CHAPTER 57

I collapse on the ground of the Forbidden Forest and gasp, pain shooting through my side, then roll over and, with a shaking hand, reach for the knife sticking out of me. This must have been why Bellatrix screamed to me as I Disapparated. Though it hurts, I know I've faced worse, and with a deep breath—or as deep of a breath as I can manage right now—I grab the hilt and yank, only to immediately be blinded by white-hot pain. I shriek through my already raw through and release the dagger, my hand shaking violently. Tears flood my eyes.

I close my eyes and breathe for a few seconds. What is this thing inside me? How did that hurt as badly—worse, almost—than the Cruciatus Curse Bellatrix just inflicted upon me? How is that possible?

Scared to even touch the hilt again, I press my hand against the skin, just beside the puncture wound, and tears start down my face immediately. Coughing, the taste of iron growing stronger on my tongue, a warm wetness in my mouth, I let out a loud wail. I will not die in the forest for some creature to come and eat me. With a shaky, bracing breath, I tighten my hold on the hilt and yank again, but as I pull against it, the blade grows, pushing deeper into me, making each breath almost unbearable. Moving at all hurts. Dying would be easy.

I release the knife and reach for my wand. Groaning and biting back the shrieks that desperately want their freedom, I push against the closest tree and manage to slowly get to my feet. I can do this. I can do this. All I have to do is get to Madam Pomfrey, for surely she will be able to help me. I Conjure up an iron staff and lean heavily against it, taking careful breaths, trying to figure out the best way to breathe with this knife in my side.

Then, letting the tears fall freely down my face and mix with the blood from my broken nose, I begin my journey up to the castle, moving as slowly as possible to prevent more sharp pains in my side.

For well over an hour, I trudge toward the castle, praying I might make it to the safety of the stone walls before dying. I fall four times in my attempt to reach Hogwarts, and each time I lie there for a moment debating whether death would be acceptable, preferable to what I'm suffering through and supposed to endure later. Only the thoughts of Cruciating my mother until her nose bleeds and her mind breaks and of driving my trusty knife into Snape's chest force me to drag myself to my feet and keep pushing forward. I have never hated anyone the way I hate those two.

Body throbbing in agony, I enter the castle and almost sob because there are so many fucking stairs in this place. Once more, I close my eyes briefly to brace myself for the next part and begin pushing forward. Blood gradually begins filling my mouth, but not wanting to expend the effort or use any of my aching muscles to spit it out, I just let it seep out of its own accord, dripping down the sides of my mouth like a toddler's drool.

My vision begins darkening as I reach the second floor. I'm going to lose consciousness before I can get help.

At that moment, however, a voice rings out. "Rodgers!"

More tears—these of relief—come on fast and strong at the sound of McGonagall's voice. I look to my right and see her swiftly approaching me. "Help," I croak, blood spurting from my mouth.

She waves her wand, and suddenly I'm on my back on a stretcher levitating beside her as she rushes me up the stairs, hopefully to the hospital wing. "What happened to you?"

I turn my head to the side and exhale as hard as possible to send the blood from my mouth without having to use muscles to spit. "Death—Eater." My mother Cruciated me. Sobs threatening—beaten back only by the fear of how badly they will hurt—I reach over and grab her hand, tears spilling freely down my face.

"Poppy!" McGonagall calls as she directs my stretcher into the hospital wing.

The Weasleys, surrounding a bed on which Bill Weasley sleeps, turn toward me, horror on their faces when they lay eyes on me. McGonagall waves her wand and transfers me to a bed—try as I might to be silent, pathetic whimpers escape. Madam Pomfrey leaves Neville's bedside to stand over me. "Please—get it—out." Pomfrey takes the knife's handle and pulls, but the blade widens inside me and digs even deeper, only my sudden cries of pain forcing her to release the hilt.

McGonagall and Pomfrey share a quick look. "What happened?" McGonagall asks me gently.

