CHAPTER 16

In the Slytherin Dungeon, I lie down on the sofa closest to the fire and close my eyes.

Bellatrix truly cares about me. Why else would Snape be so fearful of me spending time with her? If Voldemort's best lieutenant cares for me and makes that known, Snape must fear that it will be enough to turn me toward the Dark Lord in an attempt to please her and make her care for me even more. At least, that's what I want to believe.

Even if that's not why Snape hates the idea of me being around Bellatrix, I still know she cares. She's worried about me, which is why she took me to my grave. She doesn't want anything to happen to me, she wants me to stay safe this year. Despite everything that's happened between us, it feels oddly satisfying to know she cares for me. I've never actually had a mother, and when I found her, she hated me. And now she worries for my safety. The thought brings a content smile to my face.

I wake up, still on the sofa, what feels like hours later. According to Alphard's pocket watch, it's seven 'o' clock, but I don't know if it's night or morning because the Slytherin common room is in the damn dungeons with no windows to the outside world except for the lake. I hate the location of Slytherin House. With an annoyed huff, I sit up and exit the common room. In a matter of seconds, Snape's office door opens. "Professor," I greet him. He watches me curiously. "Is it morning or night?"

"Morning."

Of course. "When will our Occlumency lessons begin again?"

"There are things I must do to prepare for the term."

"So . . . not today then?"

"No, but we will continue eventually."

I don't know why the thought of postponing lessons with him makes me feel so empty, but I nod and say, "All right," before turning back around and entering the common room again.

Bellatrix would probably still be sleeping right now, so it will do me no good to try to escape to see her. And though I don't know why, I know that I need to see her.

Perhaps she won't care if I show up uninvited. Perhaps she'll actually care that I'm making an effort to develop a relationship with her. I can sit down and talk to her, to my mother. The only other mother I've ever had in my life is Mrs. Stoico, and she's dead. Now I have another chance. My real mother is back at Malfoy Manor, and she cares about me. She is very much alive, and I have another chance.

My real mother wants me to be safe. She said so herself that she can't lose me twice. I keep repeating this over and over trying to make sense of it. I've never felt like this before. My mother doesn't want to lose me again.

And . . . and I don't think I want to lose her either.

I didn't tell her that when we were standing by my grave, and now I regret it. Bellatrix needs to know that I care about her as well. I don't care that she's a Death Eater, because first and foremost, she is my mother. And currently all I want is to be wrapped in her embrace. I feel so alone right now, so empty, and I don't know why. It's not like I have no one.

My friends will be arriving soon for the start of the term. Snape has been mentoring me, doing his best to teach me Occlumency and nonverbal spells. McGonagall might be willing to help me with Conjuration again this year. Narcissa seems to care about me to an extent. I have more people in my life right now than I have ever had, especially in the past five years when I was absolutely alone, so I don't understand why I now feel empty at the thought of not being with my mother. After all, I didn't have her for fifteen years.

But maybe that's why I want to be with her now. I should have stayed at Malfoy Manor over the holiday, should have used those months to get closer to Bellatrix instead of hiding in Spinner's End to get away from her.

No, Charlotte, she is a Death Eater, it does not matter that she is your mother. Bellatrix will always be one of Voldemort's most faithful followers. I cannot forget that. Ever.

However, there's only one way to know for certain if Bellatrix would want to have a relationship with me. And that's only going to happen if I speak with her.

So, after waiting a few hours, I leave the common room once more, this time darting up the steps in an attempt to avoid Snape. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

"Not using the Disillusionment Charm, I see," he calls up to me. "Is it safe to assume you won't be leaving the Hogwarts grounds?"

"Aren't you the one who constantly tells me not to assume things, Professor?" I call back to him. I have to go see Bellatrix, I have to go see Bellatrix. Snape will not stop me. "What if I were to tell you that I was going to speak with my mother?"

"Then I would Stun you and drag you back to the dungeons."

"Is that so?" I laugh, still not looking back at him.

There is no answer for a few seconds, and when he finally growls, "Yes," his voice comes from right beside me, and a startled gasp escapes me. I glance over my shoulder to see Snape, smirking that he frightened me, take a step back, now an arm's length away from me.

"Are you planning to follow me now instead of working on your professor-duties that apparently need to be finished before our Occlumency lessons begin?"

