CHAPTER 27

My Occlumency lessons do not improve throughout the week, forcing Snape to resort to returning to the older lessons, the ones I can actually somewhat do, just to keep my spirits up. It's not working, because I'm clearly still a failure, but the gesture is appreciated—though I refuse to admit that to him.

Despite his overall patience with my failures, he too is growing annoyed with me. It's reached the point where he has decided we should take a break from the lessons for the weekend—mostly, I think, in order to get away from teaching me for a few days instead of for my well-being—and while I should be thrilled to finally have a break, I strongly disagree with this choice of his because postponing lessons won't do anyone any good and might actually make me lose the progress I've made. He disagrees—he believes I will do better if given the chance to collect myself once more and take some time to decompress. Regardless of my arguments against this weekend break, Snape does not budge on his decision, and because he is the Occlumency expert between the two of us, my arguments fall flat, which means I will not be working on Occlumency this weekend but rather "resting my mind" and "catching up on my schoolwork" because "I cannot fail out of Hogwarts under his watch."

At least my Conjuration lesson with McGonagall went well, so I've been working on that to make myself feel better. Hopefully, I'll soon be able to Conjure anything I need. Though, at this point, it seems unlikely I'll ever be trapped in a cave again—at least not while Voldemort plans to use me as his broodmare. I'm sure he'll want to keep me either in Spinner's End or Malfoy Manor—somewhere that will keep me under watch of his followers—so he can ensure that I'm not trying to escape.

Merlin, I hate my life.

Speaking of hating things, in just a few hours, I will be by the Black Lake, tutoring a group of four first-years whom I hardly know.

"Still not talking to me?" Daphne chuckles as she takes a seat beside me in the Great Hall, her expression far too pleased. "What a shame."

I smile at her. "I'm over it. But expect me to stop talking to you once more when I'm actually being forced to tutor them."

"Hey," she says, her voice defensive, "they're actually good kids. For the most part. That Butler one is . . . hmmm—how do I put this nicely?—awful and prejudiced. A miniature Draco Malfoy, if you will."

"As if I needed any more reasons to dread this coming lesson."

"Well, okay, that might be an exaggeration. He's bad but not cruel. He can be changed. He's probably just parroting what he hears at home."

I smile as much as possible, feeling a frustrating sense of duty awakening in the back of my mind because this is exactly what Zoe asked of me when we returned to Hogwarts last Easter. How could I refuse the first opportunity to make good on my promise? This is one thing I might not fail at. "We'll change him then, I guess. Where're the others?"

She sighs dramatically, pouring a glass of juice. "Probably sleeping in. It is Saturday, you know. Most people enjoy their sleep. Especially in the dungeon."

"Astoria better show up for these lessons she helped rope me into."

"I'm sure she will."

"If not, I'm sending you after her. And if you don't return . . ." I let that threat dangle there unfinished and try to ignore the mocking smile she gives in return, like she knows I'd never follow through on any threat toward her.

The owls swoop into the Great Hall. Two of them find my quickly, each carrying a response from Zoe and Fred, respectively; I slide these letters into my robes and continue eating.

"You're not opening those now?"

I glance at her but don't answer.

"Are they from the usual two?" She watches me, a knowing smile on her face, and I can feel myself blushing and do my best to ignore it. "I think it's sweet they both write to you so often."

A third, brown owl glides down to me and drops a letter in front of me, right on top of my bacon. Then it flies away.

"Were you expecting another letter?" she asks, her voice exposing her curiosity despite her rather calm face.

"No." I pick it up slowly and eyeball it, feeling suspicious.

"Open it!" she demands, patting my shoulder repeatedly. "It could be juicy!"

Careful not to rip the letter itself, I tear open the envelope and skim down to the bottom. Take care of yourself, Your mother. A sharp panic tightens around my chest, and I turn to the staff table. Dumbledore is missing. McGonagall is watching the students for any sign of ill behavior. Snape is completely occupied with something I cannot see, and despite waiting for a few moment, silently begging him to look over, to feel my gaze on him, he does not. My silent begging does not work, and my attention is forcibly drawn back to the Slytherin table when Daphne places her hand on my leg and says, quietly so no one can overhear her, "Charlotte, who sent it? You look horrified."

"I . . ." I look down at the letter in my hand and fold it haphazardly before shoving it into my pocket, growing almost desperate to read it right here at the table. "I'm sorry, there's something I have to do. I'll meet you at the lake, yeah?" Then I jump to my feet and dash from the Great Hall. Only after finding the library and claiming a quiet corner for myself do I take the letter out once more, laying it on the table in front of me and flattening the wrinkles. My mother wrote this to me. She sat and spent time writing this so she could send it to me. My heart aches with a cocktail of joy, sadness, and fear.

