CHAPTER 53

Another two weeks have passed, and I have not been able to bring myself to answer Zoe's letter, and I'm so ashamed of myself that talking to anyone about anything has become difficult. I fear they can see my cowardice, my heartbreak, and will ask me what's happened to me. And if they ask me what's wrong, I could very easily fall into telling them everything that will happen to me and everything that has happened to me.

While Snape has noticed, our Occlumency lessons have been going really well, which means he hasn't been able to see what happened. Despite this, he knows I've been acting differently.

Luckily, with my friends I can claim that my issues stem from nerves about the Apparition test in Hogsmeade tomorrow, which I'm mostly only taking to look normal and abide my Ministry rules. If I manage to survive this war, living life as a normal witch will require that I follow the laws expected of me, so I have to get my Apparating license.

I've been preparing myself all day—doing far too well would be suspicious, but I want to do well enough to pass easily, which will require me to find the perfect balance. I'm sitting at a table with Astoria, trying to figure out how I'm going to perform on the Apparition Test, when Daphne takes a seat next to me, glancing around the common room. "Charlotte," she says quietly.

"Hi, Daphne," I reply, giving her a suspicious look to match her suspicious behavior.

"Listen, I came to warn you . . ."

"Warn me? Warn me about what?"

She bites her bottom lip, like she doesn't want to say but she feels obligated to. "Just . . . don't go into the spare classroom in the dungeons," she says. "It's . . . Pansy found a boggart. She wanted to trick you into the room—to scare you."

"With a boggart?" I ask. "She still talks to you?"

"Yes, a boggart. And only when you're not around."

"A boggart's the thing that takes on the shape of someone's worst fear, yeah?"

"That's why I wanted to warn you," she says. "No offense, of course, but from what I've learned about you over the past year, I think you would be an easy prey for a boggart."

"And it's in the spare classroom?"

"In the cabinet thing."

I smile. "I appreciate you letting me know."

She looks around the common room again, almost refusing to look me in the eye. "So you spent the holiday with Weasley?"

I swallow and turn my attention to my hands. "Yeah, I did."

She nods, about to say something, but Astoria gets her attention and stops her. I don't question it, instead choosing to just sit there and wait what seems to be an appropriate amount of time before standing up, saying, "I need to speak with Professor Snape," and leaving the common room. Though not sure why, I want to face the boggart. The spare room isn't hard to find—it seems fitting that it's the same room in which Draco asked me to be his girlfriend. Looking back at it now, life was so much simpler back then, and I wish I could go back to before, back when I didn't know the timetable facing me, back when I wasn't aware of just how little time was left before my enslavement.

As I slowly push the door open, part of me warns me that this is a terrible idea, that this is a terrible mistake, yet I go forward anyway and close the door behind me.

Draco told me a while back that our year was taught how to defeat a boggart in their third year here, but I was never a part of that. Perhaps now will be a good learning experience for me. After all, I know the spell, and that should be enough, right?

There's only one cabinet in the room, which I can only assume is the one Pansy stored the boggart in—I should have asked more questions about how she managed this elaborate nonsense. The cabinet, which probably once held old textbooks and other school supplies, has been long forgotten about.

I take my position nearly ten feet away from the cabinet, then wave my wand at the door. The boggart springs out and lands in front of me as my worst fear. And what else would it be? Lord Voldemort, his red eyes staring down at me, takes a step toward me. I lose my breath but refuse to shy away. If I can bring myself to face this shadow form of Voldemort, perhaps I'll be able to face the real Voldemort in just a few months.

It cocks its head at me, and then smiles wickedly. Something appears in its arms, the thing wrapped so tightly in cloth that I cannot see what it is, but my stomach begins churning.

Voldemort takes a step toward me, his feet bare. He turns the thing toward me, and the cloth falls from its head. Cradled in Lord Voldemort's arms is a child, appearing to be only a few months old at most, both of its eyes red, its hair jet black. Voldemort extends his arms, trying to hand me the child, and the shriek escapes me before I can stop it. The Dark Lord then begins approaching me. In my haste to back away and escape him, I trip over and land on my back, rendering myself helpless as Voldemort continues closing the distance between us.

Pushing myself farther away from him, I aim my wand and yell, "Riddikulus!" Nothing happens. "Riddikulus!"

Why isn't it working, why isn't it working, why isn't it working?