"Are you planning on running from Hogwarts again?"

"No," I sigh. "Going to see my mother wasn't going to work anyways." Only because Snape refuses to let me walk through Hogwarts by myself. Understanding why he's doing it doesn't make the situation more acceptable, in my opinion. My plans to go to Malfoy Manor won't pan out well if Snape decides to guard my every movement. Eventually he'll get tired of that, right? If I leave the Slytherin Dungeon often enough, he'll give up trying to stop me from leaving Hogwarts. He's too busy to deal with me constantly. "I'm on my way to McGonagall's office."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Yes, because I am going to apologize to her." Which, now that I mention it, is probably something I really should do.

Snape is walking by my side now but doesn't speak, and I continue, "I said some things yesterday that I didn't mean, and I feel like I should explain myself and apologize." He remains silent still, and I can't stop myself from adding, "I mean, she spent a lot of time helping me learn Conjuration, and I feel like I owe her an explanation because of it." Why am I saying all of this to him? Snape watches me with a false look of expectance. "I . . . what did I say?"

He shakes his head, his face impassive. "Oh, nothing. I was just waiting for you to apologize to me."

"And why would I do that?"

"I spent a lot of time teaching you Occlumency and nonverbal spells," he says dryly.

I steal a glance at him, almost able to see his wicked grin, but my poor angle prevents me from being certain that that's what he's truly doing. "I'd apologize to you, Professor, but seeing that it's your Dark Lord who caused all of this, I see no point."

"The Dark Lord caused you to 'stay distant' from people, or however you so poorly worded your speech yesterday?"

"Yes." I stop in front of McGonagall's office door. "But unfortunately, I am out of time to explain it all to you."

Yet he does not walk off.

"What are you—"

"Making sure you do not try to escape the castle."

"So you're just planning to stay there until I enter her office? Really? That seems a bit excessive, even for you, sir."

He grimaces.

"Am I wrong?" I laugh.

Without another word, without even changing is stone-cold face, he reaches over and knocks on the door.

"Enter," comes McGonagall's answer.

Snape stands aside. "Go on then. I'm sure you'd hate to keep Professor McGonagall waiting."

I push the door open and leave that prick behind. McGonagall offers me a kind, if strained, smile. I go and take the seat across from her. Although it has not moved its position since the last time I was here, the chair seems uncomfortably far away from her desk, so I drag it closer, ignoring the odd look she gives me as I do so.

This is not the first time I've spoken to McGonagall about things not pertaining to my schooling, but I'm unnerved now for reasons I do not understand. Perhaps I should have ran for it and gone to see Bellatrix.

For a few moments too long, I sit there, opening my mouth to say something but failing to find my voice, and I'm sure I look like an unfortunate fish that has been caught on dry land. But McGonagall does not prompt me to speak, choosing to watch me silently instead, and if it hadn't been for my Occlumency lessons with Snape, I would almost believe she's reading my mind—but I know that feeling, and this is certainly not it. Finally, I manage to say, "I . . . there are some things—what I said—I—it—I don't—it's just . . ." I close my eyes and rub my mouth with my hand. No logical thought is forming in my mind. I have failed at the simple task of speaking and am sorely tempted to run off now to hide my shame.

I open my eyes to find McGonagall still just watching me with an unreadable expression. "Are you able to speak?"

"I don't know," I say. There, at least I found a way to say something rather than trying and failing. It's not much, but it certainly is a victory compared to what happened just moments ago.

"If you would like to leave and come back when you can—"

"It's not necessary, Professor," I interrupt her. "I—I think I'll be able."

She nods for me to start.

"Firstly, about the lying thing—I truly am sorry. I don't . . . I don't enjoy lying to you." McGonagall doesn't reply, so I continue, "Secondly, I . . . I've said some things—I think—I lose control, when it comes to Voldemort. I know—I know I should act—and think—as if things will change . . . I mean, I desperately want them to, but I can't let myself"—this is not going as planned—"I can't let myself think too much about it. Just in case. Thirdly," I push forward, "about keeping people out of my life and away from me in general—that was . . ." Mrs. Stoico. "Partially true, but it was uncalled for." I tap my finger on her desk. "It just—people I get close to end up in peril or . . . well, dead, no matter what I try, and I don't want—well, you or—and I can't believe I'm actually saying this—Professor Snape, I guess, to go through that."