Aurelia,

I must begin by saying that no one—and I strictly mean no one—can know I spoke with you that day you went to Hogwarts. I wonder how angry she will be if she finds out that I've already spoken about it. And on more than one occasion. I fear that you will be in grave danger if the Dark Lord learns that you know what will happen this year. There is a terrible threat at the school; do not let anyone persuade you otherwise. At all times, I implore you to watch your back and be on guard. You never know when someone will attempt to double-cross you.

I must once again beg you not to trust Snape. I know you think highly of him, as does the Dark Lord himself, but the pair of you are mistaken. I am sure of it. He was not willing to go to Azkaban for the Dark Lord. He thinks only of himself and his own welfare. You must not trust him. When his true allegiances are exposed, I want you to be ready. Snape should not be in the Inner Circle. The Dark Lord's judgment is clouded. I believe Snape to be more loyal to Dumbledore than he would have others think. I know better; he's against the Dark Lord. He wants to stop the Dark Lord's plans. Why is she telling me this?

You must be careful. We have received notice that there are members of the Order of the Phoenix patrolling the castle and its grounds at night. You must be alert. If any of them discover who you truly are, they will not hesitate to capture you as leverage. Does she think everyone is as evil as the Death Eaters?

If Draco comes to you for help, assist him the best that you can. If the Dark Lord learns that you were unhelpful to Draco, which led to a delay in his accomplishing his task, I fear that not even your future duty will be enough to keep you from punishment. If Snape asks you to help him assist Draco, you should do your best in that matter as well, but stay on guard around him. Snape has Vowed to assist and protect him, but he has made no such Vow concerning you. Do not let him deceive you.

If you fear that someone knows who you are, believe that they do and treat the situation as such. If something or someone threatens your life, do not be afraid to take matters into your own hands. But do not go to Snape. I am positive that he will try to harm you. You must not let this happen. If he tries to harm you, owl me. The Dark Lord will see to your safety.

I need you to come through this year unscathed. I need you to be brave and always on high alert. Do not do anything if you might be put into danger.

Take care of yourself,
Your mother

I stare down at the letter, unsure of what to do now but wanting to do something. Instead, I sit there in the library, letting my mind roam wild with images of how my life could have been had my mother not been the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. Or even if I had grown up knowing who she is. Perhaps now I'd be more willing to face my fate, perhaps even see it as an honor and not a curse.

Perhaps. Maybe. What if. That's all my life really is now, a collection of what-could-have-beens and what-should-have-beens.

I don't know how long I sit there, reading the letter over and over, memorizing my mother's words, the physical, tangible proof that she cares for me, actually cares for me as a mother should. She worries for me, for my safety. It's pointless for her to worry about me at Hogwarts—and in any case, the only thing she should be worried about concerning me is my "duty" to Voldemort, and yet she seems completely thrilled that I shall bear the Dark Lord's child—but the sentiment makes me smile.

But I can't keep this to myself because of how poorly my Occlumency lessons are going, and as Snape is bound to discover this letter one way or another, I decide that telling him myself is my best course of action lest he see the memory in our lessons and assume I'm hiding this from him. What a way to destroy the trust he's placed in me.

So, before I can convince myself not to do this, I get up from the library and rush to Snape's office. Reprising my old obnoxious habit, I throw his door open without knocking or offering him any sort of warning. "Professor."

Snape looks up from his desk. "Charlotte? If you expect me to change my mind about the lessons—"

"This isn't about that," I say, closing his door and walking to his desk, pulling the letter out of my robes and placing it in front of him. If Bellatrix believes that Snape cannot be trusted, then that means he can be, and I'm trusting him with this. "I received this at breakfast."

He grabs the letter and lifts it up to read, glancing at me curiously only once before his eyes turn to paper and become darker than usual, his face twisting in frustration. Then, before I even register what is happening, he pulls out his wand and sets the letter on fire.

I lurch forward, patting the burning letter with my bare hands, ignoring the pain shooting through my palms, but it is a futile act, for the letter is unreadable, destroyed by the man I put my trust in just a few short moments ago. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" My hand rises to strike him, but he grabs my wrist inches before it reaches his face. "How dare you!"

