CHAPTER 43

I fall into a routine after Christmas. Almost every Wednesday night, I patrol the castle with the Order—sometimes my partner for the evening is Fred, sometimes Tonks, sometimes Mrs. Weasley or Lupin, or sometimes some other Order member that means significantly less to me. Every Monday and Thursday and Saturday night, I go to Snape's office and practice Occlumency (I've actually gotten better, and he's told me on many occasions that he's proud of the progress I've made in manipulating my thoughts even while I sleep). Every Sunday when I can, I go to McGonagall's office and continue practicing Conjuration. Thursdays don't work for the lessons anymore now that I'm patrolling with the Order. On Saturday afternoons, I work with the first-years to help them with their Transfiguration.

Surprisingly, my lessons with McGonagall are going well also. I can now Conjure something as large as a desk, and though it does not last more than fifteen minutes, it's a step forward.

A few days before the Apparating lessons were to begin, I got a package from Bellatrix. My mother had been more than generous with the money she sent me (50 Galleons, 30 Sickles, and 40 Knuts. As if I need all of that—but I'm grateful.).

Now Draco and I are making our way to the Great Hall where the lessons are to take place. "So, you're planning to help me with Apparition, right?" Draco asks. Like with the O.W.L.s, the four House tables have been removed, but instead their being replaced with small desks, there is nothing in here besides hoops, which I remember being used during the Apparition lessons at the Ministry.

"You'll be fine," I say to him. "It's not as difficult as it seems."

"Unless you get Splinched," he mutters.

"Good point, but you'll still be fine."

Each of the Heads of Houses is standing around with a Ministry wizard as the sixth-year students file into the Great Hall. McGonagall and Snape both know that I can Apparate, but I've told them my reasoning for taking these lessons, so they don't give me a second glance. Draco drifts away from me, going to Crabbe and Goyle and the rest of the sixth-years who adore him so much, and I make my way closer to Daphne.

Once all the students have arrived and the professors have quieted us all down, the Ministry wizard says, "Good morning. My name is Wilkie Twycross, and I shall be your Ministry Apparition instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition Test in this time—"

"Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!" McGonagall orders.

Draco flushes and moves away from Crabbe, obviously livid at McGonagall, which irritates me because how dare he act angry she called him out when he was the one out of order. What enrages me about it, though, is that Snape seems just as angry as Draco does. I don't know if he's angry with McGonagall or Draco, and frankly I'm afraid to find out.

"—by which time, many of you may be ready to take your tests," Twycross continues. "As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try." I don't know why he insists on saying this (he is the same man I took lessons from when I was pretending to be that old bloke a few years back); I've tried Disapparating many times when an Anti-Disapparition Jinx was up, and I've never been harmed.

"I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet space in front of you."

Everyone jostles around, scrambling to obey and claim their space. After minutes of this, during which the Heads of Houses and other professors have to break up arguments all across the Great Hall, everyone is in place. I find myself standing next to Daphne and Hermione, who is openly disgruntled with Harry for abandoning her to follow Draco and Crabbe.

Because I've already taken this Apparition test and know how to do it, I don't really pay any attention to Twycross as he explains the principles of Apparition. I do my best to look focused when I'm actually debating whether to tell Harry that Draco is truly doing something. Or I could do my best to convince him that Draco isn't doing something. No one saw me over Christmas, which means I could very easily lie to him and tell that I spoke with Voldemort. I could make him believe that Draco is doing nothing at all.

Perhaps that would do no good, though. Harry is obsessing over Draco's every move, and I doubt someone like me—someone he's already expressed suspicion of—could change his mind about Draco's supposed guilt, especially since he now thinks I might have something to do with Voldemort as well. Maybe I could drop some hints for Harry to decipher for himself. No, that's a bad idea, too, as it would likely only serve to make his obsession worse if he had something to actually chase rather than just speculation.

Though I'll never tell Harry what's going on, it might be growing close to when I'll have no choice but to tell Snape what Draco is attempting to do.

"Step three," Twycross calls through the Hall, "and only when I command . . . Turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation! On my command, now . . . one . . . two . . . THREE!"

