CHAPTER 35

I open my eyes to a dark room, the curtains around both me and my bed managing to block out all light. Though I'm unsure what time it is and am partially afraid to look at the clock, it is undoubtedly past midnight, which means it is absolutely November 21, my birthday. Despite my efforts to slow everything down, the day has indeed arrived. Every year since I turned ten, I've dreaded this day, the day I come of age, and now here it is, pushing me closer and closer to Voldemort and the dreaded duty that will befall me in just a few months—or, the worst case, next month. A shudder runs through me. I'm out of time.

As it is Thursday, I have no classes. A small mercy because focusing on class today would absolutely not be possible. This would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, go back into hiding. No one would notice or question my absence until it was too late.

No, Snape and Dumbledore would absolutely notice if I failed to show up for my Occlumency test. And Voldemort would notice if his precious broodmare vanished. They'd hunt for me, and as always, they would find me. And I'd be in a much worse situation.

Nauseated, out of breath, and sweating, I roll out of my bed—quite literally—and land on my hands and knees on the stone floor, then push to my feet, already too aware of how long and miserable this day will be, and go to the lavatory. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and move closer. Staring at my reflection eerily reminds me of how my mother looked in the Daily Prophet picture published after her escape from Azkaban. Except mother dearest did not look quite this ill.

It's as if my whole body is revolting at the idea of being this much closer to the Dark Lord.

I turn the water on and splash a few handfuls into my face, waves of heat rolling over me. I tighten my grip on the sink to stable myself. I can't do this.

I can't go through today.

I can't join the Order.

And most of all, I can't face Voldemort.

Another wave of heat washes over me, and with this one I rush to the nearest toilet, unable to prevent my stomach from emptying itself. I sit there for a moment, wondering what can be done to get me out of this situation, but no grand idea forms, and I'm left wiping tears from my eyes.

With a grunt, I then struggle to my feet and go back to the sink to rinse out my mouth.

I force myself over to the shower, and after letting the cold water cool off my overheating body and putting on this ridiculous school uniform for the day, I make my way back to the sink and cup my hands under it to gather water to drink and splash my face. My eyes drift up to my reflection, my dry hair sticking to my wet face in clumps. This person isn't me. How could I have come this far? How can I be standing in Hogwarts on the day of my seventeenth birthday, one step close to Voldemort? "Got any ideas?" I ask my reflection.

"We could run," I answer myself.

I laugh quietly. "Yeah, right. Let's just run away from Voldemort. He'll never find us."

You'll be able to live out a normal life in some Muggle home, never to see your friends or family again. But you'll be free from Voldemort, and that's all that matters to you, right? Who cares about your friends? Who cares about Daphne and Astoria, the first-years, and McGonagall? Who cares about Snape? He'd probably be happy to be rid of you.

Choking back a sob, I smash my fist into the mirror—the glass shatters, and a gash opens in the back of my hand and sends blood running down my fingers onto the floor. I don't scream out but instead just look at my hand disdainfully as I turn it to redirect the blood flow and make it run down my sleeve rather than all over the floor—the turn causes light to reflect off the few pieces of glass now lodged into my skin. It sparkles like some sort of shiny confetti, and I grimace at it. You're so stupid.

I sigh.

"Reparo." The mirror flies back together, and I wince as the shards in my hand pull themselves free of me to join their brothers on the wall. "Augamenti." With the water spouting from my wand, I wash my blood off the mirror.

"Do you do this every morning?" a voice asks me. I nearly drop my wand but manage stop myself. The mirror's reflection shows Pansy standing behind me.

"Not now, Pansy."

"I was just wondering if smashing mirrors is part of your daily routine," she says innocently.

I turn around and face her. "I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not opposed to doing it."

"What're you going to do? Hit me with your injured hand?" In that moment, I realize how badly my hand actually hurts—it shakes against me, still dripping blood onto the floor. Her eyes trail from the bloody floor to the mirror and then to my face. She laughs coldly. "Merlin, you're so pathetic. I'm embarrassed for you. Crying in the bathroom, smashing mirrors? You should be a Hufflepuff, truly. You're a blight on this House's reputation."