"Death—Eater," I breathe. "Doesn't—matter—just—get it—out!" Pomfrey waves her wand, and my robes rip open around the knife to reveal my midriff. Black lines spread out from the wound, almost like veins, and cover the whole of my stomach. My breathing becomes fast and short as a panic begins to set in. What if they can't get it out? Is this how I die?

"Drink this." Pomfrey shoves a potion into my hand, and I obey without any complaint. It tastes sweet, the same potion she gave me last year to put me to sleep, but rather than putting me to sleep, my insides catch fine, and I can't stop my loud cries. The black lines branching from the entry wound where the knife digs into me grow longer and begin swelling.

"Merlin," McGonagall mutters.

Though terrified to look, I can't stop myself from glancing back down. Spikes have now sprung from blade. I throw my head back and let myself weep. "What's—happening?" Breathing and speaking both now hurt, and I watch the ceiling, fearing the worst, my chest rising and falling too fast to really be able to enjoy and appreciate the air in my lungs.

"It's cursed," Pomfrey says, and I don't know if she's speaking to me or not, can't bring myself to look anywhere but the ceiling. Doing anything else will break my determination to hold back my wails of agony. "Minerva, this is designed to cause pain. Anything to lessen the pain or to put her to sleep will only cause more."

I whimper, and someone takes my hand.

"What do we do?" McGonagall asks quietly.

Pomfrey is silent, and for a moment my mind wanders to Snape. If this knife is indeed tainted with Dark Magic, he'd be the person who could solve this, but he's not here anymore. He's betrayed me. Another sob breaks through, blood spewing from my mouth as I do, the taste of iron becoming more prominent. Mrs. Weasley is suddenly beside Pomfrey, looking down at me with motherly concern that tears my heart in two. My own mother Cruciated me just minutes ago. Would she be able to remove this blade?

The Dark Lord probably could.

I'd almost be willing to serve him loyally if he were to rid me of this horror. Ask them to Apparate you to him, and he'll do something. Surely he can do something. He doesn't want me to die, he's made that clear.

I try to take another breath and begin coughing up blood, that metallic taste on my tongue becoming overwhelming and beginning to frighten me more. "Am I—going—to die?" I wheeze.

"No!" McGonagall assures me. "No, we won't let you die tonight too."

"Get—it—out." When none of them make a move, I reach my trembling right arm across my body, trying to reach the knife's hilt, but the shaking is so severe that before I can even get close to reaching it, McGonagall pulls my hand back and pins it to the bed. I whimper again. "Please."

"Charlotte, it's going to fight us, we have to find another way," Mrs. Weasley says soothingly, her hand on my shoulder.

The three women standing over me talk in hushed tones, and I can't hear them for the blood rushing in my ears. The next deep breath I try taking sends me into a panic—I can't take a real breath anymore. Blood spurts from mouth again. "I—I can't—I can't breathe," I struggle out.

McGonagall leans into my line of sight. "You need to brace yourself."

With an unsteady hand, I pull the neck of my robes into my mouth and bite down. Then I close my eyes and nod slightly.

"We don't have time—we'll have to pull it out. Minerva, you need to do it, it's going to be difficult," Pomfrey says. "I need every spare second to try closing this wound once the blade is gone. Molly, get this into her mouth as soon as you can." She hands Mrs. Weasley a vial.

McGonagall pats my arm gently, then takes the handle of the knife firmly in both hands. Two more hands cover hers, and my eyes drift to see Tonks there assisting McGonagall. With one sharp movement and a loud grunt of effort from the both of them, they pull the knife as hard as they can. It rips free, tearing the flesh from my body. I scream with my mouth still shut. Mrs. Weasley pulls the robes from my mouth, sticks the vial against my lips, and pours it down my throat.

My eyes drift to the knife, the blade as long as my hand now, each spike holding a chunk of bloody flesh and muscle. Pomfrey pours a potion into my torn side and casts a spell over the wound.

