CHAPTER 9

"Charlotte," Narcissa says kindly. Gentle hands take my shoulders, and suddenly Narcissa's face is in front of mine. "Charlotte, would you like to leave now?"

"Where will I go?" I whisper.

"Back to Severus, back to Spinner's End."

"He won't understand." I back up to the wall, sink to the floor, and hide my face in my knees.

Narcissa crouches in front of me, and she takes my head in her hands and forces me to look at her. "Would you prefer to stay here?"

My breathing hitches, and my mouth opens in horror. I feel myself shutting down, and I'm powerless to stop it. So I close my eyes and just wait. I wait for my heart to stop beating, for my lungs to stop accepting air, for darkness to consume me. I can't face this. I can't do what Voldemort wants me to do.

Then, unexpectedly, I am forced into a small tube, my ears popping, but I keep my eyes closed. Wherever Narcissa is taking me, I don't want to know. I want to pretend that I'm back on the floor in Malfoy Manor, silently shutting down and preparing to die. I land on the ground but still refuse to move or even open my eyes. Narcissa huffs at my lack of cooperation, but I can't bring myself to move because it takes all my focus and energy to remember to breathe. "Charlotte!" Narcissa growls impatiently. "Get up!"

"I can't," I cry.

Hands slide under my arms and haul me to my feet, and I'm distantly aware of a magical force keeping me upright while she drags me somewhere. At least I think magic is keeping me upright, because I'm certainly not doing it on my own. At this point, there is only one thing I am sure of, and while dwelling on it only causes more pain, it's all I can do right now. Voldemort.

I hear a door open but refuse to look around to see where I'm going. I already know where I'm going, in the long run at least; I know what my future holds, and there is no way to get out of it, no way for anyone to help me escape. My fate was decided before I could walk, and no amount of pleading or hiding will ever change that. So if Narcissa is taking me somewhere to kill or torture me, then so be it. I'd rather go through the Cruciatus Curse until insanity than go through bearing Voldemort a child. Perhaps I can antagonize my mother until she willingly Cruciates me to the breaking point and I wind up in St. Mungo's with the Longbottoms. Then, even if Voldemort forces me to have his child, I won't be aware of it. "What happened to her?" a voice asks. Someone forces me into a hard chair—there's a table in front of me, and I immediately fold my head into my arms and rest it on the table's surface, trying to suppress the sobs.

Narcissa rubs my back for a second. "Come with me." I don't move, and she doesn't try to make me, which makes me believe she wasn't speaking to me. Her voice fades off.

One of the things I regret the most now was falling into the arms of Bellatrix, the arms that, for a moment, had been those of a real mum. And for a short second, I had a thought that the two of us could escape Voldemort. If anyone can escape him, it's Bellatrix Lestrange. My hopes had soared higher than ever before and then crashed harder than ever when Bellatrix and I argued again. She and I will never see eye-to-eye, and she will never forgive me for being alive and hating what Voldemort has to decided to force me to do.

Narcissa's hand rests on my back again, and she softly says, "Charlotte." I hear the movement of two chairs being pulled from under the table.

"Wh-what?" I moan, my body trembling from my crying.

"Look at me, Charlotte." Her voice is kind but final, and I force myself to meet her eyes, knowing she will accept nothing less. The compassion I see there only makes me wail louder. I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the noise and wipe my tears with the other. Narcissa puts her arms around me, and although she is not my mother, her comfort means more to me than Bellatrix's had. "It will be fine."

I shake my head. "I d-don't w-want . . . to hear y-your lies," I choke. "I kn-know—it isn't."

She pulls away from me. I look across the table to see Snape watching us intently. I lean back in the chair, wipe my face with my trembling hands, and take a deep breath. All three of us are silent, letting the gloom overtake us. Well, at least I am. I don't know why they're so quiet. Snape waves his wand, and three glasses appear on the table. He takes one for himself then hands one to both me and Narcissa. "Drink it," he says.

I look at it, and though I don't know what it is, I take it at face value that Snape will no try to harm me and Narcissa. The taste is good but burns my throat terribly, which is very welcome right now, so I quickly finish off my glass.

Narcissa takes a sip. "Firewhiskey?" Then she looks over at me and my empty glass, and her face hardens. "You gave her firewhiskey?" She puts her glass down. It makes sense that she doesn't want to drink it. She probably only drinks the best, most expensive, of wines. She wouldn't want firewhiskey. When she throws Snape a dirty look, I reach out to snatch her glass as well, but it's like she can read my thoughts because she immediately pulls it out of my reach and vanishes the liquid from inside.