My heartbeat begins to quicken, the tears already stinging my eyes. "Riddikulus!"

Voldemort smiles cruelly and continues his advance while I do my best to scoot away from him, not trusting myself to turn my back to stand and run.

The child grows larger, and he places it on the floor. Holding its two tiny hands in his, the Dark Lord steadies the child, and together the two of them continue toward me.

"Riddikulus!" I scream, sobs wracking through me, my throat burning now. "Riddikulus! Riddikulus!" I roll over and hide my face in my hands. I shouldn't have done this, I shouldn't have done this. I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid.

There's a brush of air over me, followed by a large black cloud. Then I hear, "Riddikulus!" When I force myself to look back up, the boggart is gone completely. "What do you think you're doing?" Snape snaps, his eyes watching me angrily.

"I . . . was just . . . trying to . . ." There's no excuse for my actions.

He reaches down, grabs me, and hauls me to my feet. I have no choice but to look back at his furious face. "What were you thinking? You could have been harmed!"

Voldemort's coming toward me, and I can't escape. Tears in my eyes, panic rising in my chest, I can't stop myself from wrapping my arms around his waist and hiding my face in his chest. "I'm sorry, I—I thought—" I just shake my head, unable to continue talking. He places his hands on my shoulders in what I can only assume is the worst hug of all time. But regardless, it's almost comforting. I clear my throat and pull away from him. "I'm sorry." I wipe my face and look away from him. "If—if I lost my shit with just a boggart . . . how am I supposed to—supposed to face him when . . ."

"Charlotte, you've been through hell, and you're facing something that most cannot understand. You never learned how to fight off a boggart, so it only makes sense that you . . . would have struggled against it."

"I'm sorry."

"You need to stop coming into this room. Nothing good ever happens in here."

"I know."

Together, we leave this awful room and the truth of my failure to even remotely handle what's happening with Voldemort, but I'm not willing to keep talking with him after he's witnessed how weak I am, so I separate from him, pausing just long enough to say, "Thank you, Professor," before heading for the stairs leading out of the dungeon. He doesn't say anything as I walk away.

Spurned by an overwhelming desire to speak with McGonagall and deciding it's best not to refuse myself something like that right now, I start toward her office.

Her free period is next, and I wait patiently for the last straggling second-year to leave her classroom before entering. "Professor," I say quietly.

"Ah, Rodgers," she says. "Come in. What can I help you with?"

"Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?"

"If I did, I would have sent you from the room when you arrived."

"Right." I don't beat around the bush, instead choosing to jump straight into the story. "I . . . went into the spare classroom—the one in the dungeons. There was a boggart, and it—it turned into—well, Voldemort . . . and a child. Our child, mine and his. I thought that I could—that I could handle it, but . . . if that's what it will be like when . . . then I don't think—I don't think I'll be able to do anything, quite honestly."

"Rodgers," McGonagall says in such kind way that I could listen to her speak all day, "I won't pretend I know how hard this is for you. And I won't pretend that it will get better, as there is a good chance that it will not." Even when she tells me the most depressing facts, I still feel better talking to her. "But if you so desire, you may come to me once this comes to fruition. My door will still be open once the term is over."

"Are . . . are you sure, Professor?" I say softly. "I mean, I have no idea what kind of mental state I might be in, but I don't think it'll be a good one."

"That's why I want you to come here. I'm sure Bellatrix will see this as the greatest gift anyone could ever receive. Being around her after what you must face will undoubtedly be difficult. I want you to come here."

I choke back my tears, but a few escape my eyes anyway. My voice comes out as a whisper when I say, "Thank you, Professor."

"And you are more than welcome to stay as long as you need to, even if that requires you staying here at Hogwarts over the course of the holidays. I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore if it comes to it."

"I would love to stay here for the holidays," I say, "but I'm afraid he will not take too kindly to my running off. He likes to know where I am at all times. Because if something happens to me . . ." My voice breaks and because nothing more than a whisper as I say, "Where else will he find a pureblooded daughter of the Lestranges? I'm one-of-a-kind."

She smiles.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and change the subject by asking, "Did you ever tell Professor Dumbledore about my stealing the potion from the hospital wing?"

"We discussed it," she says. "But we came to the conclusion that you were trying to help a Hogwarts professor, so there will be no punishment."

"Was that your doing?"