I roll my eyes at her but say nothing. She doesn't try to stop me as I push by her to leave and make my way to the common room where only a handful of students sit around with friends chatting. A swift glance at my pocket watch tells me it's hardly 6:30. Wrapping my hand tightly into my robes to prevent it from littering the dungeons with blood, I exit the common room and make my way to the one person in the castle who not only can help me but is also the one person I can tolerate seeing at moment—Severus Snape. It only takes one knock for him to give me permission to enter, which has got to be some sort of record. "Professor," I say quietly.

"Charlotte," he greets me. "It's early yet for our meeting with Professor Dumbledore. What are you doing?"

Unsure how to answer that without sounding like a child, I let my robes fall away from my hand and hold it up so that he can see the blood and the cuts.

"What have you done?" He sounds exasperated as he stands and comes toward me.

"My reflection upset me."

"And just what did it say to you?" He takes my hand in his to get a better look at it.

I hiss when he turns my hand over. "It's my birthday."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes inquiring as he looks at me. "Yes, it's upon us too soon." He leads me to his desk where, with a wave of his wand, a large bowl appears. A vial of potion floats from one of his shelves to his hand. He gingerly puts my hand over the bowl. "This might burn." Then he pours.

Fire. This potion is made of fire. And try as I might to yank my arm away from him, his grip on my wrist is too strong, so I grab his arm with my good hand and dig my fingers into it, doing everything not to scream.

Suddenly the pain ceases, almost as quickly as it came. "Merlin, it 'might' burn?" I ask, annoyed, releasing his arm.

"I believe you've bruised me."

"I'd apologize, but you did set my hand on fire, so . . ."

He grimaces. "That's hardly what happened. You're being far too dramatic."

I sink into my usual chair and watch as the wounds on my hand close themselves. "I'm just telling you what it felt like."

"I've used that potion on myself before and—"

"So you obviously must know what it feels like and so purposefully lied."

Snape leans against his desk in front of me and crosses his ankles. "You can keep making jokes or you can face whatever it is that's bothering you." I glance up at him, unsure what to say. "Why did you maim yourself?" I look down at his feet, not really wanting to look into those black eyes of his. He lets me sit like this silently for a few moments before he sighs and prods me with a kindly spoken, "Charlotte."

I take a shaky breath and force myself to look up for him. I shrug noncommittally. "I guess . . . I don't know, I lost myself for a moment."

Snape is quiet for a second before asking quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Define 'all right,' Professor."

His eyes are sad and sympathetic, and I have to look away from him again. I came to him because I thought he wouldn't care about my struggle, and here he is being supportive. I don't want that right now. "Will you be able to go see the headmaster later?"

"I don't know. Do you think I'll be able to succeed?" I force myself to look back up at him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and eyes me for a moment. "I do. But if you would prefer that we postpone Professor Dumbledore's test and continue practicing, that can be arranged."

"What do you suggest I do?"

He remains silent, considering the question, trying to determine what to say. Then, finally, he says, "You might not be a master of Occlumency, Charlotte, but you're good enough to hold your own against me. Professor Dumbledore will be pleased with your progress, and even if you do not pass his test with flying colors, you will pass well enough to be able to join the Order and—"

"You actually believe that?"

"Yes. We will likely need to continue working on Occlumency, and I doubt we will cut down your lessons to once a week until at least the Christmas holiday. I suggest we continue with your test today, and we can adjust your lessons accordingly once Professor Dumbledore makes his decision."

I watch him closely. Would he lie about something like this? I suppose it's possible, because in what world would Severus Snape allow himself to admit that he failed to make me a master of Occlumency? Would he ever admit that his student, one he worked with for months, failed to fully grasp his instruction? In all honesty, he is likely lying to me to keep my spirits up. He knows Dumbledore will fail me, and I will be barred from joining the Order of the Phoenix, and Snape will apologize and say he wished I could do better. Then he will practice with for a little longer, just enough that I will be able to keep his allegiance a secret, but he will regrettably inform me that I have no hope of truly learning Occlumency and that it will be best if I stop trying because I am a lost cause.

I will have failed Dumbledore, myself, and most importantly—though it surprises me to classify him as such—I will have failed Snape. I swallow down the lump in my throat. Why does it suddenly mean so much to me that I will have failed him? Why do I feel like I will never be able to face him again if I do fail this?