The corners of Snape's lips turn up in what almost appears to be a proud smirk. He meets my eye and, cutting a glance at Narcissa, places his drink on the table. "Takes the mind off things." I reach forward and grab his glass and drink it. It burns the whole way down, but it seems to bring me back to present situation. Already my head feels fuzzy.

"Don't let her have anymore," Narcissa says, her jaw set determinedly. Then she stands and looks at me. "I have to go. I wasn't supposed to come here." She puts her hand on my shoulder comfortingly, then looks away as if debating whether to say something further. She makes up her mind and says quietly, "Owl me if you need anything." Her eyes dart to the professor in a silent warning. Then she Disapparates away.

I take out my wand and refill my glass—I might not know where Snape is summoning it from, but I know where some is. I lift it to my mouth, but nothing touches my lips. I glare at Snape, wave my wand again, and try to drink the firewhiskey, but he vanishes it again. I try once more, but Snape continues to take the drink away. "Enough," he says softly. Again when I refill the glass, Snape takes it away. "You've had two glasses. That's enough."

"I'm also going to have a child with Voldemort, and yet you don't seem to be doing anything to stop that." I try again, but Snape stays firm and won't let me have anymore. With the nonverbal spell skills that he taught me, I summon something that I know will help me even more than the firewhiskey. A vial of yellow potion flies into the room. I uncork it and drink all of it. "You made me do it."

"Was that the Elixir to Induce Euphoria?" he asks tightly.

"Sure was." Then it takes effect, that overwhelming sense of peace taking over me like it did at Hogwarts, but this time it takes over more quickly and more intensely. It's magnified because of how much I've just taken.

I don't know why I was so upset about Voldemort. It's really not that big of a deal. Perhaps Bellatrix was right. Maybe it is a privilege. Out of the thousands of his followers, he chose me. Perhaps I am more special than I've always thought. Why else would Voldemort have chosen me? I am honored, really. And why shouldn't I be? I am one of a kind now. I am the daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. No one can replace me.

"I thought you warned me about some type of side effect?" I say airily.

"I did, but I added a sprig of peppermint to try to counterbalance them."

"A 'sprig,'" I giggle. Since when do I giggle in front of him? "What a funny word." I meet Snape's serious face and mimic it the best I can, dropping my smile and furrowing my brows. Then I laugh again, unable to keep a straight face like he can. "Did you come up with it?" He doesn't answer. Again I drop my face to make it as serious as his, and again I start giggling at the effort. "How do you keep such a straight face? I can't seem to do it." To make my point, I try again and burst into a fit of giggles.

"I heard you spoke with Bellatrix," he comments.

The smile fades quickly from my face. "I did." Then I laugh again. "And I think she might be right!"

"About what?"

"Why, everything, Professor!" Another fit of giggles takes over me.

He shifts in his chair. "What is 'everything,' Miss Rodgers?"

"'Miss Rodgers.' That makes me sound so old."

"What was your mother right about, Rodgers?"

"I've already told you, Professor! Everything!"

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can you tell me specifically what she was right about?"

"Bearing the child of the Dark Lord is privilege. You should know that! You're a Death Eater! If you were a female Death Eater, wouldn't you want to have such a privilege?"

Snape clenches his teeth.

"Something wrong, Professor? You seem rather upset."

He doesn't answer. I try to mirror his face again but can't manage it and wind up laughing. This time, however, unable to stop my laughter at all, I put my face down on the table and laugh uncontrollably. Nearly five minutes later, with an aching stomach and watering eyes I look up at Snape. His face is still serious, which causes me to laugh even harder.

"I'm irreplaceable, Professor! Isn't that something to be happy about? Voldemort chose me when he could have chosen one of the thousands of other witches! What an honor indeed! I don't know why I was so upset before, really. Shouldn't every servant of Voldemort—"

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

I imitate his voice the best I can and repeat, "Do not use the Dark Lord's name. Do not use the Dark Lord's name." I wag my finger at him. "Do not use the Dark Lord's name! Why not? I'm to have his baby, don't you think he'd be okay with me using his name? If I was going to have your child, wouldn't you let me call you 'Severus'? Wouldn't anyone, really, let the mother of their child call them by their name? What's the difference?"

