CHAPTER 18

In the Slytherin Dungeon, I lie down on the sofa closest to the fire and close my eyes, letting myself idly ponder some of what's happened in the past couple of days.

Bellatrix truly cares about me. Why else would Snape be so fearful of me spending time with her? If Voldemort's best lieutenant cares for me and makes that known, Snape must fear that it will be enough to turn me toward the Dark Lord in an attempt to please her and make her care for me even more. At least, that's what I want to believe. It's a little offensive that he thinks she could manipulate me into being fine with torture and the degradation that comes from being forced to bear someone's child against my will.

Even if the fear of Bellatrix turning me into a willing follower of Voldemort is not why Snape hates the idea of me being around her, I still know she cares. She's worried about me, which is why she took me to my grave. She doesn't want anything to happen to me, she wants me to stay safe this year. Despite everything that's happened between us, it feels oddly satisfying to know she cares for me. I've never actually had a mother, and when I found her, she hated me. And now she worries for my safety. The thought brings a contented smile to my face.

I wake up, still on the sofa, what feels like hours later. According to Alphard's pocket watch, it's seven 'o' clock, but whether that's night or morning is impossible to tell because this stupid Slytherin common room is in the damn dungeons with no windows to the outside world except for the lake. I hate the location of Slytherin House. With an annoyed huff, I sit up and exit the common room. In a matter of seconds, Snape's office door opens. "Professor," I greet him. He watches me curiously. "Is it morning or night?"

"Morning."

Of course. "When will our Occlumency lessons begin again?"

"There are things I must do to prepare for the term."

"So . . . not today then?"

"No, but our potions lessons may continue tomorrow after lunch, as those do not require my full attention."

The thought of postponing lessons with him makes me feel so empty for reasons that I can't wrap my mind around, but instead of saying anything or analyzing what that disappointment stems from, I nod and say, "All right," before turning back around and entering the common room again.

Bellatrix would probably still be sleeping right now, so it will do me no good to try to escape to see her despite how badly I want to see her. It doesn't make sense even to me right now, but I need to see her. Perhaps she won't care if I show up uninvited. Perhaps she'll care that I'm actually trying to develop a relationship with her. Surely that will mean something to her considering what she told me at "my" grave. For the first time in my life, I can sit down and talk to her, to my mother. My actual mother. The only other mother I've ever had in my life is Mrs. Stoico, and she's dead. Now I have another chance. My real mother is back at Malfoy Manor, and she cares about me. She is very much alive, and I have another chance.

My real mother wants me to be safe. She said so herself that she can't lose me twice. I keep repeating this over and over trying to make sense of it. I've never felt like this before. My mother doesn't want to lose me again.

And . . . and despite everything that's happened between us, I think I feel the same way. I don't want to lose her either.

I didn't tell her that when we were standing by my grave, and regret courses through me. Bellatrix needs to know that I care about her as well. It doesn't matter that she's a Death Eater, because first and foremost, she is my mother. And currently all I want is to be wrapped in her embrace, to feel her holding me again like she did at the grave. I feel so alone right now, so empty, and it doesn't make sense because it's not like I have no one.

My friends will be arriving soon for the start of the term. Snape has been mentoring me, doing his best to teach me Occlumency and nonverbal spells and potions. McGonagall might be willing to help me with Conjuration again this year. Narcissa very obviously cares about me more than she lets on in front of others. I have more people in my life right now than ever, especially in the past six years when I was absolutely alone, so why do I feel so empty right now at the thought of not being with my mother? After all, I didn't have her for fifteen years.

But maybe that's why I want to be with her now. I should have stayed at Malfoy Manor over the holiday, should have used those months to get closer to Bellatrix instead of hiding in Spinner's End to get away from her.

No, Charlotte, she is a Death Eater, it does not matter that she is your mother. Bellatrix will always be one of Voldemort's most faithful followers. I cannot forget that. Ever. However, there's only one way to know for certain whether Bellatrix would want to have a relationship with me. And that's only going to happen if I speak with her.

So, after waiting a few hours, I leave the common room once more, this time darting up the steps in an attempt to avoid Snape. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

"Not using the Disillusionment Charm, I see," he calls up to me. "Is it safe to assume you won't be leaving the Hogwarts grounds?"

"Aren't you the one who constantly tells me not to assume things, Professor?" I call back to him. I have to go see Bellatrix, I have to go see Bellatrix. Snape will not stop me. "What if I were to tell you that I was going to speak with my mother?"

"Then I would Stun you and drag you back to the dungeons."