Not releasing my wrist—I can't say I blame him, because I'd attempt to slap him again if given the chance—he walks around his desk, takes me by the shoulders, and leads me to his office door. "It was foolish of Bellatrix to send you that letter. What if it had been confiscated or found by another student? Where would that leave me? Where would it leave Draco? Where would it leave you?"

"Free from all these lies finally."

"All the more reason to destroy it then." Snape opens the door, then stops and closes it back. He waves his wand, and a vial flies into his hand. He turns my palms over and empties the potion onto them. Once the small burns have healed, he opens the door again and gives me a slight shove, forcing me just beyond the door frame, before he closes the door on me.

Fuming at Snape still, I sit down by the Black Lake, watching the water with a strong sense of longing, wondering what would have happened if I had never come up from the lake's depths last year, if I had stayed under that icy water forever.

Wondering about this is unnecessary, however, because I know exactly what would have happened: I would've escaped Voldemort, never would've had to lie to Fred as I currently am, never would've grown this painful desire for Bellatrix to be my mum and not just my mother.

"I questioned whether you would actually show up," a voice says. I glance up to see Daphne walking toward me cautiously before lowering herself to the ground next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, never better, why do you ask?"

"Charlotte."

"Look, here come the first-years." I've never been happier to see them.

"I hope you don't mind that we're a bit early," Christopher says.

"It's fine." My eyes are drawn back to the Black Lake. Other than escaping Voldemort and not lying to Fred, nothing much would have changed at Hogwarts had I died that day. I'm not Harry Potter. I'm not important to Hogwarts or the Wizarding World. Would things be different if people knew the truth about me, that I am the daughter of the ferocious Lestranges and that Voldemort himself has a plan for me? Of course, I want no one to know that, so that can never be. But part of me believes more people would rally around me to protect me—if only to thwart one of Voldemort's plans—than they currently are. After all, it's not like the Weasleys or the Order broke down the doors to Malfoy Manor to get me out when they thought I was a captive.

"Charlotte," a voice interrupts my thoughts. Jacob Butler's light brown eyes are glaring at me. "If you wanted time alone, you should have just told us, but now that we're here you can't just ignore us." He looks over at Christopher. "Seriously, why did you choose her?" He glances at me then back to his friend. "She's probably not even a pureblood."

My mouth almost drops open, but I stop when Christopher, very obviously offended, says, "Neither am I, but you seem fine with me."

"Because I know I'm better than you. Because purebloods are always better." He indeed reminds me of the Malfoys—Daphne was correct. "We should have asked Draco." He must know them somehow. Again, his eyes land on me. "You're not even a pureblood, are you?"

Daphne clears her throat and picks at her nails.

"Why does that matter so much to you, Jacob?" Ella asks. "We're not purebloods either." She motions to herself and Julia.

"I just think that the best sort of witch or wizard should be teaching us so that we can completely understand it."

The other three first-years look between one another, almost like they're plotting a mutiny, and I look over at Daphne who has kind of a "see what I mean?" expression on her face. I take a calming breath. "Why do you think purebloods are better teachers?"

"Because their magical blood has never been tainted with that of Muggles. Which means they're stronger than other types of witches and wizards."

"You do realize that there're no purebloods teaching here at Hogwarts, right?"

"Sure there is," he argues. "Professor Snape—"

"Is a half-blood. Muggle father, pureblood mother."

"How do you know?" he asks, his voice slowly becoming more irritated.

"I know him. Besides, there's hard evidence of half-bloods being some of the most powerful magical beings, you realize. Dumbledore—half-blood. McGonagall—half-blood. Snape—half-blood. Harry Potter himself—half-blood."

He watches me for a moment, his jaw clenched. "Well, from what I've seen—"

"You're eleven," I say. "You haven't been around to see much. And when you have, you can come back to me and complain about blood status. Until then, you can accept that I'm not a pureblood, or you can leave."

Daphne reaches her hand out to him, her face slightly amused. "But she helped me with my Transfiguration O.W.L., so I don't know if I'd give up the chance to learn from her with your . . . friends. Are you friends? You seem rude to them."

The boy scowls at her, but he silences, probably because he knows she is a pureblood. I turn to Christopher, "What are you currently learning in Transfiguration?"

"We have to turn a match into a needle."

I smile. This was one of the first Transfigurations I ever taught myself. "All right. Do you have matches with you?"

They all look at each other. Christopher hangs his head a little. "We didn't think about bringing any. . . ."

I cut Daphne a glance condemning her for forcing me into this position, and she, trying to fight a smile, quickly looks away from me, her eyes resting on something in the sky. "It's fine," I say loftily, summoning four matches from the castle, each of them landing on the ground in front of me just a moment later. I give one to each of the first-years. "I want to see each of your best efforts." I look at Christopher. "Why don't you start, since this was your idea?"