McGonagall shifts in her seat. "You act as if there is an inevitable pattern."

"There is."

"I don't believe that's true. I believe you have experienced many unfortunate coincidences."

"'Unfortunate coincidences.' What a delicate way of putting it."

"I'm not phrasing it delicately for your benefit. I find it difficult to believe that there is any single person who can take with them a path of destruction that ruins lives in the way you are speaking of, Rodgers."

I give her a disagreeing, sad grin. "It's always followed me." Her unconvinced face forces me to explain further. "I know she's different now, but look at Bellatrix. Even as a baby, I had a tornado of destruction that followed me. Her life was utterly devastated because of me. Then there was this one girl in the orphanage who was a good friend of mine; she was adopted into an abusive family, ended up dead. Mrs. Stoico was . . . brutally murdered because I went back. And Avery was—"

"Avery?"

"The man who killed Mrs. Stoico."

She pauses for a seecond before catching me in a lie. "You said you never learnt the man's name."

"I . . . lied," I confess, now that there is no choice but to do so. "He called himself Avery, was a self-proclaimed Death Eater."

"What happened to him?"

"You mean, besides when I—I mean, I killed him."

She watches me.

I take a moment to steady my breathing again, to stop the sobs I feel threatening and to consider whether now is the time to tell her or not. My instinct says that it is, despite the fear looming in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's best to finally get this off my chest. She knows some of it, of course, but I've never told anyone the full story. Maybe confessing will allow me to heal. "I went back to Mrs. Stoico because Avery convinced me that it was the right thing to do. And, Merlin, she was so relieved to see me." My hand finds my thigh and begins forcibly rubbing it, as if I'm trying to wipe his blood from my palms. "I was in the front office with her—she was rejoicing with me for my safe return. I loved her . . . like a mother." My other hand begins tapping the desk as I try to force back my tears. Though I should stop talking, I can't bring myself to shut up. "I had hardly ten—ten minutes—um—before she was—b-before he came. I didn't have a wand yet, you know. I was—in a word—helpless. There was nothing I could do . . ." I stop tapping the table and use that trembling had to wipe eyes. Mrs. Stoico had been my first family. She had been there, running the orphanage, for as long as I could remember. "He grabbed me by the neck and—and tossed me against the wall."

The memories, now that I've opened this door, are pouring in, every little detail going off like a firework. Mrs. Stoico had been so brave, but she had no chance of stopping him. I see it all happening again, as if I'm there again, as if I'm once more that scared child who begged for the evil man not to hurt the only mother I ever knew. My chest hurts; my throat seems to be closing; my vision blurs with tears. I don't want to do this. I need to stop talking. I can bear this burden alone more easily than I can tell her the truth.

But I've started this, and my mouth continues on without my permission, spewing the secrets that I should have never begun sharing in the first place. "Mrs. Stoico—she-she grabbed a knife. But what good is that against a wand? I-I was cowering in the corner be-behind her while she attempted to fend off a wizard."

"Rodgers—"

"Mrs. Stoico grabbed a knife," I repeat, "a knife to defend herself and me. Against a bloody wizard." Though my hand is really hurting my thigh, I still can't make myself pull it away.

"He charmed the room—and he—he began Cruciating her. After a moment, he said I could—I could make it stop . . . if only I went with him." I shake my head, trying to make the sound of her shrieking in pain leave my brain. "I wouldn't do it. I was too scared! And-and she begged for it to end, but I—I didn't—I didn't end it."

"Rodgers—"

"She-she screamed for mercy, screamed for me to run. And I-I tried, but Avery threatened me. I stayed where I was. Mrs. Stoico pleaded for him to let-let me go.

"He commanded me to get behind him, because we were going to be leaving. And I-I obeyed him. But not—not without grabbing the knife, which had . . . fallen to the ground when—when she was first—Cruciated. I-I thought if-if I did what he told me to do, he would let her go." I close my eyes, swallow down the sob building in side of me, and take a breath, then wipe my face. "But he didn't."

"Rodgers—"

I look up at her but ignore her and continue, "Something—something snapped in me."