Before I pass out, I hear Pomfrey say, "We need to move her to St. Mungo's as quickly as possible."

I see flashes of witches and wizards around me, all of them talking in frustrated tones, but I'm unable to stay awake long enough to register what's being said or if I know any of the speakers or if I even know where I am. The only certain thing is that they keep putting vials at my lips for me to drink and pouring something on my side that burns miserably. I never fight them. Perhaps sleep is the best way to avoid facing this sharp ache in my side, one that only intensifies with each breath.

When I finally wake long enough to hold my eyes open for more than a few seconds, it's dark outside. Someone sleeps curled up in the small chair by the window, a blanket covering them. I fall back asleep before I can see who it is.

The next time I wake up, a hoarse voice says, "Oh thank Merlin, you're alive."

I look over and meet Zoe's gaze, tears in her eyes. She slides the chair closer to the bed and takes my hand in hers and presses her forehead to the back of my hand. "I thought I'd lost you." She takes a shaky breath before looking back up at me. I offer her a weak smile. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Water," I croak, painfully sitting up the best I can.

Zoe rushes to oblige me. As I steadily drink a cup of water, she says, "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Sore. It hurts to move. And kinda hurts to breathe."

Once she hears that, she takes the cup from me and puts it to my lips herself. "You've been asleep for four days."

I close my eyes and process this for a moment.

"McGonagall's been by twice. How did you get her to care so much about your well-being? Anyway, she said she might try coming again, but things are hectic at Hogwarts now. She had to take over as headmistress. Dumbledore was killed by Death Eaters."

"I know," I whisper. "A Death Eater did this to me."

She grimaces. "Well, I'm actually surprised Snape hasn't come to check up on you. You're his star pupil, right? You seem to have an unconventional friendship."

I begin to cry. "I shouldn't have trusted him, Zoe."

"Did he do this to you?"

I shake my head and breathe, "He killed Dumbledore."

"WHAT?" She flinches at her own loudness and glances around the empty room as if someone could have heard her through the walls. "How certain of this are you?"

"Very."

"But why—"

"I don't know anything beyond the fact that he was the one who actually cast the spell."

Our conversation dies quickly when we hear the door open. In walk Mrs. Weasley and Tonks and even Andromeda. "You're awake!" Andromeda rejoices.

I smile at them weakly.

"How're you feeling, Charlotte?" Tonks asks brightly.

Zoe greets the visitors while I try to think of an answer that won't make them worry about me. "Just a bit sore. Do you know when I'll be able to go back to Hogwarts?"

Mrs. Weasley looks at me sadly. "The term is over, dear. Yesterday—yesterday they buried Dumbledore. The students went home."

I swallow. Silence descends for a few short moments before I ask, "So . . . he's really gone then? Bellatrix wasn't lying?"

Tonks nods solemnly.

I close my eyes. This could have been prevented had I just told McGonagall or Dumbledore that Snape is a Death Eater. Dumbledore is dead because of my inaction. And I no longer have anyone to help me escape my duty to the Dark Lord. I've fucked everything up.

"Charlotte," Andromeda says kindly, "what happened to you?"

I exhale. "Bellatrix took me with her after Dumbledore—after they killed him. Her Dark Lord wasn't happy that she took me away from Hogwarts where it was safe for me. So he . . . punished her." I look at Zoe, almost wishing she'd leave and not hear what my own mother did to me. I then look down at my hands. "He forced her to choose . . . between Cruciating him and Cruciating me." My lower lip trembles, and Andromeda places a kind hand on my shoulder. I look up at her, this woman who looks so very similar to Bellatrix, and my heart grows angry. "She chose me." I wipe the tears before they have a chance to fall. "He wouldn't let her stop."

Mrs. Weasley rubs my leg comfortingly, but before she has a chance to say anything, a man I've never met enters the room. I assume he's a Healer. "Ah, Miss Rodgers," he greets me, "you gave us all a fright."

