CHAPTER 22

By the time I've reached Snape's office, he's returned, or at least it seems a safe assumption considering the light shining under the door. I knock, only entering when he gives me permission. He stares at me for a short second before motioning to the chair in front of his desk and saying, "Professor Dumbledore said you would be coming by today."

"For the Occlumency lessons, yes, because without those I will not be able to join the Order."

He clenches his teeth. "What's your class schedule? Perhaps we can squeeze in more than one lesson per day."

I pause. Does he not realize that I will have to study for all my classes so I can pass and continue this façade of "Charlotte Rodgers, a normal Hogwarts student"? "Mondays and Wednesdays I have a free period, Defense Against the Dark Arts with you, a free period, lunch, Arithmancy, then I'm free for the rest of the day. Tuesdays and Fridays I have a free period, Transfiguration, a free period, lunch, Charms, then nothing. I have nothing on Thursdays."

"You can retake Potions and attempt to pass your O.W.L. at the end of this year."

The humiliation . . . the extra work . . . studying for an O.W.L. again . . . "I'm not sure about that, honestly." Heat rises in my cheeks and neck, and I have to look away from him. "It'd be embarrassing, frankly." Not to mention that at this point, learning to make potions from anyone other than Snape feels wrong; and even worse, the idea of trying to learn from Slughorn and explaining why I don't currently have above a third-year education in practical potion-making makes me uneasy. At least Snape already knows why I'm so far behind. "And, you know, if I've mastered Occlumency by the end of this year, perhaps next summer you can continue to teach me more potion-making." He raises an eyebrow. "Assuming, of course, that the Dark Lord doesn't lock me away."

"And assuming I allow your presence in my home once more."

"Right." I swallow thickly, not wanting to consider why his words hurt more than anticipated, especially since being barred from Spinner's End would give me more time with Bellatrix. "Besides, if I need a potion this year, I figured I could come to you for help in making it."

"Don't."

"Then I'll find someone else," I add quickly. Daphne's in Potions, and she probably won't turn me away if I need help.

A few moments pass before he says, "We'll start and end each day with your Occlumency lessons."

It only takes a second to realize what this means. "Do you find some kind of twisted joy in not letting me sleep, Professor? It's bad enough that you woke me up at the crack of dawn over the holiday, but now you're doing so during the term as well?"

"Do you find some kind of twisted joy in invading my life not only during the school year but also during the holidays?"

I blink at him, wondering if he really did just see me as an intruder, if every time I was enjoying brewing potions or learning from him was just an annoyance to him, just another responsibility he neither wanted nor requested. Why does that hurt so much? "Fair point." Snape goes back to writing something on his desk, probably expecting me to leave now that we have a schedule, but I can't leave right now because a question—a fear—has been floating around in my head since my discussion with Dumbledore. Now that we have the Occlumency lessons planned, it only seems right to broach the topic with him. When I make no move to leave his office, he looks up at me. "I need to—to ask you something, Professor."

He sets his quill down, and something about that gesture, of his showing that he's listening to me completely, tightens my chest with gratefulness. "How do face Vol—the Dark Lord—knowing that you must conceal the truth? Knowing that if he found out that you're truly Dumbledore's man he would kill you? Knowing that each time you are called to him could be the last thing you ever do?"

Snape leans forward in his chair but doesn't remove his eyes from mine, and though I expect him to deny being Dumbledore's man, he doesn't. "Not without difficulty," comes his soft, slow answer, "but there are some things in this life that are more important than worrying about personal danger."

"Such as?" I ask, matching his tone.

Snape leans back in his chair, considering me. Then he swallows and says, "There are some things, Charlotte, that are unwise to ask." He looks away from me. "That is one of them."

Silence stretches out between us for a few seconds before I gather my courage to break it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I didn't mean to pry, Professor."