Snape sighs and waves his wand. Something flies into his hand, which he then pours into the glass in front of me. "Drink this."

"What is it?" I don't wait for his answer before quickly finishing it off. "That . . . did you . . . did you poison me?" My eyes grow heavy, and I can't think straight. My head collapses to the table.

I bolt up straight up, and my hands fly to my painfully throbbing forehead where I think there might be a bruise. From somewhere deep in my throat I groan, trying to ignore whatever is causing this ache. What happened? I look around and see that I'm lying on the sofa in the sitting room of Snape's home. He's sitting in his armchair, as usual, and reading a book. He glances at me. "What happened?"

He sets his book aside. "You drank an entire vial of Euphoria-Inducing Elixir. You wouldn't stop laughing." I smile at the thought of my laughter irritating him. "So I gave you bit of a Dreamless Sleep potion."

I remember, of course. The potions didn't erase my memory of what happened. Is there a potion that can do that? No, I wouldn't want it. I'd rather know than be blindsided. I would rather be able to brace myself for the inevitable than live in ignorance until said inevitable finally comes for me. My stomach churns. Voldemort has chosen the day I am supposed to conceive his child. I roll onto my side and vomit onto the floor. Snape grunts before waving his wand and vanishing the mess I've just caused. "Sorry, Professor," I croak. He doesn't say anything. I lie back down. "Do you have any more elixir?"

Snape frowns at me. "No."

"Do you have anything?" He waves his wand and hands me a glass. I drink it, expecting it to be more firewhiskey and am deeply disappointed to learn that it is just water. "Thanks," I mutter dryly, putting the empty glass on the table.

"What did Bellatrix say to you? You said something about but seemed unable to focus on any one thing while suffering from the side effects of drinking all of that elixir."

"It doesn't matter," I whisper, not even having the energy to sarcastically mention how it was not all of the elixir because I drank some after the Christmas holidays. "It was stupid."

Snape doesn't look convinced. His obsidian eyes penetrate into my soul.

Without backing down, I stare into his gaze. "I don't want to talk about it," I say quietly.

"Occlumency lessons, then?" he suggests.

"I've gotten better at them. Are you sure you'll see the memory you want to see?"

"You hardly managed to stop me when I was putting forth half the effort that I could. Do you think you'd be able to stop me should I put my full effort into it?"

I sigh loudly, then say, "Go ahead. I won't even attempt to stop you." I close my eyes. "I want someone to know, I guess." Tears sting my eyes. Just in case I start to fall for the idea of her being my mother. I need someone to stop me, to explain how terrible of any idea it is. "Please."

"Ready?" he asks me.

"Yeah."

"Legilimens."

I am sitting in the dining room of Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix comes in. We start shouting at each other. Narcissa interrupts Bellatrix from Cruciating me to ask who my uncle was. It comes out that I am Aurelia Lestrange. She offers to Cruciate me until insanity to end my pain of Draco. I shove her off of me and Disapparate from the manor.

I direct him to through my mind.

Bellatrix and I are dueling in Malfoy Manor.

Bellatrix throws me in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. I plead with her not to leave me—I call her my mum to guilt her, but it doesn't work.

Bellatrix and I are walking through the familiar streets where Snape's house is located. We're arguing. She mocks Sirius. She leaves me with Snape.

Bellatrix is in the drawing room when I get to Malfoy Manor for my meeting with Voldemort. We're snappy with each other.

I stand outside the room where my meeting with Voldemort had just taken place. I take out my wand and point it at myself. Then I stop and put it away.

I'm running through the manor, trying to get away from Voldemort. I run straight into Bellatrix. "Mum," I cry into her shoulder. Bellatrix wraps her arms around me and calls me Aurelia. I say things about my issue with bearing Voldemort's child. She releases me. We argue more, her calling my duty a privilege, me calling it a curse. She takes out her wand. Narcissa stops her. Then Bellatrix storms off.

I stop him there and lean back against the sofa. My voices comes out as a whisper when I say, "I can't do this anymore."

"You called her your mum."

"Because for a moment, I wanted her to be," I admit. "Because I wanted to believe, even if only for a short time, that I have a mother, that there is someone in this world who would claim me as their child and want to care for me as a mother would." I wipe silent tears off my face and sit up. "But Bellatrix can never be that person, so what's the point of trying?"

