CHAPTER 12

I open my eyes inside the empty drawing room of Malfoy Manor, but the moment I turn away to search for Voldemort, the manor disappears as I am forcibly Disapparated. This time when I open my eyes, I'm back in the sitting room of Spinner's End, Snape's arms wrapped around me from behind, pinning my arms to my side so I can't move them to attack. "You could have Splinched me, you son of a bitch!"

I attempt to Apparate again but am unable to, so I struggle against him, flailing my body around wildly and kicking my feet frantically, really just trying to hurt him in any way possible. My elbow connects with his gut, and he lets out a low grunt before tightening his hold on me, successfully preventing me from being able to move any part of me other than my legs. I can feel his heartbeat against my back and his heavy breathing against my neck. I'm angering him. I like that thought, so I flail my legs harder. "Let me go!"

Then Snape leans backward, lifting my feet off the floor and ruining the tiny bit of leverage I had. "Let me go!" Doing what I asked while not really do what I wanted, Snape violently and unceremoniously throws me onto the floor. I smack my mouth against the table, splitting my lip open and biting deep into my tongue. "You evil shit." I thrust my hand into my pocket and pull out my wand, but as soon as I roll over and aim it at him, his spell throws it from my hand. Bracing myself on the rickety table, I push to my feet. Then I spew the contents of my mouth at Snape's face, splattering him with blood and spit.

His lip curls into a snarl, and he wipes his face off with his sleeve, some of the blood simply smearing across his cheek. Without giving me a second to process how awful of an idea that was, Snape closes his hand around my throat and shoves me against the wall, his face inches from mine as he growls softly but viciously, "If you ever—"

I spit more blood into his face, not caring how reckless I am being because I don't want to hear what I am not allowed to do when there is already so much of that in this world as it is. His obsidian eyes widen with fury, and he shoves his wand against my cheek.

"Kill me then," I say quietly. "You'll only be doing me a favor. I don't want to live like this anymore."

His eyes narrow, and a deep growl emanates from the back of his throat. Then, through gritted teeth, he says, "Stupefy."

When I awaken, I know something's wrong—I'm sitting on cold stone, and my hands, which sit in my lap, are chained to something just above my head. I ignore the throbbing in my tongue and lip and look around the poorly lit room. Even with what little light is cast by the two torches, I recognize this place immediately. This is the basement room that Snape made with the Undetectable Charm. The cauldron in the middle of the room brews a potion, but Snape is nowhere to be found.

The chains rattle when I pull against them, but no matter how much effort I put into trying to free my hands, they're too tight. With a frustrated huff, I pull myself to my feet and turn toward the large beam I am chained to.

Spitting on Snape? One of the worst decisions I've made in a while. Spitting on him a second time? One of the most dangerous things I've done in a while. Apparating to Malfoy Manor had done me no good, and now I don't even know why I had attempted it. Who's to say that Voldemort would've killed me and freed me from the lies? What if he had simply decided to detain me, as Snape has now done, until he is ready for me? Going back to Hogwarts is my best bet to get away from the Dark Lord, and Snape is the only hope I have of going back to Hogwarts. And I risked it all. For what? A moment of joy in spitting on him?

Besides that, I broke our deal no more than an hour after making it. Those Anti-Disapparation Jinxes will return in full force, and it's my fault. I just wanted to stop the lies. If I told Voldemort the truth, I would no longer constantly have to deceive the people I care about. I might have died, but . . . at least my conscience would be clear, right?

But this current situation I'm in is not at all what I planned. I have to get out of here.

I brace one foot against the wall connected to the beam to which I am chained and try to wrench the beam from the wall in hopes that doing so will provide a means of escape, but when it becomes clear that this isn't enough, I tug against the restraint as hard as I can and hoist my other foot onto the wall as well. Suspended above the floor, I pull with all my might, and even though the chains do not relent, I refuse to give up.

"That won't work," Snape's voice says.

Caught off guard, I lose my concentration and my hold on the wall and the chains, and I fall, the chain sliding down the beam, and slam onto my back on the floor. "Bloody hell," I moan. I spin around and sit with my back against the wall. "What do you want?"

"Oh, you think I'm down here for you? No, I'm down here for more important things, such as the potion I'm brewing." He motions to the cauldron as if to prove a point. "I want nothing from you. Nothing can help you at this point." Snape turns his back on me and works with the potion, completely silent.

"What's going to happen to me if nothing I can do can help me?"

"Only time will tell," he says vaguely. Taking a few vials of the potion with him, he retreats back up the stairs. Then he adds tauntingly, "Have a good morning."

