Ldub: Thanks for reviewing! I think Charlotte hits her darkest place in this Part, at least within her own heart and mind. Her killing Jesse was to mirror what she did to Avery's father when he killed Mrs. Stoico. After she did that, she went on the run and began avoiding most people. Losing Zoe, unless someone can stop her, will result in much of the same problems; she'll just start to run and avoid people. Going to Azkaban serves a purpose for her and forces her to start confronting some things that she's been avoiding. I'm sorry you were uncomfortable. Was it the murder or her being sentenced to Azkaban that made you uncomfortable? This chapter is fairly dark as well, I won't lie, but it won't remain this dark for long

EmilyCMalfoy: Thanks for reviewing! I can't kill Fred without breaking canon, and I like to keep that to a minimum if I can. I'm honored you read the chapter that many times and am flattered that you think I'm such a good writer. That's really encouraging, thank you. If you like to read about someone in pain, you'll probably like this chapter. I love that you're going to keep the tab open forever. That honestly means so much to me!

Hawknest143: Thanks for reviewing! Everything is absolutely spiraling down for Charlotte. Unfortunately, she does bring some of this upon herself, but that doesn't necessarily mean she deserves it :/ Voldemort is going to keep trying to get her pregnant. I can't wait for her happy ending either. I think she's earned some happiness

CHAPTER 11

Shackles on my wrists and ankles, I walk alongside Bellatrix through Azkaban, Narcissa following us but not speaking as she has been forbidden from doing so until I am locked away in my cell, which apparently was once my mother's cell. Voldemort is a cruel bastard.

Already my hands tremble, and though I try to speak calmly, my jaw quivers and makes my words mumbled. "Mum, please don't do this."

"The Dark Lord's orders are law," she says, square-jawed and refusing to look at me.

"Narcissa—"

"You do not speak to her."

A dementor is just a few feet ahead of us, and my fingers and toes are stiff from the cold even though I haven't been here ten minutes yet.

"Mum—"

"Aurelia," she whispers, "I can't stop this."

Tears are warm on my numb face. The chains dig into my skin. My heart is pounding so quickly, my chest tightening so painfully that I can hardly breathe. "Mum."

"Please," she says softly, closing her eyes, "please don't."

"HELP ME!" a deep voice shouts from one of the cells as we pass.

I inadvertently reach for Bellatrix, and she places her arm around my shoulders. I rest my head against her and weep. "How long will I be here?" I cry.

"The Dark Lord did not say." She kisses the top of my head.

I don't need to be sane to bear his child. He can get me out whenever he wants and put me right back in here.

My body trembles, and my mother's hold on me tightens.

"Charlotte Rodgers!" someone laughs. Bellatrix and I come to a stop and look over. In the cell we pass, through the small window-like opening in the door, I see a disheveled, manic Avery, the broadest smile on his face. "You deserve to be here! The dementors will Kiss you soon enough! The Dark Lord finally realized what kind of bitch he chose to bear his child! You'll rot in here with the rest of us!"

My mother forces me to keep walking as two dementors approach Avery's cell.

"Am I going to die in here?" I whisper.

She kisses the side of my head but does not answer me.

We make our way to the next level, and I can still hear Avery's wails somewhere behind me.

Narcissa sniffles.

The only other sound is our own echoing steps and the moans of people behind each door. I take a breath, my legs stiffening, my heart racing faster, my tears flowing freely, and I nearly collapse, but Bellatrix manages to hold me up. "Please," I weep.

She does not answer.

Then Bellatrix quits walking. The dementor that has been leading us through the prison opens a door to a cell, and my breathing becomes even more ragged and labored. The weight of my situation falls on me, and I start sobbing. "Mum, please don't do this!"

"I don't have a choice."

A loud wail breaks through me. "You-you didn't have a ch-choice when you Cru-Cruciated me! You-you have a ch-choice now! App-Apparate with me! Don't-don't let me st-stay here!"