"It could have been," she says vaguely.

"I appreciate it, Professor."

The next day, I walk by myself down to Hogsmeade for the Apparition Test. I already know it'll be simple, thanks to the Metamorphmagus skills that allowed me to take the test already, so when my turn comes, I pass it with ease and, needless to say, earn my Apparating license. It feels kind of nice to be a normal member of the Wizarding World.

It's not until I am passing the Three Broomsticks on my way out of the village and back to the castle that a sudden pain shoots through my chest. I completely change my course and enter the inn where I stand by the door for a moment, my eyes sweeping over the place for Zoe. When I can't find her, I go toward Rosmerta. "Have you seen Zoe?" I ask her. "Is she working today?"

Rosmerta glances over at me. "How nice to see you again, Charlotte." She slides a plate of food to a man three seats down from me before turning her full attention to me. "Zoe has the day off."

"Do you think she'll be at home?"

"I have no idea with that girl. But if you find her, give her this for me, will you?" She hands me a wrapped package. "She's seemed particularly discouraged recently, and I figured she could use a pick-me-up."

I take the package and offer her a slight smile. "I'll deliver it to her, and if I can't find her, I'll bring it back here, yeah?"

Rosmerta nods and moves on to a new customer. I leave the Three Broomsticks and run to the only place I can even think to look for Zoe, and it's not until I stop in front of her door that I realize I could have legally Apparated for the first time. I take a long minute to decide whether I'm actually prepared for this and, once having calmed my nerves, knock on the door.

"Just a second!" My heart constricts, and an unfamiliar set of butterflies erupt in my stomach.

She opens the door wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, a black tank top, and an unzipped white jacket. In her hands is a plastic bowl filled with chocolate ice cream, and a spoon hangs from her mouth. "Charlotte?"

I should have set the package down, for the moment I see her, I'm so overcome with emotion that I drop the gift to the floor, step forward, wrap my arms around her shoulders, and place my head on her shoulder. The bowl of ice cream smacks against the floor as her hands slip around my waist to hold me closely.

I can't stop smiling when I pull away from her. Then I push the door shut. "I should have written you back, and I'm sorry." She waves her wand, and the bowl flies off the floor, the ice cream itself vanishing. My heart aches as I watch her, just standing there, looking almost afraid to move, as if she's afraid I'll disappear if she moves too suddenly. "We need to talk."

"Well, this sounds horrible."

I take her by the hand and lead her to the sofa. We sit down together. "You said you are in love with me—"

"I did say that, and it was true. I hope that's—"

"I care very deeply for you, Zoe. I mean, this past month, not hearing from you, has been miserable. You're one of the most important people in my life, and I do love you, but—"

"There it is," she says quietly. "The dreaded 'but' that comes after nice words. Let me guess, you're gonna say you can't be with me because your parents wouldn't approve because I'm both a girl and a Muggle-born, or You-Know-Who would be angry because he views you as his property, or you're still holding out for the Gryf—Fred—and just don't want to rush into anything when you think you have a chance with him, or—"

I put my finger in the air to shush her. "None of those, actually."

"Not even the Fred one?"

"Not even the Fred one."

"Then what is it?"

"I love you, but I don't know if I'm in love with you like you are with me."

Zoe's smile doesn't falter. "I wasn't really expecting you to be in love with me, Charlotte. You were in love with Fred for a long time. I just thought you should know how I feel." She takes my hand. "But . . . do you think—do you think it'd be possible for you to ever . . .?"

"To ever fall in love with you?"

Her eyes dart away from me, and she bites her bottom lip.

I put my hand on her cheek to force her to look back at me. "Yes, I think I could very easily fall in love with you."

Those honey eyes of hers brighten. "So would-would you—would you be willing to—would you—" She pauses. "Would you be willing to give me—us—a chance? I mean eventually. When you're okay about Fred, that is."

"Yes. Eventually. But not right now. I—I'm not—you were right. I'm hurting, and I need time to heal still from Fred. He—he was important to me for a long time, you know? And right now, right now I need you as a friend, I think. I need someone like you in my life. I don't want to risk that by jumping into anything that I'm not ready for, yeah?"

She swallows and offers me a somewhat sad smile. "I understand. I do. And that's fine. I don't want to push you into anything."