"Sorry."

He smiles, then looks at the others in the room. "Am I to assume that one of you is her mother or guardian?"

"No," I say.

"I'm going to have to ask the rest of you to step out of the room."

"We'll be just outside, Charlotte," Tonks says.

Once the door closes, the man turns to me. "You may call me Jonathan. I'm afraid you'll have a nasty scar where that knife impaled you."

"Because of the curse?"

He nods, then pulls a potion out of his pocket. "You'll need to apply this once a day." He reaches for my side and pulls the clothes back to reveal a large white bandage. Then he pulls that back. My side has been closed back up, but the skin is an angry red and the place where the dagger pierced me rises above the rest of the skin around it. While the black lines are still there, they don't reach as far as they once had and are not swollen as they were the last time I saw them. "This potion will draw out the pain until the last effects of the curse are gone. This is going to be cold." He pours some of the potion onto the raised flesh, and I gasp. "Sorry," he says with a smile. "Rub it in."

With a shaking hand I follow his instruction, whimpering because it's so tender.

"It'll get better." He bandages it back.

"When can I leave?" Even though I have nowhere to go.

"Tomorrow, if all goes well. But you'll need to monitor your healing closely, and if anything changes, you must return immediately."

I nod and assure him that I will. Then he leaves. Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Zoe all re-enter. "I can leave tomorrow depending on how everything goes."

"That's good news," Tonks says, smiling the best she can under the circumstances.

All but Zoe leave not long after that, and I sigh when she sits back down in that sad-looking chair. "You don't have to stay."

"Of course I do."

"What about the Three Broomsticks?"

"I explained to Rosmerta that you're in here, and she said to take as much time as I need. It pays to be friends with the boss."

"Well, I certainly appreciate it."

"I guess that painting of me liberating you from Snape and Hogwarts is kind of a moot point now, isn't it?"

I chuckle in spite of myself, then groan at the pain. "It would certainly seem that way."

"Such a shame."

A sadness suddenly weighs down on my chest. Snape betrayed me. And Dumbledore.

Snape knows everything about me, and he's loyal to the Dark Lord, which means He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will soon know everything about me. I take a moment to admire Zoe's honey eyes. At least Snape never knew my true feelings for her. The Dark Lord would surely kill a Muggle-born who is important to me.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks.

"Just . . . thinking about how lucky I am that you care enough to be here with me."

She smiles.

The Healer named Jonathan only returns once more to check on me before I'm too exhausted to stay awake any longer. When he leaves, I slide over on the small bed. Zoe takes the cue and crawls under the sheets with me. I turn toward her, my hand under the pillow to prop up my head. She does the same. "I . . . I thought you were dead," she says quietly. "The Healers didn't know if you'd make it. There was so much Dark Magic running through you, they thought it was only a matter of time before your body succumbed."

"Well, I didn't die," I say with a half-smile.

She takes my free hand. "They said there'd be a scar."

"Yeah."

"Does it hurt?"

"Sore, but I'm sure that'll go away eventually."

Tears prick my eyes. "Marcus, what's wrong?"

"How am I supposed to face this now that Snape—" I can't even bring myself to say it aloud.

Zoe wipes the tear from my cheek. She doesn't remove her hand from my face, and I cover that hand with mine. "Well, even though Snape might be gone now, you won't be alone." I smile sadly. "You'll have me, in case that wasn't clear," she adds with a wink.

"No, I understood. I'm just trying to decide if that's good or bad."

"Shut up."

I scoot closer to her until our foreheads are touching. I close my eyes and just let myself enjoy our closeness. Then I feel her lips press against mine for just a second. I open my eyes once more and smile at her.

I don't ever want anything to happen to her.

Snape never knew how much I actually care about her, so he won't be able to tell his precious Dark Lord. And Snape taught me well enough that I don't have to worry about him finding out from me. The thought sends a jolt of joy through me. A few moments later I ask, "You'll be here when I wake up?"