Bellatrix sets her jaw and closes her eyes again for a brief moment. Then she takes out her wand, and for a moment I believe she will help me escape. But instead the shackles merely melt away. I throw my arms around her and weep openly into her neck. "Please!"

My mother's arms hold me tightly. "I can't help you now."

A cold shiver runs up my spine.

I can't breathe, my chest aching and my heart racing, my lungs only accepting little gulps of air, my stomach churning dangerously. My legs fail me, and I hit my knees before her. "Don't leave me here!" I wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face into her belly. "I-I'm not str-strong enough!"

My throat closes, and I can hardly hold my arms around her because my body is shaking so violently. I dry heave against her, and that mixed with my sobs stops me from speaking at all. Bellatrix holds me while she knows she still can, her hand brushing through my hair gently. "Aurelia, you are strong enough."

I shake my head, gagging.

Two ice-block hands grab my arms. "DON'T LEAVE ME, MUM, PLEASE!" The dementor drags me backward. "HELP ME! DON'T LEAVE ME, STOP HIM! SAVE ME!"

Bellatrix covers her mouth with her hands, tears on her cheeks.

"MUM, PLEASE! I CAN'T DO THIS! I'LL DIE!"

Narcissa goes to Bellatrix's side and wraps her arms around her sister.

I grab onto the wall just before the cell door, screeching for help that does not come. The dementor throws me to the floor, and when I see that there is no escape for me, I break down to the sobbing child I really am. "MUMMY, PLEASE! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I'M SCARED!" The cell door slams shut, and the dementor disappears. I throw myself against the metal door. "MUMMY, DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Through the small opening I see Narcissa dragging a weeping Bellatrix away. "PLEASE COME BACK! DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS! PLEASE GET ME OUT! MUM!"

Then they turn the corner, and I can see them no more. I collapse to the floor and vomit. I cover my ears with my hands and shriek until my throat is so raw it hurts to make any noise at all.

Snape must know by now that I'm in Azkaban, and I can't help but wonder if he's trying to convince Voldemort to free me. Surely he must be. He seems to care about me in his own, unconventional way.

I'm his star pupil, his friend, his mentee. He wouldn't leave me to rot in this cell.

But his life would be a hell of a lot easier if I did.

All I've been to him, since the moment we met in Malfoy Manor, is a nuisance, a bother, an annoyance he can't seem to rid himself of. Like a fungus.

Snape would be better off I died.

Or would he? Dumbledore's note said Snape might need me. Snape might need some sort of support. He can't do this all on his own.

I have to get out of here.

And when I do, because I don't believe I'll rot in here, Snape will be happy to see me, I'm sure. I'm his friend, something he's seriously lacking. And he'll be so proud of me for surviving Azkaban. He might even be prouder of me for this than for mastering—I use that term loosely, because I am a novice compared to him and I did fail just recently—Occlumency. That's something I'll always have, regardless of how terrible my life gets—Severus Snape, the cold-hearted professor of Hogwarts, was openly proud of me.

And on a few occasions, I even managed to make him smile. There was that one time he laughed aloud, but I don't count that because it was a spell. But the point still stands that he was proud of me.

I wonder if he's okay right now or if he's being punished for letting me escape to Zoe's flat. He might be tortured because of me. But if I can escape, I might be able to help him. We can escape this altogether, at least until Voldemort is killed.

The thought of Snape and me trying to survive on the run—all of the arguments we would have, all of the fights we would get into—makes me laugh. He would loathe the idea. But it would help us both come out of this alive. I just have to get out of here. He just has to speak to the Dark Lord about freeing me.

A dementor comes into my cell in that moment, and my body goes numb once more as it grabs me. I pass out.

I deserve to die.

I've never been this cold in all of my life. My arms and legs do not move properly when I tell them to; each breath burns my lungs; my body shivers terribly throughout every minute of every day. All I can do is lie on the stone floor, my head in my arms, and cry.