I wrap my arms around her again, grateful that she's willing to wait for me to heal, that she doesn't want to pressure me into anything. Just knowing that I'll have her with me during this awful time in my life is such a relief.

"So . . . do you have to leave right now, or do you have some time?"

"I have some time."

"Good." We separate. "I have an idea of how to spend our afternoon." She glances down at herself, seeming to just realize what's she's wearing. "Embarrassing," she mutters. "Let me go shower, and then we can—we can go into London to catch another film. Or we can . . . I don't know. I just want to spend some time with you."

"I don't think I have time for that much right now," I say sadly. "We're in Hogsmeade for the Apparition Test."

"Which you no doubt passed with flying colors."

"Not flying colors. Just passed. I didn't want to seem too good at Apparition."

"Good call. So how long do you think you have?"

"I don't know, not long. Why don't we stay here?"

"And do what?"

I smile and lead her to the sofa where we sit down. "I want to see you paint something. Or see the first stages of you painting something."

Zoe smiles and waves her wand, a sketchbook flying over to her and landing in her lap. "I always start with a pencil sketch first until I get a solid idea of what to paint. So, what would you like for me to draw?"

I shrug. "Whatever you want."

She's silent for a moment before asking, "Have you ever created a corporeal Patronus?"

"Once."

"And what form did it take?"

"A panther."

"And do you believe it'd be a black panther, Marcus?"

I hadn't put much thought into, but now that she's said it, I can't imagine anything else. "Yeah, yeah, I think it'd be black."

"Brilliant." Her pencil hovers over the paper, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

"What's your Patronus?"

Zoe smiles. "I almost don't want to tell you. Make it more of a surprise when you see the final thing."

"Come on, just tell me."

"Nah, I'll keep this particular secret to myself." Then she swings her legs up and puts them on my lap. "Throw that blanket over my feet, will you? They're cold."

I pull the blanket off the back of the sofa and cover her feet with it, then slide closer to her so the bend of her knees goes over my legs. I prop my feet up on the coffee table in front of me. "So am I gonna get to see this drawing before I have leave?"

"Sure, yeah, you can see what I've finished. I make no promises about how it'll look yet, but if you want to see—"

"Yes, I want to see it."

I rest my head on the back of the sofa and close my eyes.

"How many days are left this term?"

I sigh heavily.

"That many, huh?"

"Unfortunately. I don't mind being at Hogwarts, don't get me wrong, but it's the other students and all the bloody work that I hate. And it's not all of the students, you know? It's the ones like Pansy and Crabbe and Goyle that I hate."

"I hated them too and I wasn't even in their year. How's your dearest mentor doing these days?"

"Ugh, every time I try speaking with him, he gets more and more . . . I don't know, it's like he's trying to be vague when I ask him questions, like he's just trying to anger me."

"You still trust him though?"

"With my life. He almost died the other day, and I've never . . . I've never been that scared, Zoe. I didn't realize how important he is to me."

"He's better now? Completely?"

"He seems to be, but if that—if that's what it's like when people I love are hurt . . . This is going to be the worst few years of my life. When I was alone, wandering around free, I never worried about forming attachments to people. Now though—now I'm too attached to too many people, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get out of this."

Zoe watches me closely for a minute. "Maybe attachments are worth it though? Keeps you tethered to reality. Makes you want to fight for survival. Everything's going to be fine, I'm sure. And besides, with those attachments, you're more easily able to get through the hard times because you have others with you. Trust me, I've been there."

I swallow thickly, my throat burning. I suppose she must have a point.

I stay there in Hogsmeade with Zoe for another hour before I have no choice but to head back up to the castle. She hugs me as I leave, and I swear to her that I will write to her as soon as possible. Then she tears the page from the sketchbook and presses it into my hand. "I have an idea of where to go with this now, so you can keep that. Kind of like a 'before and after' type of thing."

I unfold the piece of paper Zoe gave me and smile down at the rough sketch of the panther lying down on its front paws looking right at me. Beside it, floating in the air, is what appears to be a beak, which makes me laugh. It's like she purposefully drew the one part of her Patronus that tells me nothing about what type of animal it is. Is it a goose, a duck, a penguin, some other type of bird? I don't know, because she did this on purpose.

Stepping into the Slytherin Dungeon after my afternoon with Zoe, after I've legally earned my Apparating license, is one of the happiest moments I have had in what feels like years.