I merely jump and spin, landing back on my feet and staggering to stay vertical. Everyone else seems to have basically done the same, for no one manages to Apparate to their hoop five feet in front of them. The next two tries are just as unsuccessful as the first.

It's not until the fourth try that anything changes. An awful screech of pain echoes through the Great Hall, and I inadvertently cringe as the professors flock to the girl who has been Splinched.

"Splinching, or the separation of random body part," Twycross explains, "occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continuously upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation." He gives a demonstration of Apparition.

We spend another hour practicing, and my legs are pounding by the end of this hour, having been forced to jump up and down while spinning for so long. This is more exercise than I've had in a while, and it feels unlikely that I'll be able to walk painlessly tomorrow.

The night after our first Apparition lessons, I'm in Snape's office again, going over Occlumency. For the fifth time in a row tonight I have manipulated my sleeping thoughts well enough to make him believe that they are real. "Do you think I'd trick Professor Dumbledore if I were to retake that test with him?"

Snape watches me for a moment, almost as if he's trying to decide. Finally, he says, "Yes, I believe you would."

"So, our practices—"

"Will not cease. No matter how far you've come, your mind must remain sharp, and we can only ensure that through our lessons."

"Well, what if we cut it back to Monday, Thursday, and every other Saturday instead of every Saturday?"

"Have you something better to do?"

I sigh. "Not really, no. And it's not that I hate doing this, because I actually do enjoy the ego boost I get when I am successful and because I actually kind of enjoy the lessons themselves, but it . . . it's just . . . it gets tiresome, you know." Snape is not amused. "Why don't you try teaching me how to brew potions instead?" His eyebrows raise, and for a moment it seems that he is considering my proposition. "I see you have one in the corner," I say, motioning to a smoking cauldron behind him that is relatively new, having only become a fixture in his office within the past two weeks. Until now I've been unwilling to ask him about it, but with how pleased he seems with my Occlumency progress, now seems a good time to try to get some information out of him. "What potion is that?"

"Are you only asking for potions lessons to try to discover what I'm brewing?"

"I won't lie and pretend that I don't want to know, but you know Potions is a class I had wanted to take."

He twists his wand around between his hands. "As Professor Dumbledore has specifically requested that we continue working on your Occlumency, I believe that is where our efforts are best expended. However, should the opportunity arise in the future for Potions lessons, I will consider it."

As tired as I am of these lessons sometimes, at least they keep me dwelling on things that will never happen—such as Harry destroying Voldemort before I am to fulfill my duty in July. Dumbledore says that all Harry needs is time, and as much as I want to believe that these next few months will be long enough, I know that they will not.

And is it bad that I wish my mother could write me more often? I receive letters constantly from Fred and Zoe, but I wish communication with Bellatrix was more frequent. While I understand it would be dangers, the desire remains. Perhaps it's a good thing I can't keep in touch with her because constant contact would surely only make defying Voldemort that much more difficult.

"I can see from the blank stare in your eyes that I've lost your attention," he says.

"Well, yeah, sort of. Sorry." I take a shallow breath. "Why don't we just get back to the lessons?"

"Create a false memory to show me, don't just manipulate the details of a real one."

"Right now? You usually give me time to come up with something."

"You've grown bored of our lessons. We need to make it more of a challenge for you. Ready?" I don't have a chance to answer before he casts the spell to put me to sleep.

I'm walking through Hogsmeade, but I stop at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop and step inside. The place reeks of happy couples, all enjoying each other's company. Banners hanging around the shop say, "Happy Valentine's Day!" I scan over the crowd.

I raise my wand, shrieking nothing in particular, and the shop goes up in flames.

Next, I am sitting before the Wizengamot. "So you admit to burning down the Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Hogsmeade?" the Minister asks.

"I admit it."

"Do you have any reason for such actions?"

"I do."

"Would you care to share them with us?"

I smile. Then everything goes blank.

Snape draws himself out of my memories, and for some reason, he's smiling. "Not fond of the holiday of the month?" he asks evenly, though it's obvious that he wants to mock me.

"I can't spend it with the person I want, so I thought it'd be fun to ruin others' fun as well. But I didn't know where else to go with that memory, so . . . I just kind of blocked everything out."