It's my own damn fault I'm here.

I fell in love with a fucking Muggle-born and look where that got me. Why did I not learn from Snape's mistake?

Zoe is gone. Because of me. Those honey eyes of hers will never light up again when she's happy. She will never paint another portrait. Her hands will forever be motionless. She will never again smile, and those lips will never again kiss me. Zoe will never laugh again. I will never fall asleep in her arms again. My tears burn warm on my face. Zoe Accrington is dead because of me. And for a time, I was alive because of her. She made me feel like I deserved a normal life. Now here I am, deserving of nothing but death.

Voldemort can no longer hurt her.

But that is a small consolation for her being gone entirely. I should've stayed away from her. I should've avoided her at all costs after kissing her when Fred and I broke up. It's my fault Zoe is dead.

She was happy for a while though. And she loved me, too.

A small smile comes to my lips. Zoe loved me, and I loved her.

The cell grows cold, the door opening to let a dementor enter with what appears to be yet another tray of mush to eat. "I don't want that," I croak.

The dementor descends up on me, and my body goes numb, my mind blanking, my heart slowing. Everything goes black.

The tray of mush is still on the floor when I awaken, but I push it away.

Zoe is dead and it's my fault. I deserve to die.

I pull my knees to my chest.

I deserve to die.

Why do I ruin the lives of the people I love?

First I got Mrs. Stoico killed. Then I basically destroyed Bellatrix's life by simply being alive when I should be dead. I hurt Fred in ways that make me ill to think about. Snape is forever in danger because of me and what he taught me and how kind he is to me. I got Zoe killed. All of these people would be better off if I were dead. Not to mention the countless other people I've hurt—those Muggles I murdered, Avery's father, my father who is not allowed to know that I'm alive and well and is therefore still mourning me when he and I could actually be a family.

I don't deserve to live.

My muscles are weak, everything stiff now that I've refused to move for—how long have I been here?—a few days, if my calculations are correct. I crawl my way over to the wall and pull myself up to the barred window overlooking a large body of water. I wouldn't survive the fall even if I were to manage climbing my way out of this cell.

It would be a quick death.

And beyond that, I wouldn't have the energy to swim more than five minutes, at most, and this chunk of water would take days to swim across.

I want to go home.

You don't have a home, Charlotte. You don't belong at Malfoy Manor. You don't belong at the Lestrange Estate. You don't belong at Spinner's End. And you certainly don't belong at Hogwarts with your duty to Voldemort. And you don't belong in Azkaban.

So where do you belong, Charlotte?

Hell.

I deserve to die.

I lean against the stone wall and slide back down to the floor. Then I creep my way over to the corner and rest my head against the wall.

I deserve to die.

Am I even really Aurelia Celaeno Lestrange?

I mean, honestly, am I even truly Aurelia Lestrange? How do I know that anything in my life is true? Everything very well could be a lie. What if I am truly Charlotte Rodgers, and I've been lead to believe that I'm Aurelia Lestrange? There is no record of me, which means I could be anyone. My birthday might not even be the twenty-first of November. I could have been told that in order to make me believe this elaborate lie that I am Aurelia Lestrange. What if I'm the daughter of some other set of wizards?

Bellatrix might not even be my mother. I could have simply subconsciously made myself look more like her after hearing the news that I am her daughter.

I have no way of knowing.

So what if I had Alphard's pocket watch? I could have been lead there, all as a ruse to make me believe this lie. Voldemort might still be punishing Bellatrix by making her believe I'm her daughter when I'm really not. And she probably won't be told the truth until after he's killed me. My whole life is a lie. How am I supposed to believe anything anyone tells me? I can't trust anyone.

You can trust Snape, Charlotte.

No, I can't. If I could truly trust Snape, he would have talked my way out of here by now. That's what Snape does. He's a Slytherin through-and-through. If he wanted me out of Azkaban, I'd be out of Azkaban. Yet here I sit in a fucking Azkaban cell because no one truly cares about me.