"Is that so?" I laugh, still not looking back at him.

There is no answer for a few seconds, and when he finally growls, "Yes," his voice comes from right beside me, and a startled gasp escapes me. I glance over my shoulder to see Snape, smirking that he frightened me, take a step back, now an arm's length away from me.

"Are you planning to follow me now instead of working on your professor duties that apparently need to be finished before our Occlumency lessons begin?"

"Are you planning on running from Hogwarts again?"

"No," I sigh. "Going to see my mother wasn't going to work anyways." Only because Snape refuses to let me walk through Hogwarts by myself. Understanding why he's doing it doesn't make the situation more acceptable, in my opinion. My plans to go to Malfoy Manor won't pan out well if Snape decides to guard my every movement. Eventually he'll get tired of that, right? If I leave the Slytherin Dungeon often enough, he'll give up trying to stop me from leaving Hogwarts. He's too busy to deal with me constantly. "I'm on my way to McGonagall's office."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Yes, because I am going to apologize to her." Which, now that I mention it, is probably actually necessary. I was needlessly cruel to her earlier.

Snape is walking by my side now but doesn't speak, so I continue, "I said some things yesterday that I didn't mean, and I feel like I should explain myself and apologize." He remains silent still, and I can't stop myself from adding, "I mean, she spent a lot of time helping me learn Conjuration, and I feel like I owe her an explanation because of it." Why am I saying all of this to him? Snape watches me with a false look of expectance. "I . . . what did I say?"

He shakes his head, his face impassive. "Oh, nothing. I was just waiting for you to apologize to me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Did I not spend a great deal of time teaching you Occlumency, nonverbal spells, and potions?" he says dryly.

I steal a glance at him, almost able to see his wicked grin, but my poor angle prevents me from being certain that that's what he's truly doing. "I'd apologize to you, Professor, but seeing that it's your Dark Lord who caused all of this, I see no point."

"The Dark Lord caused you to 'stay distant' from people, or however you so poorly worded your speech yesterday?"

"Yes." I stop in front of McGonagall's office door. "But unfortunately, I am out of time to explain it all to you." Yet he does not walk off. "What're you—"

"Making sure you do not try to escape the castle."

"So you're just planning to stay there until I enter her office? Really? That seems a bit excessive, even for you, sir."

He grimaces.

"Am I wrong?" I laugh.

Without another word, without even changing is stone-cold face, he reaches over and knocks on the door.

"Enter," comes McGonagall's answer.

Snape stands aside. "Go on then. I'm sure you'd hate to keep Professor McGonagall waiting."

I push the door open and leave that prick behind. McGonagall offers me a kind, if strained, smile. I go and take the seat across from her. Although it has not moved its position since the last time I was here, the chair seems uncomfortably far away from her desk, so I drag it closer, ignoring the confused look she gives me at the ruckus of the chair feet scraping the floor.

This is not the first time I've spoken to McGonagall about things not pertaining to my schooling, but I'm unnerved now for reasons that make no sense to me. She was kind to me last year, so it stands to reason that she'll be kind to me again this year. But perhaps I should have ran for it and gone to see Bellatrix; this is more intimidating than I thought it'd be.

For a few moments too long, I sit there, opening my mouth to say something but failing to find my voice, and I must look like an unfortunate fish that has been caught on dry land. But McGonagall does not prompt me to speak, choosing to watch me silently instead, and if it hadn't been for my Occlumency lessons with Snape, I would almost believe she's reading my mind—but I know that feeling, and this is certainly not it. Finally, I manage to say, "I . . . there are some things—what I said—I—it—I don't—it's just . . ." I close my eyes and rub my mouth with my hand. No logical thought is forming in my mind. I have failed at the simple task of speaking and am sorely tempted to run off now to hide my shame.

I open my eyes to find McGonagall still just watching me with an unreadable expression. "Are you able to speak?"

"I don't know," I say. There, at least I found a way to say something rather than trying and failing. It's not much, but it certainly is a victory compared to what happened just moments ago.

"If you would like to leave and come back when you can—"

"It's not necessary, Professor," I interrupt her. "I—I think I'll be able."

She nods for me to start.

