CHAPTER 8

Mrs. Weasley greets us cheerily at the door, then leads us into the living room where a man with long red hair sits talking with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She has silvery-blonde hair and dark blue eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. How is it even fair for one person to be so gorgeous? And how is it fair that she is engaged and that I am in a relationship? "Bill, Fred and George are here," Mrs. Weasley announces.

Bill looks up, noticing us for the first time, and stands to his feet, as does the girl.

"You must be the Charlotte who's been putting up with Fred these last few months," Bill says with a smile. "Bless you, he must be a handful!"

Fred clears his throat and says, "You don't have to respond to that, Charlotte."

"I'm sure you know how much of a handful he can truly be. You knew him when he was a child, and I can only imagine how much worse he and George must have been."

Bill leans in close like he has a big secret to share. "I have quite a few stories I can tell you," he whispers loudly.

"No, he doesn't! No, no, I promise you he doesn't. Charlotte, this is Fleur Delacour, Bill's fiancée."

"I 'ave 'eard about you."

I smile nervously at her, shocked that she knows who I am. "It's an honor to meet you. You were in the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Were you zere?"

"Unfortunately, no."

She looks disappointed, and I wish I could do anything to change the past so I could have answered "yes" to her question.

"C'mon, let's go outside," Fred says. The twins and I go to the backyard where the Golden Trio and Ginny fly around playing Quidditch. Ginny sees us first and rushes down to say hello to her brothers.

"You three are gonna join us, yeah?"

"Merlin, no! I mean, they will, but I won't," I say.

George cuts a glance at me. "What was that, Charlotte? What about our deal?"

"Did I agree to that? Besides, it'll be uneven teams if I play."

The others land their brooms as well. "You can take my place," Hermione offers. "I'm dreadful. You can't be any worse than I am."

I shake my head. "No, no, it's fine. You play. I . . . I'll spectate."

I don't actually watch them for more than half an hour before I start practicing the Water-Making Spell once more.

"Harry, look out!"

"Aguamenti!" Nothing happens.

"Get ready, Ron!"

"Aguamenti!" Another failure.

"YES!"

"Good one, Ginny!"

"Aguamenti!" A jet of water shoots from the tip of my wand, and my heart stops for a moment. It worked, it actually worked! I can't wait to tell McGonagall!

"Charlotte, look out!"

I look up in time to see the Quaffle flying right out at me, and I drop my wand, the jet of water dying off immediately, and catch the Quaffle. "Nice one!" Fred shouts as he swoops down toward me. "Toss it up, love!" I do just that, and Fred snatches the Quaffle from the air and returns to their three-on-three Quidditch match.

Wand in hand once more, I say, "Aguamenti," and another jet of water shoots from the tip. I stop it, then say the spell again, another jet of water appearing.

By the time the six of them land their brooms for dinner, I can successfully cast the Water-Making Spell at will. "We creamed you," George says as we all walk inside the Burrow.

"Come off it, George!" Ron says.

"This is why we need referees," Fred says. "You blokes don't know how to keep score of a Quidditch match to save your lives."

Hermione frowns. "They beat us by twenty points, George."

"What? No!" George argues. "That can't be right." Hermione cuts him a glance. "Fine, but I don't know where Ron learnt to be such a good Keeper."

Harry, Ginny, and Hermione all break out into a chorus of Gryffindor's version of "Weasley Is Our King."

"Is Bellatrix with the Malfoys?" Harry asks me quietly while everyone noisily makes their way into the kitchen for dinner.

"Yeah, but she's not too pleased about me being there, so I don't see her much." I need to get off the subject of my mother as quickly as possible. "I got an 'Exceeds Expectations' on my Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. thanks to you."

He nods kindly. "Still can't believe you shoved Umbridge into the swamp."

"You did what?" Mrs. Weasley asks abruptly.

"Our swamp?" Fred laughs.

"You shoved Umbridge into our swamp!" George rejoices.

"It was after she almost got McGonagall killed. She doesn't remember it, so I'm not sure it even really counts."

"Sure it does!" Ginny says.

Bill furrows his brow at me. "Why doesn't she remember it?"

I smile. "A Memory Charm—I learned it a few years back just in case Muggles saw me." They don't need to know the truth about why I really taught myself Memory Charms. "I believe Fred said something about you working at Gringotts?"

Bill jumps on the chance to recount to a fresh set of ears his adventures as a Curse-Breaker for the Wizarding Bank.