"You put yourself on trial in front of the Wizengamot?" he asks, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Obviously."

"How do you even know what one of those looks like?"

"You act as if I spent my whole life doing nothing but running around. One of my hobbies was impersonating people and going where I should not." Snape almost looks proud of me, which brings an unbidden smile to my lips. "Sometimes I miss that, honestly," I admit.

"I believe you cause enough chaos in my life to make up not causing it in the lives of others."

I glance over at the cauldron at the back of the room. "I just wish I had something to distract me from my impending doom, you know?"

"You will not guilt me into teaching you how to brew potions."

A soft, sad laugh escapes me. "That's not really what I meant. Being here at Hogwarts doesn't offer much distraction other than class work, and that's not really something I want to do either. I just meant in general that I wish there was more to distract me from . . . you know."

Snape places his wand before him on his desk. "You believe you'll have to go through with it?"

Though I do not meet his gaze, I can feel his obsidian eyes watching me. "Do you not?"

"I'm unsure what I think about it."

"Do you believe it's possible—or plausible—that Harry will have defeated the Dark Lord by the end of July? Because I don't have that much faith in The Boy Who Lived."

"But you'll have people you can come to—myself and Professor McGonagall. There are people who will be there for you. Fred Weasley and his family. You won't face this alone."

A sudden bitterness rises in my chest and seeps out of me with every word. "Oh, because you think any of you will know what it's like? Do you really believe any of you will have a clue what I will go through?" I stand and pace in front of his desk. "Do you actually believe that any of you will be able to remotely understand what it's going to be like? Do you believe any of you will know what it's like to be raped by Lord Voldemort? Because I strongly doubt you will."

Snape stops himself from speaking, his mouth partially open, a look of surprise on his face as if he had not expected me to say what I've just said. And honestly, I hadn't expected me to say it either, but now that I've finally admitted one of the biggest sources of fear regarding my duty, I'm glad it's out there. "Do . . . why do you . . . why do you think—"

"That he's going to rape me, Professor?" I cut him off, guessing where he's headed with his question, stopping my pacing to stare directly at him. "Do you really think I'll just give myself over to him willingly?"I pause a split-second to take a breath. "No. He will have to take me kicking and screaming." Part of me wants to look away from his gaze—this is the first time in months that I've felt uncomfortable in Snape's presence—but I force myself to keep eye contact.

Snape, seeming to be making a point to stare back into my eyes, remains silent for a few moments, but I can't bring myself to regret saying anything that I've just said. Then he says, very softly, almost inaudibly, "I commend your bravery, Charlotte."

And that's when I lose my composure. I throw my hand over my mouth to stifle the wail of agony and fear, then drop to the stone, folding myself over my knees, burying my face against them, and biting into my robes to stifle the sound. Sobs wrack through my body. I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this. I struggle to cry this aloud, but I'm sure Snape understood the gist of my attempt at speech through my ragged breathing.

I vaguely hear a sound through my sobs but pay no attention, trying with all my concentration to stop my hiccoughing. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have kept it to myself. I should have just let him continue with the Occlumency lessons.

What have I done?

No one needs to know the fear I bear on my shoulders—least of all Snape, who at this very moment is trying to protect Draco, is spying for the Order, is constantly risking his life to play the double agent. He doesn't need to worry himself with my troubles as well as his own.

An arm comes to a rest on my shoulders, and I flinch at the touch. Immediately it is removed, but a heartbeat later, it slowly rests on my shoulders once more. "I don't understand you, Charlotte," Snape says quietly. I turn my head to look at him, still clenching my teeth on my robes to keep back my sobs. He's on one knee, looking down at me. I don't have to say anything for him register my silent question and continue, "You're brave in the face of the Dark Lord himself, you're brave in the face of death—"

"Death is-is b-better than—"

He puts his hand up in a silent command for me to stop talking. Unsure why, I obey immediately. "You were brave when you went and Cruciated Umbridge on behalf of Professor McGon—"

"That was different!"

Again, he puts his hand up for me to stop talking, and something in those black eyes of his causes me to bite back my voice. "You could have gone to Azkaban. You could have faced the dementors. And more likely than not, you would have experienced the Dementor's Kiss, yet you did not care. You were brave."