"Charlotte."

His voice brings me back to the present. "Sorry. I just. I don't know if I can do this, Professor."

A chair appears in front of me, and he claims it, bringing himself more to eye-level with me. "I would not lie to you about your ability. Do you think I would take an ill-prepared student to Professor Dumbledore? Do you not think I would worry about that reflecting poorly on me?"

I suppose he has a point. "So you're not lying to me to make me feel like I can do so that I can fail and then you can stop teaching me?"

"Would I have put this much effort into instructing you only to let you fail right here at the end? Do I have the patience for that?"

In spite of myself, I smile at him. "No, I don't think you do, actually."

He stands to his feet, his chair disappearing. Then he motions for me to stand as well, and once I have, he ushers me to the door. "Stop panicking about this. Take a few deep breaths, go enjoy breakfast with your friends. Come back to my office after you've eaten, and we'll head up to Professor Dumbledore's office. Your test shouldn't take up all of my free period, so we'll have more than enough time for you to prove your abilities."

"I can't hide in here?" I ask as he opens the door for me to leave.

"There are things I need to finish before we go see the headmaster."

I leave without a complaint and start making my way up to the Great Hall.

Despite my best efforts, I can't stop thinking—well, worrying—about Dumbledore's test later. Snape's words might have made me feel better in the moment, but I'm horrified that this won't work out. Now that he's no longer speaking to me, all the confidence he gave me is dissipating. It's like I need him to be near me in order to believe that I can actually succeed, but that's kind of pathetic, really, so I need to pull myself together. How could I possibly face him and tell him that I need him speaking to me to feel like I can actually go through with this?

I'm going to fail this test, and I'll fail to keep my thoughts to myself, and Voldemort will find out about me and Draco, and me and Fred, and Snape's true loyalties, and my struggle to accept my duty. In short, I'm going to die—or worse—and my inability to keep my secrets to myself is going to get Snape killed—or worse. Draco and Fred will be in danger. If Voldemort finds out that I'm friends with a Muggle-born, Zoe will be in danger. Everyone I care about is going to be in danger. Because I'm a failure.

By the time I reach the Great Hall, a large number of students are already in here, and I smile when I see my friends all sitting together. Surely, they'll be able to keep my mind off Voldemort and my test. I take a seat beside Christopher, a spot that almost looks like it was saved for me. "Morning," the boy says casually.

"Morning," I greet them all.

"Where've you been?" Julia asks, spreading butter on some toast. "You weren't in the common room when we left, and we were hungry so we couldn't wait for you."

"I don't blame you," I say. "I took entirely too long getting ready for the day, didn't I?"

"Yes," Astoria says. "Now, I believe I was in the middle of a story before you interrupted us with our late arrival." I bow my head at her and motion for her to continue. "Thank you. So, as I was saying, we were just casually making our way to the Quidditch pitch when—"

Astoria stops abruptly when Draco takes a seat beside her, her nose flaring with frustration, probably because she was interrupted again from finishing her story.

"Hello, Draco," Jacob greets him.

"Butler," he says. "The rest of you."

I take my chance to ask what's been bothering me since I first met Jacob. "How do the two of you know each other?"

"My father works with his father in the Ministry of Magic," Draco answers.

"Used to work in the Ministry," Ella mutters, drawing a surprised smile to my face. This girl has no fear, and I admire her for it.

"What was that?" Draco asks.

"It's nothing," I say swiftly, cutting Ella a warning glance. Despite how willing she is to pick a fight with Draco, I certainly don't want to get caught in the middle of it or have to deal with the fallout when it happens.

Luckily, we get to change the subject because the post owls have saved me yet again from an awkward situation.

I recognize one of them and hold my breath for a second, hoping it won't come to me and sighing quietly when it actually does. It's the owl that delivered Bellatrix's letters in the past, and it's the first one to reach me. Immediately, I put the letter into my robes and wait for the other two familiar owls to swoop down to me. Milo drops off a letter and a small package, and the owl that took my last message to Fred drops off yet another letter and package.