He nods, which I take as an acceptance of my apology. Though he's not looking at me, I can't tear my eyes away from his. His face wears that same pain, that same gaze, as last Christmas when I confided in him over my pain of Bellatrix and Draco, and just like then, being in the room with him now feels as if I'm invading his privacy, like I'm peering into a side of Severus Snape that no one is supposed to see. He jerks back to the present. "Is that it, then?"

"Yes, sir." Then I stand and make my way to the door, desperately needing to get out of here.

"Charlotte," Snape says. I turn around to look at him. He seems to be debating something, and after a short moment, he continues, "If you do, in fact, find yourself in desperate need of a potion, you may come to my office, and I will do my best to assist you."

"Thank you, sir." I turn back to the door, hiding my smile, unsure why he would have agreed to something like that, and open it.

"Before curfew tonight," he calls in his typically cold voice. "Don't forget."

"Yes, Professor." I close the door and walk to the rather empty Slytherin common room, only a few sixth- and seventh-years scattered throughout taking up space. With a quiet sigh, I sit down in an armchair and take out my wand. The least I can do with this free time is continue practicing Conjuration. To start, I attempt to Conjure a quill again, as a sort of warm-up, then Vanish it as soon as it materializes.

My next object to attempt Conjuring is a snuffbox. It only takes three attempts before one appears, and though it is half the size I intended it to be, it's progress. I sit there practicing but not making much more progress until lunch rolls around, at which point I venture to the Great Hall and meet back up with my few Slytherins friends. "You didn't tell me how great it'd be to have so many free periods, Grant," I say to him when the food arrives.

"Better for everyone to figure it out for themselves is my take on it," he says as he fills his plate up with food.

"If you could not talk about how wonderful your schedules are in front of me," Astoria says, cutting him an amused-but-annoyed look, "I'd greatly appreciate it."

Not long later, I take a seat beside Hermione in Arithmancy. "I hope there isn't too much homework for this class tonight," she says conversationally, only a tiny bit of strain in her voice. "I've already got loads of it for Ancient Runes and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why aren't you in Study of Ancient Runes this year?"

"Didn't get an 'E' on the O.W.L.; I imagine you got 'Outstanding' on all of yours?"

"All but Defense Against the Dark Arts," she sighs. "I got an 'Exceeds Expectations.' And you? How'd you do?"

"Really well in Transfiguration and Charms, good in Defense Against the Dark Arts thanks to Harry. Good enough to continue Arithmancy. Missed out on Potions, unfortunately. Snape said I could take the class again and retake the Potions O.W.L., but . . ." I shrug.

"Why not?" she says kindly. "If you like the subject, you might as well try. Besides, Slughorn seems like a really good Potions professor."

Professor Vector enters, silencing our conversation, before I can tell her that I honestly think Snape was a good professor as well. The Golden Trio might dislike him, but he's taught me more than anyone else, and that counts for something.

Some hours later, after Arithmancy and dinner, I find myself at a table in the common room with Daphne, Astoria, and Grant in the Slytherin Dungeon. Sixth-years all around the common room are practicing their nonverbal spells, but seeing as I already know how to do those (thanks to Snape, I remind myself), I don't have to waste my time and can instead focus on Conjuration. Apparently, nonverbal magic is an important part of a sixth-year's education here at Hogwarts because it is seen as vital to the real world. I don't know though—I've done pretty well for myself without having known them, however much of an advantage they admittedly are.

"Why do the two of you not have homework?" Astoria bitterly asks Daphne and me. Right now, she and Grant are feverishly working away, writing essays, reading course materials.

"I have quite a few breaks during the day."

"And though I don't have as many as Charlotte does, I have a few. We do our homework together."

She looks disgusted with us, a small smile breaking her evil glare, before going back to her essay. Daphne and I grin at one another. Then she cracks open a book to read while the others do their homework.