I don't know how long I sit there, staring at the door through which Snape has just left, mentally plotting thousands of ways to kill him if he should return, but it feels like a long while before he opens the door once more and descends to the basement. "Gave up on breaking out of the chains, I see. That's probably for the best."

"Just let me go."

"Not yet." He displays two vials in his palm that I had not seen a moment ago. "I wanted to test something."

"What?" I stand to my feet. "I'm not some Muggle lab rat!"

"I never said you were. This might burn, Miss Rodgers, might even make you cry out for death. After all, that is what the Draught of Despair does, isn't it?"

Snape comes toward me, unstopping the potions. "WAIT!" I shout, pushing back as far against the wall as I can. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I shouldn't have spat on you! It was foolish and disrespectful! I shouldn't have tried to tell Voldemort the truth! I put both of our lives in danger." I hang my head and drop to my knees in front of him, my arms pulling painfully above me. "I'm sorry."

The chains disappear, and my arms drop in front of me, the muscles screaming. He waits patiently until I look up and meet his smirking face. "Charlotte Rodgers, the Chosen One of the Dark Lord, on her knees in front of a Hogwarts Professor, begging for forgiveness." I don't say anything. I look at my wrists where they have been torn from my struggling and are now bleeding. They sting relentlessly, as if little fires consume them, but I don't say anything about it; I just pull them close to my body and bite back the pain.

"It was a mistake . . ." I say quietly. "I made a mistake . . ." Something begins to ache in the back of my mind, and I feel myself slipping, retreating into myself. I'm not really with Snape down in his basement-dungeon anymore—no, now I'm standing at the graveside of Mrs. Stoico, finally ready to accept that her death was because of me, finally able to accept that my recklessness has taken the lives of so many people and that this same recklessness nearly got me killed just a short while ago. "It's my fault." Tears warm and tickle my cheeks as they flow down my face. "I'm so sorry . . . I shouldn't have come back . . . I should've stayed away . . ." I could've gotten Snape killed like I got her killed. I could've gotten my friends killed like I got her killed. I could've ruined so many more lives, cut so many short, all because I'm stupid and selfish and short-sighted.

"Rodgers," Snape says softly, though I don't think he realizes that I'm no longer talking to him but a grave, a grave miles away from here. He crouches down in front of me. "You're safer here than with the Dark Lord." He grabs my hands and pours something over them. This brings me back to the present. One of the vials he was holding is now empty. The sores and ripped skin on my hands close and fade. "Drink this." I look at him with wide eyes and take the other vial, trusting that he does not plan on torturing me. My tongue and my split lip heal, the pain ebbing away. I hand the empty vial back to him with a shaking hand. "I did not mean for you to hit the table and split your lip. I . . . apologize."

Snape stands and turns for the door, but I can't look up at him and to see what he's doing. While he probably expects me to be following him, I can't bring myself to stand. Instead, I slide against the wall and pull my knees up to my chest.

It was wrong of me to attempt telling Voldemort the truth—that I will never serve him. He would have killed me or worse, and that would disgrace the memory of Mrs. Stoico, the memory of a woman who died so that I might live. He might have blamed those I cared about and killed them out of spite. He would've found out everyone I care about, and he would've killed them. My carelessness would've gotten more of my loved ones murdered.

Snape's footsteps cease suddenly. I don't look up but can hear him coming toward me now rather than retreating back upstairs. "Rodgers, stand up." I can't bring myself to do it. "Stand up." A force grabs me and pulls me to my feet. It wasn't exactly the professor; it was he who orchestrated it with his wand, but he didn't manhandle me this time. Finally, I meet his black eyes. "Legilimens."

I'm standing in Mrs. Stoico's office at the orphanage. She's crouched in front of me with tears of joy in her eyes. "Where did you go?" she asks me. "I was so worried about you!" The woman, who was the closest thing to a real mum I ever had, brushes her hand through my hair. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"I'm sorry," I whisper through tears of my own.

She wraps me into a fierce hug.

A gruff voice comes from the door, "Well, well."

I force Snape out of my memories. I had put in no effort until that moment.

Snape says nothing, simply watches me.

"I believe you just broke our deal, Professor," I say emotionlessly. "No memories of Mrs. Stoico, remember?"

"What are you hiding?"

"I don't know," I breathe. "I won't try running off again. I won't try telling Vol—the Dark Lord—the truth. That's all you're really worried about, isn't it?" Snape doesn't stop me when I trudge up the stairs and open the door to leave. I go to the old table in the sitting room where my wand lies atop my letters. I snatch it all up and go to my tiny, borrowed room.