"Firstly, about the lying thing—I truly am sorry. I don't . . . I don't enjoy lying to you." McGonagall doesn't reply, so I continue, "Secondly, I . . . I've said some things—I think—I lose control, when it comes to Voldemort. I know—I know I should act—and think—as if things will change . . . I mean, I desperately want them to, but I can't let myself"—this is not going as planned—"I can't let myself think too much about it. Just in case. Thirdly," I push forward, "about keeping people out of my life and away from me in general—that was . . ." Mrs. Stoico. "Partially true, but it was uncalled for." I tap my finger on her desk. "It just—people I get close to end up in peril or . . . well, dead, no matter what I try, and I don't want—well, you or—and I can't believe I'm actually saying this—Professor Snape, I guess, to go through that."

McGonagall shifts in her seat. "You act as if there is an inevitable pattern."

"There is."

"I don't believe that's true. I believe you have experienced many unfortunate coincidences."

"'Unfortunate coincidences.' That's a delicate way of putting it."

"I'm not phrasing it delicately for your benefit. I find it difficult to believe that there is any single person who can take with them a path of destruction that ruins lives in the manner you are speaking of, Rodgers."

I give her a disagreeing, sad grin. "It's always followed me." Her unconvinced face forces me to explain further. "I know she's different now, but look at Bellatrix. Even as a baby, I had a tornado of destruction that followed me. Her life was utterly devastated because of me. Then there was this one girl in the orphanage who was a good friend of mine; she was adopted into an abusive family, ended up dead. Mrs. Stoico was . . . brutally murdered because I went back. And Avery was—"

"Avery?"

"The man who killed Mrs. Stoico."

She pauses for a second before catching me in a lie. "You said you never learned the man's name."

"I . . . lied," I confess, now that there is no choice but to do so. "He called himself Avery, was a self-proclaimed Death Eater."

"What happened to him?"

"You mean, besides when I—I mean, I killed him."

She watches me.

I take a moment to steady my breathing again, trying to stop the sobs threatening to burst free and to consider whether telling her is safe. My instinct says that it is, despite the fear looming in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's best to finally get this off my chest. She knows some of it, of course, but I've never told anyone the full story. Maybe confessing will allow me to heal. "I went back to Mrs. Stoico because Avery convinced me that it was the right thing to do. And, Merlin, she was so relieved to see me." My hand finds my thigh and begins forcibly rubbing it, trying to rub the sweat from my palm as if it were once again his blood slickening my skin. "I was in the front office with her—she was rejoicing with me for my safe return. I loved her . . . like a mother." My other hand begins tapping the armrest as I try to force back my tears. Though ending this conversation would be the easiest thing to do, I can't bring myself to shut up, can't steal this chance of confession from myself. "I had hardly ten—ten minutes—um—before she was—b-before he came. I didn't have a wand yet, you know. I was—I was completely—helpless. There was nothing I could do. . . ." I stop tapping the chair and use that trembling hand to wipe my eyes. Mrs. Stoico had been my first family. She had been there, running the orphanage, for my entire life. "He grabbed me by the neck and—and tossed me against the wall."

Now that this door has been opened, the memories pouring in, every little detail going off like fireworks behind my eyes—fast, loud, overwhelming. Mrs. Stoico had been so brave, but she had no chance of stopping him. My mind's eye sees it all happening again, as if I'm there again rather than here at Hogwarts with McGonagall. The scared child inside of me who begged the evil man not to hurt the only mother she ever knew rises up in me. My chest hurts; my throat seems to be closing; my vision blurs with tears. I don't want to do this. I need to stop talking. Bearing this burden alone would be much easier than telling anyone the truth.

But having already convinced myself to do this, words continue tumbling out of me without my full consent, spewing the secrets that should never be shared. "Mrs. Stoico—she-she grabbed a knife. But what good is that against a wand? I . . . I was cowering in the corner be-behind her while she attempted to fend off a wizard."

"Rodgers—"

"Mrs. Stoico grabbed a knife," I repeat, "a knife to defend herself and me. Against a bloody wizard." Though my hand's vicious wiping motions begin hurting my thigh, I can't make myself pull it away.

"He charmed the room—and he—he began Cruciating her. After a moment, he said I could—I could make it stop . . . if only I went with him." I shake my head, trying to make the sound of her shrieking in pain leave my brain. "I wouldn't do it. I was too scared! And-and she begged for it to end, but I—I didn't—I didn't end it."

"Rodgers—"

"She-she screamed for mercy, screamed for me to run. And I-I tried, but Avery threatened me. I stayed where I was. Mrs. Stoico plea-pleaded for him to let me go.

"He commanded me to get behind him, because we were going to be leaving. And I-I obeyed him. But not—not without grabbing the knife, which had . . . fallen to the ground when—when she was first—Cruciated. I-I thought if-if I did what he told me to do, he would let her go." I close my eyes, swallow down the sob building inside of me, and take a breath, then wipe my face. "But he didn't."