Perhaps birthdays aren't all bad. At least I'm not alone like I was for so long. People actually care enough about me to send me something. I smile down at everything in front of me and the feel of Bellatrix's letter in my pocket but refuse to open any of them in front of my friends because I want to be alone for that, which prompts me to slink away, back to the dormitory, with some food wrapped in a cloth for later.

With all of the letters and packages laid out before me, I open the one that will probably not be as comforting as the rest of them: Bellatrix's letter.

Aurelia,

I know you have been dreading this day for many years, but I cannot be more excited for you. I'm so very proud of you. Things are not as bad as you believe them to be. You must keep your chin up, for soon you will learn that what you must do is an honor above all honors.

Yeah, this is already going just as badly as I'd feared it would. Maybe I should've left this letter unopened until after my meeting with Dumbledore.

I would have given anything in this world to spend this day with you every year of your life, but not everything works perfectly or the way we desire. And though I desperately want to be with you now, such things cannot be. I would've given anything, paid any price, to be there with you when you woke up and realized that you are of age, but that cannot happen because of where you are and where I am.

I fear that you might not be able to come back to the manor for the Christmas holidays either, if Draco has not succeeded by then. The Dark Lord will be furious, and it will not be good for you to see him in his rage. Our Master is a most gracious man, but he is not so when he is angry. And I do not want you in danger.

However, I have a few ideas that might solve this issue. Though you might not be able to stay at the manor, Christmas might be a time for the two of us to be together. I am working to find a way that will allow me to see you.

I wish I could write to you more often, but it's not safe. I wish I could've written more in this one letter, but my time is short. The Dark Lord is anxious with Draco's slow progress. As I said in the last letter, if he comes to you for help, you must help him. You must burn this letter, Aurelia. It would be wise to burn my first one as well. I fear that if someone finds them, you will be incriminated.

Your mother

I reread the letter three times before I point my wand at it. One thought crosses my mind: Should I show it to Snape? A few minutes later, I reach the conclusion that, no, I shouldn't show him, should probably keep this to myself. No one needs to know about my mother writing to me, especially not Snape right now because of our Veritaserum lesson in which I said that there was an inkling of a desire to serve Voldemort so that I can please Bellatrix. I set the letter on fire until all that's left are ashes. Then I wipe them off my sheets and grab the package from Zoe. Inside are two bottles of butterbeer.

I silently thank her.

The second package, a Skiving Snackbox, is from Fred. I open his letter.

Dear Charlotte,

Happy Birthday. Take today and tomorrow off class with the Skiving Snackbox. I know this day will probably be rough for you, so take a break while you can.

Dumbledore will be testing you for the Order today, I believe? You'll do great.

I love him so much. And that only makes me angrier with myself for keeping my duty from him. I really, really, really need to find a way to tell him everything. He deserves to know.

He's finally given his opinion on the Christmas party. You should go, he writes. Help Malfoy while you can. But be careful, and if Zabini tries anything, I'm sure you'll harm him appropriately.

I suddenly don't feel so terrible about my Occlumency test. If only I could see Fred and wrap my arms around him in thanks for somehow managing to make this day slightly better.

I stash everything in my trunk, scarf down the food I brought back with me, then rush to Snape's office. By the time I reach his door, some of my confidence has worn off, but I think I'm somewhat prepared for Dumbledore's test nonetheless. And after I speak with Snape, I'm sure I'll feel even better. With a breath, I push open Snape's office door. "Morning, Professor."

"You seem much chipper than earlier."

"Well, maybe I'm just prepared for this test, sir." Or maybe just being around the professor who's been teaching me Occlumency makes me feel like I can perform Occlumency relatively well. "Do you honestly think I stand a chance of joining the Order?"

"I believe you might, as I said earlier," he says as he makes his way to the door. "But there's only way to know for sure." He motions for me to follow, and I do so without any argument.

"I wonder what she did!" I hear Tracey Davis say in a carrying whisper as she and Pansy walk by me.

I cut a glance at Snape, but he doesn't really acknowledge my frustration. He stays silent until we reach the gargoyle statue leading to Dumbledore's office. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder and says kindly, "Remember what I taught you, what you've been practicing for so many months, and you'll be fine."

Snape says the password, and together we ascend the steps to Dumbledore's office.