.

"And I wish you luck when Voldemort finds out!" I shout through the door. Then I run back up the dungeon stairs so I can leave the Hogwarts grounds and Apparate to Grimmauld Place. I will find Sirius, or at least someone who can help me find Sirius.