I push myself to my feet with much difficulty and stumble to the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed," I say, deflated. "I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what? Occlumency?"

I stop and turn to face him. "Any of it. I can't do it. I can't have his child. I can't escape him. I can't tell Fred the truth. I can't. I just . . . I can't do it. I'm . . ." I shake my head at him, tears on my cheeks. "I can't do any of it, Professor. I give up."

"And you think that just because you 'can't' do it, you won't have to? You think the Dark Lord cares if you don't want to?"

"I know he doesn't care!" I snap, my heart breaking because—well, maybe because of how nice he was to me during our last Occlumency lesson, I thought he would be more understanding to my situation. But he doesn't understand. And he won't. Because no one ever will.

The next afternoon, there comes a knock on my door, but I don't say anything. I remain lying in my bed, the blankets pulled up to my chin, my eyes staring blankly at the wall across the room. There comes another knock followed by, "Rodgers, you need to eat."

"Go away." Instead, he opens the door, his silhouette looming in the doorway. "I'm not hungry." Part of me is grateful that he's here, but I think it's mostly just because I'm grateful that he hasn't made me his replacement Wormtail this year. Professor Snape is actually showing me pity.

"You missed breakfast and lunch, Rodgers. You must—"

"I said I'm not hungry!"

He steps into the room and places a bowl of soup on the nightstand next to my bed. "You have to keep your strength up."

"Why? If I do nothing, I'll be dead in—what?—three days? That's how long it takes to die of dehydration, right?"

"I've never taken you as someone who would let the Dark Lord win like that."

I meet his eyes. "He's won either way, Professor. I'll have his child eventually. He'll use my child to carry out whatever plans he has, and I'll have to sit by and watch my child be a tool for Lord Voldemort. And I'm supposed to believe it's all an honor." I shake my head. "I'd rather die, sir, than live through that."

"I can't let you die under my watch."

"Then let me Apparate and you can say it happened after I left the manor. They can't blame that on you. I'll go somewhere else and die, and you'll never be held accountable."

"And you would die and leave Weasley wondering what happened to you? Or Professor McGonagall for that matter? You seem rather fond of her, and she of you. You would die and leave the Tonks family wondering what became of you? You would leave all of them wondering if you were murdered at Malfoy Manor? The Ministry doesn't even know you exist. No one would ever know what happened to you. Is that what you want?"

"Maybe," I sigh. "If it keeps me away from Vol—the Dark Lord."

He watches me for a moment before saying, "I don't believe you would give up your life like that to escape him. You're a selfish person, Rodgers, but not even you would so disgracefully leave behind those who love you."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No, you wouldn't. You enjoy your own life too much for that, even if you don't want to admit it to yourself. Why else would you have spent years on the run rather than just letting yourself die? Why else would you have put the Death Eaters through so much trouble while they hunted for you? Why else would you have fought back or ran instead of letting them kill you or capture you? You enjoy living, and you don't want to give it up."

I look away from him. He's right, of course—I don't want to die. "Now that my fate is inevitable and I have no chance of escape, I have nothing to live for. Before, I could dream that I would be able to evade the Dark Lord long enough for Harry Potter to destroy him. What are the chances that Voldemort will be dead before Christmas?" I meet his black eyes once more. "Exactly. And if Draco fails to finish his mission before Christmas, what are the chances Vol—the Dark Lord will be dead before July of next year?"

I burrow my way farther under the blankets, leaving only my eyes unshielded. "I can't do this, Professor. I can't."

"You cannot let the Dark Lord defeat you."

I laugh ruefully.

"Don't let yourself die so you can escape him." His voice is soft and kind, something I thought I would never say about Professor Snape. "Fight him. As you've been learning to do through Occlumency. Fight him and arise victorious. You might find your way out of this yet."

"I can't dwell on such fairytales," I whisper. Then I roll over, turning my back to him. "He'll force me to have his child, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. When the Dark Lord wants something, he gets it. Unless you're Harry Potter, who seems to always find a way to escape him." Although, that probably has a lot to do with all the people trying to protect him from Voldemort.

"If you survived on your own from the age of ten to the age of fifteen, living in Muggle homes and caves, providing for yourself, teaching yourself magic, I do not doubt that you can overcome what you must do. You will survive. You might not want to, but you will survive." His footsteps go toward the door. "You need to eat." Then he closes the door, leaving me alone.