Bill's life seems so incredibly interesting, and I listen intently as he recounts stories of his job as a Curse-Breaker. Would becoming an Obliviator lead to as many excellent stories as Bill has? I certainly hope so. After the life I've had, I think I'd like one of interesting or maybe somewhat fun adventures instead of one on the run.

Spending time with all of them here at the Burrow distracts me temporarily from the trouble I will likely be in upon my return to Spinner's End. Tomorrow starts my life of servitude for the summer, and right now I don't want to think about it.

I wait a few minutes after eight before deciding to leave, not really wanting to risk angering Snape more at this point. As I'm standing to leave, I realize that I was foolish to think that Harry would hate me because of my mother.

After bidding goodbye to everyone else, Fred says quietly, "Let me walk you out," and takes me by the hand, leading me to the front door and away from the Anti-Disapparation Jinx around the Burrow. "I'm glad you were able to get away from the manor."

"I'm sorry I have to leave so early."

"I don't want them punishing you."

"I feel like you'd be a good reason to get into trouble." I put my hands on his sides and step closer to him.

"What an honor," he says deeply, his hands moving to my waist. Then he adds, "You fit in so well here . . . even though you and George are apparently in love? You should've told me earlier."

"Yeah, well, you should've made a move faster, Fred. I feel like this is on you."

"I'll try to do better next time."

He covers my lips with his, pulling me against him with a growl, his tongue tracing the outline of my mouth. I willingly part my lips and let him in, running my hands up his chest and entwining them behind his neck to draw him closer. All I want to do is stay in his arms for a while longer, but that is currently impossible. "We are definitely no longer even." He laughs against my mouth. I find myself grinning too.

"I have to head back."

He sighs and pulls me tighter, burying his face in my neck. "Take care of yourself."

"I promise." I press one last chaste kiss to his lips before taking a step away and Disapparating.

The moment I arrive at Spinner's End, Snape, who seems to have been pacing, looks up and sighs with relief. "I feared you wouldn't return on time."

"You feared—I'm just a few—"

"The Dark Lord has requested you back at Malfoy Manor," he says softly.

I draw in a shaky breath, knowing how woefully unprepared I am to face. Occlumency still isn't going very well. I can't do this. "For—" I clear my throat. "For how long?"

"They didn't say," Snape says, his face sympathetic. "But I think it's safe to assume you will not be staying there. He asked specifically for a meeting with you."

"But—I—I'm not ready!" I argue, my breathing now choppy. "I don't think—I don't think I'll be able—I mean, I've gotten better but haven't mastered, of course—not the way you have! He'll know I'm lying! D-do you think he knows?"

His hands find my shoulders, and he looks into my eyes. "Calm down, Charlotte." I close my eyes and breathe slowly while he continues in a soft and gentle voice, "I don't believe the Dark Lord knows about your Occlumency lessons. I do not think he's calling you to him for punishment. I think he simply . . . wants to speak with you."

I nod the best I can.

"You must hurry. He doesn't like to be kept waiting. Narcissa is waiting for you in the drawing room at the manor." He releases me. "She'll take you to him."

"You're not coming with me?" For some unexplainable reason, I think I'll perform Occlumency better if he is at the manor. It might be irrational, but that doesn't matter.

"He asked only for you. You must go. Now."

I take a shaky breath and Disapparate from Spinner's End. Sure enough, Narcissa is standing in the drawing room, but she's with Bellatrix, which perhaps I should have anticipated. "Enjoying your time in the Muggle dunghill?" my mother cackles cruelly.

I flash her the strongest smile I can manage. "Yes, in fact I am." The smile fading from her face, she turns and leaves. I look at Narcissa, and my smile fades as well. My voice is weak when I ask, "Where is he?"

"Through here," she says quietly. I get the feeling that Narcissa is growing weary of having Voldemort in her home. She takes me by the arm and leads to a place in the manor I have only ever been when Draco gave me a tour of the place over Christmas. She stops at a grand wooden door. "Will you be able to find your way back to the drawing room?" I nod. "I'll be waiting for you there."

"Why?"

"Just . . . in case . . ." she says vaguely. She doesn't leave my side as I turn to the door.

With a trembling hand, I knock on the door. "Enter," I hear Voldemort's chilly voice come through the door, sending shivers down my spine. I brace myself and enter, the sound of Narcissa's footsteps silencing as I close the door back. The room is so shockingly similar to the Slytherin common room that it could almost be a replica of the place, which I believe must have been his goal. Voldemort sits in a silver-cushioned armchair by a burning fire. He looks up at me with those red eyes of his, and greets me with a simple, "Dear one."