Not Snape.

Not Bellatrix.

Not Fred.

Not McGonagall.

Not any of my "friends" back at Hogwarts.

I'm worthless. I'm completely worthless.

And on top of that I'm a murderer.

I deserve to die.

Would Andromeda be the least bit upset about my death? Or Rodolphus? Surely someone would tell him the truth if I were to die in here.

Perhaps someone might miss me. Perhaps someone truly does care about me.

The stone wall around me begins to ice over, and a group of three dementors enter my cell. "Please don't," I whisper. "Please don't."

They don't listen to me.

Hardly any water actually reaches my mouth by the time my shaky hand manages to reach my lips, but I quickly drink what's there. I haven't eaten any of this mush stuff since I've been here, but I'm dying of thirst. And that's the one way I don't want to die. Even though I probably should just let myself thirst to death. It'd be the easiest way to go right now. But have you any idea how difficult it is to not drink the water when it's right there in front of you and you need it desperately? It's nearly impossible.

And it's so cold in here. I don't know why I didn't expect this. Dementors make everything cold, so of course this whole prison feels like a block of ice. Every breath I take now is a sharp stab into my lungs. Every movement is jabbing pins into my otherwise numb flesh. My muscles hardly move anymore when I tell them to. Great smoke fills the room each time I exhale.

I want to go to sleep forever.

Perhaps Zoe will be on the other side when I wake up and will take me into her warm arms and tell me that everything is all right. She'll hold me closely and tell me that I did the best I could. She'll tell me that she loves me despite my failures. Then she'll lead me to Mrs. Stoico, whom she met when she died and with whom she has spent much time on my behalf. I'll meet Zoe's parents, and together all of us will wait patiently for my parents and for my friends and for Snape to arrive, and I'll never be alone again.

Dying won't be so bad.

A sudden chill creeps into the room, and I begin to cry. I don't want to do this anymore, but there's nowhere for me to run. So I hide my head in my hands and let the dementors come in and suck away my flicker of happiness. This time, for the first time since I've been here at Azkaban, I do not pass out when the dementors attack me.

Perhaps that is because my current line of thinking isn't truly all that happy, but now that it's gone and I'm left with nothing more to hope for, I sink to my back on the stone floor and weep.

No one is waiting for me. No one will be there to collect me when I'm dead. There is nothing after death. There is only darkness.

And even that would be better than where I am now.

I finally manage to swallow down a bite of that bland mush the dementors feed us prisoners, but that one bite is enough to finish me off, and I vomit what little of nothing is in my stomach. Then I wrap my arms around my belly and squirm my way back to the wall.

I don't want to do this anymore.

I know how to finish it.

I will not die in Azkaban.

I put my head on my knees and sob.

What are you doing here? someone whispers.

I look up and see Snape staring down at me. "Professor?" I croak.

Zoe appears next to him. Why are you still here? she says softly.

"Zoe, I'm so sorry!"

Mrs. Stoico puts a hand on Zoe's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry!"

Snape bends down to me and offers me his hand. It's time we leave, Charlotte.

"There's no way out," I cry, hiding my face in my knees. Snape sighs loudly, and then I hear him move away from me.

When I finally look back up, Aurelia Lestrange—identical to me—stands where Mrs. Stoico, Zoe, and Snape were standing moments ago. She smiles at me and crouches down in front of me. It's time to leave.

"How?"

Her long, curly black hair, hair identical to mine, flicks over her shoulder when she jerks her head to the window. You know how.

"But I can't. I can't do that."

Of course you can. Do you really think Mum's precious Dark Lord will ever liberate you from this place?

"He needs me."

Right, because you're his super special broodmare, correct? You and I both know that he'll just replace you if you die—probably even with our mum, Bellatrix. The very same Bellatrix who left you here.