"Rodgers—"

"When I got behind him, he started laughing, saying something about how-how Mrs. Stoico had failed. He-he continued Cruciating her, even though I had obeyed him." I clear my throat to loosen it, but there's nothing I can do to stop the tears or the pain in my chest. "Then he used the Killing Curse, and he stood there—laughing at her dead body—saying she-she deserved it. And I—I broke." I do not look at her as I say, "I still had the knife. And before I could stop myself, I plunged the knife into his back."

"Rodgers—"

"He staggered for a moment—then fell to his knees." I clench my fists and press them against my thighs as hard as possible. "I pulled the knife out, and thrust it in again . . ." I can feel his warm blood splashing onto my face, can taste the iron in his blood as it creeps into my mouth. "I-I jumped onto his back. And I just—I just started plunging the knife into him. Over and over and over and over again, not caring—not caring that he was—he was already dead."

I take a shaky breath and stare hatefully down at my hand. I clasp my hands together in my lap. "He had killed her, Professor, and something took over me. I just wanted revenge." The tears running down my cheeks eerily remind me of the blood that had been splattered on my face. "I shouldn't have gone back. I begged him, I was on my knees, begging him to spare her.

"And when he refused . . ." I shake my head. That's the kill I once told her I enjoyed. It was one done of vengeance and anger, not self-defense as almost all the others had been. I wanted him to hurt and had deeply enjoyed plunging that blade into him.

"Rodgers—"

"Voldemort has had a way of taking everyone I've ever cared about, Professor, and he always has. Even when I was a child and he was gone. I don't want that to happen to you, which is why I said what I did earlier, about keeping people out of my business and out of my life." I clear my throat again, unable to look her in the face after everything I've just confessed to her. "I've done things, terrible things. Killed many more people. My life's already tainted with the mark of Voldemort. There's no way to escape it—it's always going to be there. The least I can do is try to shield those I care about and those who care about me, you know. I can do my best to soften the blow when he finally comes for me."

"Rodgers," McGonagall says slowly, like she's trying to think of something to say. I meet her eyes—whether because everything is blurry to me or not, I cannot be sure, but it looks like her eyes are watering. I try not to think about it. "There are a number of people whose lives have been marred by him. You do not have to let him—"

"It's too late for that, Professor. When he wants something, he'll find a way to get it. And he wants me to have his child. How am I supposed to find a way out of that?"

"The Order will find a way to defeat him. Harry Potter—"

"Is just a boy! He got lucky once! Twice! But that's not enough to defeat Lord Voldemort himself."

"Professor Dumbledore is on our side as well. The one wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever feared is on our side of this war. You won't have to go through with this."

"And I have to sit here while everyone else does what they can to stop this. I have no control over my own life." Her eyes fill with sadness. I shake my head irritably.

But maybe . . . maybe I won't have to deal with losing everyone. What if the Order actually can bring down Voldemort before I have to face my duty? What if they actually manage to pull that off? What if they destroy the Dark Lord before he destroys everything else? Then an idea comes to me. I can help protect myself. I don't have to sit around and do nothing. And now is as good a time as any to ask. "I want to join the Order of the Phoenix."

Her lips go thin. "Rodgers, it's honorable that you would want to be in the Order, but with your having to be around the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, who is one of the most skilled Legilimens there has ever been, I'm not sure it would be safe for you."

"But I've become rather skilled at Occlumency. He would never know."

"Rodgers—"

"I've mastered it enough to keep my relationship with Fred and my relationship with Draco from him. I've mastered it enough to keep my friendship with you and Harry and Ron and Hermione all from him!" That's because he's never used Legilimency against me before, but I can keep Snape from seeing things, so I have hope that I can keep Voldemort from seeing it too. "I can do this. I want to join. I will not sit idly by while others risk themselves to take him down, not when so much of my own future relies on his destruction."

She doesn't reply.

"I thought you'd help me." I say that as if I had been planning to ask this, as if it isn't just something that occurred to me. "I thought that after everything I've told you about what will happen to me, you would want to help me stop him. You would want me to be in the Order, to have a hand in doing something that might save me from him. I have less than a year, Professor. And less than six months if all goes the way he plans." I meet her eyes again. "Please."

McGonagall nods at me, finally, a few moments later. "I can make no promises regarding Professor Dumbledore's decision, but I will speak to him about it."