He smiles nervously but points his wand at the match nonetheless, taking a short breath to muster his courage to try. He says the incantation flawlessly but can't seem to perfect the wand movement. I let him try a few times before stopping him and telling Ella to try.

She holds a shaky wand over the match, and after watching a few of her failed attempts, I cannot determine what she is doing incorrectly, so I stop her and command Jacob to begin. He gives me an annoyed glare before pointing his wand at his match. I let him try twice as long as I let the other two, but he still can't do it. I stop him with a smirk before turning to Julia and prompt her to try. She, like Ella, says it right and moves her wand correctly but can't get it to change. I stop her a few tries later.

I'm quiet for a moment, Daphne and I sharing a quick look. Before I have a chance to explain what might be the issue, Astoria finally arrives, plopping into the grass next to Daphne. "Sorry I'm late. I overslept and then took a minute longer to eat than I had originally planned."

"I hate you," Daphne whispers to her.

She just winks back at her.

"You're not going to be late next time, yeah?" I say. "We can't have students interrupting class."

"I'll do my best, Professor," she says with a slight laugh.

I clear my throat and turn to the four first years. "Christopher," I say, scooting closer to him and putting my hand over his, "it's your wand movement. It goes like this." Then I guide his hand through the movement. "Got it?" He nods. "Try it again."

I move closer to Ella, ignoring Pansy who is now walking close enough by so that she can watch me and the Greengrass sisters and snigger to her friends as she continues on her way. "Are you concentrating? A large part of Transfiguration is your concentration. Without concentration, you will not Transfigure anything. Try concentrating as best you can."

I move to Jacob.

"I can handle it without your help."

"Fine then," I say with false joy in my voice.

I look over at Julia. "Concentration is an important part of Transfiguration, but power is just as important. I want you to focus on making your spell stronger." She nods.

Astoria smiles encouragingly at me. Daphne still refuses to make eye contact (probably because she'll start laughing), and I shake my head at her, trying to look angry and frustrated but failing pathetically. Then I lie down on the grass while the first-years continue attempting their Transfiguration.

"Do your homework," I command Astoria.

At this, Daphne finally does look at me and laugh aloud. I grin at her and go back to watching the first-years practice. Slowly she moves beside me and lies down next to me. "You're pretty good at that," she says.

"Shut up, I'm refusing to talk to you right now, remember?"

She doesn't reply, and it remains silent other than the distant sounds of other students with their friends and the first-years trying to perform the spell properly.

Part of me drifts off and begins wondering what life would be like if Voldemort had not been born, or if he had never risen to power. If that were the case, I would not be where I am right now. Or, I would have a loving family waiting for me back home. I wouldn't have this anxiety looming over me.

Then again, I don't think I would have ever met Snape—or at least, I wouldn't be learning from him the way I am now. And as odd as it is, he's become important to me. He understands me more than most people in my life, probably because he's been around the Dark Lord and tried to keep his true allegiances hidden. Is he really hiding his true allegiances from Voldemort, or is he hiding them from Dumbledore?

Snape. Poor Snape. If Voldemort had never existed, Snape's life would be completely different. He might have ended up with that redheaded girl I saw in his memories, the one who made him smile in a way I've never seen on him except for in those memories. He might have married her, had a child with her, been happy with her. My breath catches in my throat. I complain about my life and how Voldemort is going to ruin it, how he's ruined it for almost seven years, but Snape . . . he was roughly fifteen in the last happy memory of his that I saw. He's maybe . . . I'd guess nearly forty, mid-thirties perhaps. Voldemort has been ruining Snape's life for nearly twenty-five years.

I sit up. The four first-years are still working tediously to accomplish the small bit of Transfiguration. "All right," I tell them. "Continue working during the week. We'll pick up here next Saturday." Then I turn to Astoria and Daphne. "There's something I have to do. I'll meet up with you later in the Slytherin Dungeon, yeah?"

She nods, only seemingly a tiny bit curious. I start back to the castle, realizing while descending the stairs to the dungeon that I can't barge into Snape's office and ask him about the redheaded girl he so obviously loved, can't go in there and apologize for Voldemort ruining his life. I spin on my heel to go to the common room but stop when I see Draco, who seems to feel my eyes on him and turns to look back at me. And something in my chest burns when I see the concern in those gray eyes.

I run toward him and pull him into an empty classroom. "We need to talk," I say to him as I close the door.