Not necessarily feeling like reading right now, as a form of entertainment for myself, I discreetly cast nonverbal spells at some of the first- and second-years. (Of course, none of the spells are painful or deadly.) I do this for nearly half an hour before my eyes land on the Collins boy who, according to those around me, could be related to me. He looks like he could use some cheering up, so, while he's sitting by the fire, I cast the Babbling Curse at the third-year girl next to him; she's one of the students who seemed angry with Zoe last year for speaking out against Draco. She looks up at him and begins chattering away, at which point I force myself to look away, smirking, but my eyes are soon drawn back to the duo by the fire.

The boy tries fruitlessly to interrupt her, his face becoming red, his brow furrowing. He tries to quiet her for a few more minutes before pulling out his wand, and a small panic grips me because it will be my fault if he curses this student. And despite my relatively growing rapport with Snape, there will be punishments if this kid curses that girl. Instead of hexing the girl, however, he silences her, leaving her talking quickly without making any sound.

Laughing quietly at this turn of events, I look away, Conjure a quill, and grab what appears to be Astoria's finished essay to begin acting as if I'm writing because no one needs to know or suspect me of being the person disrupting everyone's peace this evening with silent spells.

A tap on my shoulder takes my attention away from my fake essay. The boy from the fire takes a seat next to me; looking at him this closely, a little piece of me hates that I must agree with my friends about our appearances. This boy has eyes a similar blue to mine—though his are darker than my icy blue, I begrudgingly admit that they resemble mine in shape and size—and the same jet-black curly hair as I do, though his is perfectly groomed without a single strand out of place, shorter around his ears and hanging playfully toward his eyebrows where he's hand-brushed it out of his eyes. "Hi," I say tentatively. He doesn't say anything, and I glance over at Daphne who has set her book down to watch us with a look on her face that clearly says she is far too entertained by this. Even Astoria and Grant have stopped doing whatever it is that they had been doing just a moment before. I glower at them before turning back to the boy and offering my hand. "I'm Charlotte Rodgers."

He doesn't accept my gesture. "Well, Charlotte Rodgers," he says more diplomatically than a child his age should accomplish—also, admittedly, almost more adorably than he has the right to be, "I would appreciate it if you could take the Babbling Curse off that poor girl by the fire." He points back to my victim who is trying desperately to get someone to help her, but all of those above fourth-year, who would know how to help her, are either ignoring her completely or seem confused as to why she is acting this way and seem too busy to try figuring out what's wrong.

"I don't hear any babbling."

"Because I silenced her."

I pause for a moment. "And how is that a first-year such as yourself managed to silence her?"

He smiles at me, flashing his straight white teeth, his little dimples giving him an aspect of pure innocence that kind of disgusts me because this is the face of someone who will be able to weasel his way out of so much one day. "I have three younger siblings and an older sister—Helena. She taught me how to silence the others a few years back. It was our way of . . . diffusing the situation when they were threatening to get us into trouble." He laughs. "My father taught her when I was young and only wanted to annoy her." His laughter stops abruptly. "Wait!" he adds quickly. "My dad's not a bully! I realize that's how that could have sounded. He didn't use it for punishment or anything."

"I didn't take it as him being a bully. Who are you?"

He offers me his hand this time. "I'm Christopher Collins."

I accept his handshake. "Well, Christopher Collins," I say, "it's a pleasure to meet you. This is Astoria and Daphne Greengrass and Grant Sparkford."

"Pleasure," he says to them airily, not really giving them much attention, his blue eyes staring at me unwaveringly. "But they're not the ones I came over here to speak with, are they?"

"Oh?" I ask with a smile.

"The Babbling Curse, Charlotte."

"Well," I say in the same voice he used when he first began speaking with me, "how do you know I'm the one who put the Babbling Curse on that poor girl? This room is full of others who no doubt know how to cast that particular spell."

"I saw you flick your wand."

"But I didn't say anything." Why bother arguing with an eleven-year-old when it's so obvious that he's right, I'll probably never know.