"She pleaded with him—"

And he didn't listen. Because you are dispensable. You're nothing special. But if you really want to fuck him over, you need to die. Force his hand. Force him to find someone else. Show him that you will not be his slave. It's the only way to escape him. We've known this for a while.

"But—"

Stop arguing, Charlotte. You don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. I want to be with Zoe and Mrs. Stoico. I want to go apologize to that lovely family we murdered. Now, come on, and we can do all of that. Let's go, and we'll never be alone or sad or hurt again. Aurelia offers me her hand. We'll forever be safe and with the ones we love. Come on.

"I can truly be with Zoe again? I can tell her how sorry I am?"

Yes. We'll never have to say goodbye to her again. We can be with her and Mrs. Stoico. Do not let the dementors convince you otherwise, they're trying to trick you. Come on, I know you want this because I want this too. Let's go.

A small smile comes to my lips, but before I can take Aurelia's hand, more dementors arrive.

You deserve to die, Aurelia growls into my ear.

I know that already, so why won't she leave me alone?

I'll leave you alone once you do it.

But…I don't really want to.

It will set your mother free. It will set your friends free. It will set Snape free. It will atone for your sins.

Don't you mean "our"?

No. You are solely and completely responsible for killing those people, for ruining the lives of all of your loved ones. No one else can take the blame for that, Charlotte. But you can atone for them now. Stop being a coward. Get up, and do what needs to be done. It's the only way.

I close my eyes.

Think about Snape. Do you really think he's okay with you being here? He's suffering out there, in the real world, because you lost your temper and murdered that man. Does he deserve that? After everything he's done for you, does he deserve that, Charlotte? It'd be easier for him if you died. Do you not care about him? What about McGonagall? Do you think she's going to be okay knowing you're suffering forever, or would it be easier for her if you were dead? You know it'd be easier. It'd be easier for all of them if you're dead.

But—

Do it.

I don't know how.

Yes, you do. You figured that out two days ago.

Have a really been here that long? I don't want to die.

Stop being a coward.

But what if Voldemort changes his mind and decides to let me go?

He would never do that. He hates you too much. He wants to make you suffer and then force you to bear his child. Take that away from him. Don't let him use you. Don't let him use us, Charlotte.

But all of the people I'll be leaving behind—

Where are they now? In their homes, with their families, happy and free and not in Azkaban. They're comfortable, content. And have any of them tried to free you?

They don't know that I'm—

No. No one has come for you and no one ever will. Do it. End it. No one cares about you anymore.

You deserve to die.

I'm so tired of fighting. I just want to sleep.

Sleep forever. You know how to do it. It'll be easy. You deserve to die.

I deserve to die.

So do it, Charlotte.

Aurelia smiles at me when I brace my back against the wall and rise slowly to my feet and ever so sluggishly trudge over to the window once more. My feet are frozen and have been for as long as I can remember. My body no longer knows what it means to be warm, and I don't think it ever truly did. What would it be like to take a breath without it hurting? What would it be like to feel the sun on my face? What would it be like to not be so stiff?

There's only one way to find out, Charlotte. You know how to do it.

I close my eyes. I will not die in Azkaban. When I open them, Aurelia is smiling so warmly at me that I want to cry. Do it, she whispers in my mind. I'll help you.

But I don't want to.

Of course you do. Let me see your hand.

My hand rises of its own volition to meet hers.

Let me help you.

I nod. Aurelia takes my wrist and places it over a jagged stone just outside the window's bars. Are you ready?

I nod again, and she forces my wrist down with all of her might, then tears it across the stone.

I'm dimly aware of my shriek of pain as I collapse to the floor, but mostly I am focused on one thing: this is the first bit of warmth my hand has felt in all of my life. The warm, sticky blood runs down my forearm, and I lie down on my side.

I smile as Zoe and Mrs. Stoico walk toward me with open arms.

"I deserve to die."