"But that's—"

"Stop talking! The Dementor's Kiss is said to be one of the worst fates a person can endure, but you didn't care when you faced Azkaban and its dementors. Yet here you are, sobbing on the floor because you fear the Dark Lord . . . because you fear the Dark Lord—" He can't seem to bring himself to say it, and I know it's not because he's never said it before. I think it's because he doesn't want to acknowledge that this will actually happen to me, like saying it aloud will make it inevitable. He frowns at me and says, "But you fear the Dark Lord raping you."

"Because he will," I whisper, almost completely muted. My body starts to shake at the sheer thought of Voldemort forcing himself upon me, and I have to look away from Snape once more. "I'm s-so scared." I lean over and rest my head against his chest and weep. "I can't do this."

I still have to find a way to tell Fred.

Snape lets me sob against him for a few minutes before he pulls me to my feet and allows me to wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face into his chest once more. "Come with me," he says, prying me off him and, his arm still comfortingly around my shoulders, leading me to the door.

"Wh-where are we going?" I ask quietly.

He looks at me kindly. "I know you well enough to know that you go to Professor McGonagall when you're this upset about something. I assumed you would want to go to her now as well."

"No!" I shriek, immediately jerking away from him and stepping back out of his reach. "I-I'm not g-going to her about this! I haven't spoken aloud of V-Voldemort raping me to anyone but you at this point! I can't—I can't go to her!"

Snape seems genuinely confused. "Why not?"

"She-she worries about me enough as-as it is! I can't—I can't add this to it as well!"

"You're being unreasonable—"

"I am not! She puts up with enough stress because of me! I will not add this as well!"

Snape clenches his jaw, his face resigned, as if he knows already that I will not budge on this point. And really, I know I'm being unreasonable. McGonagall would be more than willing to listen to my fear about this, would possibly be willing to help me through it, but I can't go to her about this. I would find it too difficult to look her in the eye after admitting everything to her.

Snape, on the other hand, is different. He knows everything there is to know about me, and besides that, he's been through hell because of Voldemort as well. It's simply different with him, and I can't really find a reason as to why it's different. It just is.

He seems to be searching for something to say. Then, after a few heartbeats of silence between us, he says, "Are you certain that he won't use Dark Magic? Has he told you this himself?"

I shake my head, crossing my arms as if attempting to hug myself. "Narcissa . . . she seems to think it'll be . . ."

"So you're not absolutely certain then?"

I sigh and meet his eyes, trying my best to ignore how much it means to me that I see sincere compassion looking back at me. "I've never had any reason to believe otherwise. And after meeting him . . ." I look down at my feet. "I don't see why he would try it any other way."

"I . . . I am not convinced that this will be his course of action." This captures my attention, and, still hugging myself, I slowly force myself to look back at those kind eyes—since when can Snape's eyes be defined as kind? "I do not believe that is what the Dark Lord has in mind. It—it is my belief that he will start with Dark Magic."

He is simply trying to offer me a lifeline, and I don't think I can let myself hope. I tell him as much.

"The Dark Lord is many things, Charlotte, but I've never known him to be interested in crossing that line before. Unless you fail to conceive magically, I see no reason for him to cross it now."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, not entirely, but—"

"So the possibility is still there?" I whisper, my spirit deflating completely. When he remains silent, I add, "I must prepare for the worst, Professor."

He seems to be in an internal debate before he reaches up and massages the back of his neck. "I . . . I could speak with him."

"I doubt he'd appreciate that," I say softly.

"That might not be true," he tries again. "If he knew that you fear your duty because of this—"

"You mean to tell him?"

"I mean to ask him how he intends to impregnate you."

"And you honestly believe he'll tell you?"

"If he believes it will soothe your worries, yes. He knows you're fearful."

I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. "You'd approach him and ask him that for me?"

"Yes."

I go forward and wrap my arms around his waist again, once more resting my head against his chest. "And you'll tell me as soon as you find out?"

Snape pats my shoulder uncomfortably. "Yes."

"Thank you." He makes no move to stop me from retreating back to the Slytherin Dungeon.