He thinks for a moment. "You're right, but I heard that nonverbal spells are taught to sixth-years. You're a sixth-year, right? You have classes with Draco Malfoy."

"I've only had one class where nonverbal spells were practiced."

"That means virtually nothing. Besides, I saw your reaction when I silenced her. I've been watching you for the past half hour." Why has he been watching me? I narrow my eyes at him, deciding that keeping an eye on this kid might be a good idea in case he's one of the people Draco warned me about. It seems unlikely that the Dark Lord would use a child this young, but maybe he's from a family of Voldemort sympathizers and is keeping track of me on Draco's behalf. "Every time something strange or odd or out of place has happened, you've flicked your wand."

I sigh. "All right then, I admit it. Everything that's been going on has been me. You caught me. You can rat me out if you'd like."

He laughs again. "I don't want to do that! I wouldn't have said anything had that girl not started talking to me. I don't care how many others you mess with. In fact, it was a little entertaining. I wouldn't mind if you continued. I just feel sorry for her." We both look back over at the girl who is sitting in front of the fire, rocking back and forth, her face screwed up as if she is about to start crying.

"I guess it has gone on long enough, hasn't it?" He nods. I remove the curse from her, and she yelps, then runs from the room. I look back at Christopher. "Now look, you've gone and made me feel guilty."

He pats my arm. "It'll be okay, Charlotte. Your conscience is growing. That's good. Let it happen."

I smile at him, ignoring the quiet chuckling coming from those at my table. "Shut up."

His brow furrows. "Could you teach me some nonverbal spells?"

"It's more difficult than it looks."

"You learned it one lesson, so it can't be too hard."

"It took me . . . an incredibly rough couple of weeks—almost the entire holiday to learn it, actually."

"You actually practice over the holidays? You don't seem like that type of student."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. What classes are you in?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy."

"N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration with McGonagall?"

"Is there another Transfiguration professor?"

"I guess you're right." He stands up and pushes the chair back into place. "I'll be expecting to meet you by the Black Lake every Saturday so you can tutor me in Transfiguration." He starts walking off.

"Wait, what?" I call after him.

He spins around. "Was I not clear?" His words shock my voice right out of me—is this kid I don't know actually trying to order me around? "I need good marks. You're a sixth-year. You should be willing to help out younger students." He quickly retreats to his dormitory, leaving me sitting there without another word. Have I actually just been bested by a first-year?

It takes a moment before I turn back to the three others at my table. Astoria's mouth is open but smiling at the same time. Daphne and Grant both still look insufferably smug. Daphne is the first to speak, "That was so much better than I thought it'd be!"

"What was?"

"You meeting the boy who could very easily be your brother, of course," she says. "I thought it'd be a simple greeting done in passing, after which you would admit he looks like you. But this . . ." She starts to laugh.

"So, you're ready to admit that he looks like you, then?" Astoria asks me.

"I . . ." I look away from them and take out my pocket watch. There's an hour until curfew. "What a shame, I really must be going."

"Going where?" Grant laughs. "You'll have to answer us eventually!"

"Not right now, I don't. Right now, I have private lessons I must attend." I give them an exaggerated bow before ducking out of the common room and going to Snape's office.

I knock, entering only when he gives me permission. "Evening, Professor."

"Evening, Rodgers. Have a seat." I do just that and watch him curiously. "On many occasions, you have successfully kept me from your mind, shown me only what you want to show me, and convinced me that your false memories were true."

"Is this your way of congratulating me? Because I haven't been able to do two of those three things consistently."

He does not find me amusing and continues as if I had not spoken at all. "You still have much to learn about Occlumency. You perform Occlumency well enough—almost well enough—when awake and aware of the attack. However, the Dark Lord is capable of invading the mind while his victim sleeps. You must learn to resist even this type of attack, or you will be susceptible to the Dark Lord when you're at your most vulnerable. You must learn to keep him out of even your dreams. In learning this, you will grow more accustomed to manipulating all your thoughts. The farther we continue down the path of Occlumency, the easier all of it will become for you."