"My Lord," I say with a little bow.

"Come here." I walk toward him. "Take a seat." I obey and sit next to the fire in the chair identical to his. A large snake slithers up to my feet, and I tense despite my effort not to. "Nagini."

"M-my Lord?"

"She is Nagini," he says conversationally. "She has been a dear friend. She stayed with me after I fell." The snake goes toward him, and he runs his hand along her. I typically like snakes a good bit, but Nagini unnerves me like nothing I've ever experienced before—she'd probably unnerve me even if she hadn't tried to eat me last Easter. Voldemort watches her lovingly as she slithers up to the fire, where she curls up and stays. "But I did not call you here to meet Nagini, did I?"

I offer him a weak smile though he is still focused on his snake. "I do not know, my Lord."

He turns to face me, his red eyes bearing into me, but he seems to appreciate that I'm smiling at him. "I have assigned your dear cousin Draco a mission," he says. I listen intently, hoping that maybe he'll tell me what Draco has to do, but he keeps that detail to himself. "His mission will lead to yours. If all goes well, he will be finished by the Christmas holidays, by which time you will be of age"—I beat down the fear rising in my chest, already guessing what he's going to say—"and you will be required to fulfill your duty to me."

I swallow, though my throat resists with all its might.

"If Draco does not succeed by then, it will be later before you can begin your mission." The temperature in the room seems to drop considerably, now almost as cold in here as his voice, and I just want to go back to Spinner's End and do nothing. I'd even take a screaming match with Snape over listening to Voldemort any longer. I want to be back at Spinner's End; I don't want to be here any longer. "If Draco does not succeed until after Christmas, you will have to wait until the last day in July, the thirty-first." My breath catches in my throat. "A fitting day," he continues as if we are talking about something so common as the weather, "the day of Harry Potter's birth, the day of the fulfillment of my plan." He seems pleased by this, so I try to seem pleased as well.

All I know is that, at the very least, Voldemort will make me his slave in just under six months. And, at the very most, I have a year before I become his slave. I suddenly feel very nauseated. I have to find a way to tell Fred. I have to find a way to tell . . . anyone, really. I need someone to talk to. My heart starts to race, pounding painfully against my chest as if it could escape, rip out of me, free me from this life. I can't do this; I can't fulfill this duty. Death would be better. Would it be better for Voldemort to just kill me right now? If I refuse to let him do this to me, he'll kill me, right? Or will he lock me up and force me to go along with this plan of his anyway? Perhaps I should let him kill me.

But I think about Zoe and Fred and McGonagall . . . I can't let Voldemort kill me because I am afraid. I can't do that to them, not after all they have done for me. And what an insult that would be to the memory of Sirius, a man who faced death with no fear, a man who taunted his attacker until his final breath . . .

My lungs refuse to work properly, now taking in short, shallow breaths that serve no purpose other than to panic me more. Everything has slowed down, my mind becoming cloudy, my breathing labored, even the fire's crackling seems to be slower now. What am I going to do? There's nothing I can do . . . Tears sting in my eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. Voldemort will not see me cry about this. He must believe I want to do this. There is no other way.

"There is no need to fear me," Voldemort says almost kindly.

"I know—I just—" I exhale. "I'm trying not to, my Lord. I am."

Nagini slithers over to me and brushes against my leg, and I flinch away from her. "She makes you nervous."

"A—a bit, my Lord. I'm sorry, she just—"

He says something, almost hisses it, but I don't understand what's happening. Then suddenly, Nagini slithers away from me and curls up on the other side of Voldemort, out of my sight. A breath escapes me, and I incline my head to him in what I hope is a motion of respect. "There is no need to fear me. Or your duty."

A sharp image of his hand striking my face flashes through my mind, but I push it down. "I'm trying not to," I say quietly. "I want to be brave, but I'm scared."

"I will not hurt you." I wipe a tear before it can slide down my cheek, then cover my mouth with my hand. "And there is no need to cry." I nod at him, unable to speak. His red eyes stare at me. "Has Severus been teaching you well?"

"Y-yes, my Lord."

He nods. "Good. What has he been teaching you?"

"Non—" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat to try again. "Nonverbal spells."

He gives me his version of a smile. "That is good. One day, I suspect, you will surpass even your mother Bellatrix." Doubtful. "Tell me, dear one," he continues. I really wish he would referring to me as that, but even more I wish he would just let me leave now. "Are you becoming quite skilled in the art of dueling?"