In my rucksack is a wooden box containing the only things that I have ever cared about: a knife I used for reasons I prefer not to think about but cannot get rid of for reasons I don't really understand, the letter from Fred that Lee delivered to me when I returned to Hogwarts after the Easter holidays, and the coin from the D.A. I place the letters I told Snape to send on top of the coin, close the box, and shove it into my bag.

I need to talk to someone. No, I don't need to. I want to. Mrs. Stoico's death just another secret I'm keeping that is slowly eating away at me, and I want to get it off my chest.

I apprehensively go back down the stairs. "Professor." Snape opens the basement door and comes out. "Professor, I—"

"Decided you wanted to talk about what happened down there?" Snape suggests.

"No, not with you. I need you to lift the Anti-Disapparation Jinx."

"After what you attempted to do last time, you honestly expect me to lift the jinx again? Rodgers—"

"I'm not going to Malfoy Manor," I say helplessly. "If I put myself in a position where the Dark Lord can kill me, I disrespect the memory of those who have died so that I can live. I'm not going to him. I want to speak with Professor McGonagall."

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah. You know, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor House. Ringing any bells? She's been your colleague for—how many years now? Over a decade at least."

"I know who she is," he answers darkly, frowning at me.

"Then you should know that it's safe to trust her. Please let me go."

"Do you even know where to find her?"

I pause, having not thought this far in advance. "I thought . . . I'd start at Hogwarts . . ."

His eyebrows go up, a smirk still on his face. "You thought you'd just search around for her?"

"I . . . hadn't really . . ."

"Planned that far ahead? Yes, I see that."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Now why would I know that?"

Why didn't I see it earlier? "She's part of the Order too, right?" I ask, proud of myself for finally figuring this out yet ashamed that it took this long to piece together. With how loyal she is to Dumbledore, I don't know why the thought hadn't occurred to be earlier.

"I wouldn't know," Snape says. "I've told you: I am not part of the Order."

"Stop lying to me. You know where she is, don't you?"

Silence.

"Don't you?"

Snape shakes his head. "No."

"Please just let me go," I say quietly. "There's something I need to talk about that I don't want to talk to you about. No offense."

"You don't know how to find her, so why should I let you go wandering around?"

"I'll go to—" I stop, surprisingly incapable of saying the name of the Order's headquarters. "I'll go to Sirius's place."

"He's dead," Snape says reflexively.

I bite my tongue. "That doesn't matter right now."

"You expect me to remove the Anti-Disapparation Jinx after all the times you've broken our deals and tried to get yourself killed?"

"Please."

"No.

"But—"

"I do not trust you to return. Nor do I trust you not to go to Malfoy Manor."

"I've already told you that I'm over that!"

"I'm not removing the jinx."

"You're going to make me do something that I don't want to do."

"We both know your dueling capabilities, Rodgers. You won't be able to—"

"I never said I was going to fight you, Professor." A short moment passes. "I give you my word that I won't do anything stupid if you will just lift the jinx for a short while."

"Your word means nothing."

A burst of anger jolts through me. "Professor—"

"My decision is final."

I scowl at him, then close my eyes and take a deep breath, planning my next move. Without a second thought, I cast a shield around myself, dash to the front door, throw it open, and sprint away into the early morning air. "RODGERS! Do not expect to return here!" I glance behind me and see Snape standing in the doorway, his wand aimed at me. Snape is unable to stop me from Apparating once I get outside the range of the Anti-Disapparation Jinx.

I go to the door of Grimmauld Place and open it without knocking. There are more people in here than I thought there would be for Sirius being dead and all. A man turns and points his wand at me. "Who're you?" he says bluntly.

"Ch-Charlotte Rodgers."

Tonks comes out of the kitchen. "Put it down, Mundungus," my cousin commands. "She's a friend." The man reluctantly drops his wand down. "What are you doing here, Charlotte?"

"Looking for McGonagall," I say. "Is she here?"

"Why would she be here?" Tonks asks innocently.

"C'mon. I can piece things together. She's part of the Order, yeah? Do you know where she is? It's important."

"I believe she's back at Hogwarts for now."

"Thanks." I turn and Apparate to Hogsmeade. Then I walk onto the grounds and make my way to McGonagall's office. If she's here at the castle, that's the best place to start looking.