I look up at her and continue, "Something—something snapped in me."

"Rodgers—"

"When I got behind him, he started laughing, saying something about how-how Mrs. Stoico had failed. He-he continued Cruciating her, even though I had obeyed him." I clear my throat to loosen it, but nothing can stop the tears or the pain in my chest. "Then he used the Killing Curse, and he stood there—laughing at her dead body—saying she-she deserved it. And I—I broke." I do not look at her as I say, "I still had the knife. And before I could stop myself, I plunged the knife into his back."

McGonagall inhales deeply but does not make me stop talking.

"He staggered for a moment—then fell to his knees." I clench my fists and press them against my thighs as hard as possible. "I pulled the knife out, and thrust it in again . . ." His warm blood splashed on my face, the taste of iron creeping into my mouth as the blood seeped between my lips. "I-I jumped onto his back. And I just—I just started plunging the knife into him. Over and over and over and over again, not caring—not caring that he was—he was already dead."

I take a shaky breath and stare hatefully down at my hand. I clasp my hands together in my lap. "He had killed her, Professor, and something took over me. I just wanted revenge." The tears running down my cheeks eerily remind me of the blood that had been splattered on my face. "I shouldn't have gone back. I begged him, I was on my knees, begging him to spare her.

"And when he refused . . ." I shake my head. That's the kill I once told her was enjoyable. It was one done of vengeance and anger, not self-defense as almost all the others had been. I wanted him to hurt and had relished plunging that blade into him. I take a steadying deep breath.

I frown at her. "Voldemort has had a way of taking everyone I've ever cared about, Professor, and he always has. Even when I was a child and he was gone. I don't want that to happen to you, which is why I said what I did earlier, about keeping people out of my business and out of my life." I clear my throat again, unable to look her in the face after now that this confession lingers in the air. "I've done things, terrible things. Killed many more people. My life's already tainted with the mark of Voldemort. There's no way to escape it—it's always going to be there. The least I can do is try to shield those I care about and those who care about me, you know. I can do my best to soften the blow when he finally comes for me."

"Rodgers," McGonagall says slowly, like she's trying to think of something to say. I meet her eyes—perhaps because everything is blurry to me, it looks like her eyes are watering. I try not to think about it. "There are a number of people whose lives have been marred by him. You do not have to let him—"

"It's too late for that, Professor. When he wants something, he'll find a way to get it." Unless your name is Harry Potter. "And he wants me to have his child. How am I supposed to find a way out of that?"

"The Order will find a way to defeat him. Harry Potter—"

"Is just a boy! He got lucky once! Twice! But that's not enough to defeat Lord Voldemort himself."

"Professor Dumbledore is on our side as well. The one wizard You-Know-Who ever feared is on our side of this war. You won't have to go through with this."

"But I have to sit here while everyone else does what they can to stop this. I have no control over my own life." Her eyes fill with sadness. I shake my head irritably.

But maybe . . . maybe I won't have to deal with losing everyone. What if the Order actually can bring down Voldemort before he calls upon me? What if they actually manage to pull that off? What if they destroy the Dark Lord before he destroys everything else? Then an idea comes to me. I can help protect myself. I don't have to sit around and do nothing. And now is as good a time as any to ask. "I want to join the Order of the Phoenix."

Her lips become a thin line. "It's honorable that you would want to be in the Order, but as you have to be around the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, who is one of the most skilled Legilimens who has ever lived, I'm not sure it would be safe for you."

"But I've become rather skilled at Occlumency. He would never know."

"I don't—"

"I've mastered it enough to keep my relationship with Fred and my relationship with Draco from him. I've mastered it enough to keep my friendship with you and Harry and Ron and Hermione all from him!" That's because he's never used Legilimency against me before, but I can keep Snape from seeing things, so there's hope that my skills are enough to keep Voldemort from seeing them too. "I can do this. I want to join. I will not sit idly by while others risk themselves to take him down, not when so much of my own future relies on his destruction."

She doesn't reply.

"I thought you'd help me." I say that as if talking about the Order had been on my mind earlier and wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment decision. "I thought that after everything I've told you about what will happen to me, you would want to help me stop him. You would want me to be in the Order, to have a hand in doing something that might save me from him. I have less than a year, Professor. And less than six months if all goes the way he plans." I meet her eyes again. "Please."

McGonagall nods at me, finally, a few moments later. "I can make no promises regarding Professor Dumbledore's decision, but I will speak to him about it."