"I like to think so, my Lord."

"When you learn more, I would like to see you duel you mother once more," Voldemort says. "You might very well take Lucius's position . . ."

"If—if that is what you want, my Lord."

Voldemort watches me for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. "You may go."

I stand, bow, and say, "Thank you, my Lord."

I evacuate as quickly as possible without running the risk of disrespecting him. My composure breaks when I close the door behind me, successfully closing myself off from Voldemort. I can't do this. I pull out my wand. I could kill myself right now and not have to worry about any of it. I could end it all and never need to have the child of the Dark Lord. I will never have to face this destiny. I will never be forced to do this. But I can't. I slide the wand back into my robes, and a sob breaks through my chest. Tears come freely now, and I start to run, trying to put as much distance between me and that devil as possible.

I run straight in the direction of the drawing room. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can get back to Spinner's End, and the sooner I get back to Spinner's End, the sooner I can collapse on my bed and wail for a while without Voldemort finding out about my reluctance to serve him. I crash into someone as I make my way to the drawing room, and I'm in too much of a daze to see who it is until I hear the calloused voice growl, "Watch where you're going!"

Our eyes meet, and without another thought, I throw my arms around her, sobbing against her. "Mum."

Bellatrix is frozen where she stands, her body tense. I don't know what I've just done or what I'm doing, but I can't stop myself from pulling myself tighter to my mother, unable to prevent my hiccoughs and tears. As confused as I am about my actions, it's even more confusing that Bellatrix wraps her arms back around me, drawing me even closer to her, one of her hands behind my head, almost as if she's cradling me in her arms like a baby. Then I hear a very faint, breathy, "Aurelia."

"Mum!" I sob.

Her other hand rubs my back gently, whispering, "It'll be fine."

I clench my fists together against her back, a sense of comfort in her arms that I hadn't expected. She's my mother. And she's holding me in her arms. "I'm so scared."

Mum pulls away from me, puts her hands on my cheeks, wipes my tears with her thumbs, and looks deep into my eyes. "My daughter," she says quietly, a sense of wonder in her voice as she looks down at me. "Aurelia, you will be fine."

"How do you know?"

Bellatrix wipes away my flowing tears again. "Because the Dark Lord cares very much about your well-being. He won't harm you."

I remove her hands from my face and hold them in mine, then timidly ask, "Do you think forcing me to have a child is not harming me?"

Her face becomes slightly angry. "That's a privilege!"

"It's a curse!"

Bellatrix releases my hands, her face becoming calloused once more. "You disrespectful little whelp. When will you realize the gift you have been given?"

"When I no longer have to go through with it! When Harry Potter destroys Voldemort once more, and I don't have to have his child!"

Her face flares with fury. She goes for her wand, but Narcissa walks in before she can attack me. "Bella, what are you doing?" Bellatrix rounds on her sister. Narcissa registers how angry her sister is and continues calmly, "What's happened?"

I look her in the eye and struggle out, "He . . . he's chosen . . . a day . . ."

"A day?" Then her eyes flash with understanding. "Oh Ch—"

"And the ungrateful child wants to get out of it! The greatest privilege anyone could have, and she wants to get out of it!" Her head turns toward me. "Aurelia, what's wrong with you? Can you not see what you have been given?"

"I see only what's being taken away from me!"

Bellatrix makes to aim her wand at me once more, but Narcissa shouts, "Bella, no!" My mother stops, glares at the both of us, then storms out.

As she turns the corner, I find myself shouting after her, "IT'S CHARLOTTE! I WILL NEVER BE AURELIA!" I stare into the empty corridor that had just held Bellatrix until Narcissa's hand forces my face to meet hers.

"Charlotte," she says calmly, "what did the Dark Lord say?"

I take a deep breath. It's all coming back to me at alarming speeds. There is no escape. "If Draco succeeds before Christmas . . . it will happen over the holidays," I whisper.

"And if he does not?"

"The thirty-first of July," I croak.

The thought sinks in. I have a year at best to be free and live life the way I want to. I'm sixteen years old, and my life will end in less than a year. There is nothing I can do; there is nothing anyone can do. When Voldemort wants something, he gets it. He wants me to bear his child, therefore I will. I vaguely hear Narcissa saying my name, but I am staring into the abyss that is my life and cannot pull away. I'm on the edge, about to fall in, and no one is around to save me when I do.