Walking alone gives me the chance to ponder just how terrible of an idea it was to leave Spinner's End like I did. Snape has been relatively kind to me recently, and I've done nothing but be a nuisance. I've been absolutely terrible toward him. Or at least incredibly annoying. All I know is that I have probably sacrificed staying at Spinner's End because of my actions. It is highly unlikely that Snape will allow me back there after he warned me against leaving again. The Dark Lord will not be pleased with me.

What if he throws me in the cellar at Malfoy Manor?

I guess it serves me right, doesn't it? For being such a selfish little bitch.

I stop when I reach McGonagall's office. If I leave now, will Snape allow me to stay at Spinner's End? If I tell him I decided against speaking with McGonagall in order to go to him and apologize, will he be lenient? Or will he simply not care?

Severus Snape won't care if I apologize. And the more time I spend with Snape at Spinner's End practicing Occlumency and reliving all of the horrible moments of my past, the more Mrs. Stoico's death weighs on my chest, and if I don't speak of this with someone, I'm afraid I'll break and he'll see and he'll hate me. I absolutely do not want Snape to know what I've done because if he turns against me—well, he's the only Death Eater that seems to care if I'm hurt or killed. And if I can never be free of my duty, at least I can be free of this fear that Snape will see what I did to that Death Eater.

And maybe—just maybe—McGonagall will be able to convince me that Mrs. Stoico's death isn't really my fault and that what I did in retaliation wasn't really that bad. And maybe I'll be able to put it behind me once and for all and finally bury this so the fear of Snape ever seeing the memory can fade away.

With that in mind, I knock on McGonagall's door. There is no answer, and I wait a moment before knocking again, only to get the same silent response. Perhaps this is the universe's way of telling me to get back to Spinner's End and try to make amends with Snape. Perhaps this is the universe's way of telling me not to speak of this ever again.

But I've never really respected the universe's vague clues, so I knock once more on the door for good measure. To my immense joy, the door opens this time. McGonagall looks down at me with confusion. "Rodgers?"

"Professor."

"Come in. Come in," she says, waving me inside her office. "What are you doing here?"

"I . . . I had to—I had a meeting with Voldemort." My whole plan of finally confessing everything that happened to Mrs. Stoico when I returned to the orphanage vanishes. Perhaps it's not time to talk about that yet. Or maybe I just have to build the courage.

She pauses for a second before going to sit behind her desk as she usually does. Then she says, "How long ago?"

"About a week," I answer quietly. "I would've come sooner, but I kind of . . . locked myself away . . ."

"What did he say?"

"Well"—I know my voice is going to leave me when I think about what was said and what is to happen—"he has . . . chosen a day."

"A d—" She seems to suddenly realize my meaning. "When?"

I go on to tell her about the stipulations of the time (without mentioning that it is Draco who has to do something for Voldemort; I don't want him being incriminated when I don't even know what he's to do even though I know it must be bad if Voldemort has commanded it). She doesn't really know what to say, so she sits in silence for a few moments, just looking back at me with the same look of helplessness I feel, neither of us able to really think of anything to follow what I've just told her. All she can say is, "Rodgers," in a very distressed way, which doesn't encourage me but does bring some comfort because it seems she cares. Finally, she asks, "Who else knows?"

"The dates?" She nods. "Bellatrix—I told her right after; in a moment of weakness I wanted her to be my mother. Narcissa—after Bellatrix and I had an argument and lost all sense of sentimentality, I went to her for help." Try as I might to deny it, Narcissa had been more mothering toward me than I had thought possible. "And S—" Oh no. I scramble for anyone I can think of whose name would start with an "S" sound. The closest I can think of is, "Zoe Accrington."

"The Slytherin?"

I nod. "We—we're friends. And I trust her."

"Enough to tell her the truth about yourself?"

"Yes."

Another short moment of silence before, "Professor Dumbledore and Potter will find a way to stop him."

"Voldemort?"

"You will be fine, Rodgers. The Order will stop him."

That's an encouraging thought. Or it was the first few times I've heard it. It's lost its meaning now, really.

I stay there for nearly an hour. I tell her about my moment with Bellatrix and how awfully that had ended, and what Narcissa had told me over the Easter holidays about how my mother had truly cared for me. Not really wanting to leave her office, I find myself saying more than I really should, unable to stop myself now that the words have surfaced.

When it finally comes time to leave, she makes sure I know that her door is always open if I ever need her again.

I step off the Hogwarts grounds and Apparate back to Spinner's End, never having spoken to McGonagall about the real reason I had gone there in the first place: Mrs. Stoico's death, how it was my fault, and how it led to my first and most brutal murder.