"Is that even a question worth asking?"

"Right." I close my eyes, but before letting my exhaustion take over, I kiss her briefly once more.

The next time I wake up, Zoe has moved back to the little chair designed for patients' visitors. I grin at her and sit up very slowly, testing the pain in my side. At least breathing and taking small, slow movements no longer hurts, but I need to be careful not to move at a normal pace. The clock reads seven, which I assume means seven in the morning. I'll be leaving today to go to—well, I guess I'll be going to Malfoy Manor or Spinner's End or maybe Hogwarts if I can swing it. I would like to see McGonagall. I would like to know how she's doing since Dumbledore's murder.

Snape.

Just his name in my mind brings up vicious thoughts and a bad taste in my mouth. I want to hurt him as he has hurt me but doubt that chance will ever come now. He'll be adored by the Death Eaters for his actions, and if any harm comes to him, I'm sure the Dark Lord will not just shrug it off. He's done what no other Death Eater has ever accomplished: he's killed the greatest wizard of our time.

I don't know when I fall asleep during my fantasies of harming Snape, but I wake up again when Healer Jonathan returns. He helps me stand to my feet and makes sure I can easily walk around (well, not easily, because everything is sore, but at least I can somewhat walk, er, hobble on my own so there's that). When he's satisfied that I won't collapse, he takes another look at the mark on my side. "You'll be able to leave today," he says.

Just a few short hours later, Zoe and I are saying our goodbyes to St. Mungo's. "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed," she laughs as we climb into the back of a Ministry car that will be taking us to Hogsmeade.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sits across from us in the back seat, which has been charmed to be much larger than normal. "It's good to see you up and moving, Charlotte," he says.

"It feels good to be up and moving. How did you get roped into driving us?"

"Orders from Professor McGonagall. She requested that I bring you to Hogwarts immediately, and I guessed you wouldn't be ready yet to Apparate." A look in his eye tells me to stop asking questions of that sort, and I stray away from anything like that until we reach Hogsmeade, where Zoe splits apart from us after giving me a swift hug. Kingsley and I start our trek to Hogwarts. "I'm guessing Grimmauld Place is no longer a safe place for the Order to go to, is it?" I ask him.

He looks over at me. "We've put up traps in case he tries to return."

"I'm gonna need you to walk slower," I pant, holding my side.

"Sore?"

"I was ripped open, you tell me," I laugh. Then regret that and press harder against my side, which only causes more pain and makes me quickly remove my hand. "McGonagall took over as headmistress, I hear."

He nods. "But with Voldemort in control of the Ministry—or gaining power to at least—I don't believe she'll retain that position for this upcoming year."

"You think he'll appoint someone of his choosing? Assuming he successfully takes over the Ministry."

"Wouldn't you if you were he?"

He has a point.

"Professor McGonagall informed me that you would need to go to the infirmary when you arrive. She'll be meeting us there."

Walking and talking at the same time becomes too much for my weak body, so I nod and continue following him in silence. He seems to understand and doesn't try to engage with conversation anymore as we near the castle.

McGonagall seems relatively relieved when she sees Kingsley and me approaching the infirmary. Then that relief vanishes, no doubt because of everything that's happened in such a short period of time. "Professor," I say, actually wrapping my arms around her when I get close enough. A smile comes to my lips in spite of the circumstances, and try as I might to make it go away in reverence of Dumbledore's loss, I just can't.

"Rodgers," she greets me, patting my shoulder. "It's good to see you alive and well."

"And if not 'well' then alive at least." I release her, ignoring the jolt of pain in my side.

"Thank you, Kingsley."

He nods once then leaves.

McGonagall looks back at me as Pomfrey directs me to a bed so she can check on my somewhat healing wound. "We can talk here or we can talk in my office, but I need to know everything that you witnessed that night. From the moment you left the Slytherin common room to the moment you returned here."

I look up at her. Where do I even begin?