"So, you want me to keep you out of my mind while I sleep?" He nods. "And you expect me to fall asleep on command? Just like that?"

"I do not believe that is physically possible," he says, a hint of impatience and maybe—maybe—amusement in his voice. "That being said, I will put you into a bewitched sleep. You must keep me out of your thoughts while you are under the spell."

"All right, so if I start to learn how to keep you out of my mind or manipulate my thoughts while I'm sleeping, I'll get better doing it while I'm awake?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant."

"Ready?" I nod, and he casts the spell at me.

I am sitting in Zoe's apartment in Hogsmeade. He doesn't need to know all I've told her.

"He's loyal to You-Know-Who. Why else would he agree to help complete You-Know-Who's plans?" she asks. No, no, no, he can't see this conversation. He can't know that I told her about the Unbreakable Vow.

"But he's teaching me Occlumency to fight against Voldemort. He wouldn't do that if he was loyal to him."

She considers this for a moment. "All right, say he is against You-Know-Who, are you sure you can trust him?"

"He's against Voldemort and is helping me learn to resist Voldemort. Of course I trust him." Well, this is uncomfortable. I'd rather him not know that he's ever a topic of conversation in my life when he's not around.

The scene shifts.

"Mum," I greet Bellatrix, rushing to her and throwing my arms around her.

"Aurelia," she says happily. "I hope Snape has been treating you kindly."

"As kindly as Severus Snape can treat someone, I suppose."

We sit down together on the sofa in her room. "Has something happened to you?"

I shake my head. "No, no, it's just . . . I wanted to see you."

"So, he's not mistreating you in any way?"

"No, not at all." I reach over and take her hand. She inhales sharply.

Snape appears behind her. "These sorts of memories must be stopped."

I try to expel him from my thoughts but cannot despite knowing exactly what he's doing. How much worse would it be if someone were doing this to me and I had no clue?

"I just—I realized that I never said—I mean, I want to say—when we met at my grave—I never got to say—"

"Charlotte!"

"I don't want to lose you either."

"You won't," she assures me, cupping my cheek with her free hand. "You won't lose me, Aurelia."

"Charlotte!" Snape snaps at me. "Do something!"

I close my eyes and rest my head in her palm before reaching up and taking that hand in mine as well. "I'm so scared, Mum. If someone is going to die this year . . . where will that leave me? Will I be in danger? Will . . . will you be in danger?"

"Aurelia—"

"It's just . . . I know we haven't really gotten along that well, but I mean, I so recently got my mother back, and I don't think I can face—"

"You won't!"

I drag him out of that memory but cannot expel him from my mind completely.

I'm sitting on the bed opening a copy of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations. I take out the sketch Zoe had drawn.

No, he can't see this either. He'll want to destroy it!

I look down at the sketch in my hands.

Zoe, wearing her Muggle clothes, is atop a hippogriff, a large sword drawn high in the air, her wand pointed at Snape who stands just in front of the doors to Snape, a look of terror on his face. I am attempting to climb onto another hippogriff, my wand aimed at the professor, who seems unsure which of us poses the worse threat.

Snape's hand rests on my shoulder. "Are you even trying?"

"Of course I am!" the memory me shouts.

"Try harder."

Something yanks me awake. Snape watches me, his lip curled. "That was abysmal."

"I'm trying!"

He swallows once, then frowns, his eyes angry in a way I haven't seen directed at me in a few weeks. "Did I not specifically tell you to stay away from Bellatrix?"

"She's my mother."

"She's a Death—"

"She's my mother."

We glower at one another for about eight seconds before I say, "It's nearly curfew."

I stand to my feet, walk to the door, and wrench it open. As I step out of his office, his voice reaches me with a slight hint of warning, "Don't trust her, Rodgers."