CHAPTER 12

My stomach drops the moment I wake up because something is very clearly wrong—I'm sitting on a cold stone floor, and my hands, which sit in my lap, are chained to something just above my head. My tongue and my lip throb from where Snape threw me against the table; the taste of iron in my mouth breathes life into a simmering rage in my chest. Fuck him.

Trying to ignore the rising panic, I look around the poorly lit room, trying to decipher where he must have stashed me, and even with what little light is cast by the two torches by the door on the far wall from me, I recognize this place immediately. This is the basement room that Snape made with the Undetectable Charm, only with much less lighting. Did he do that on purpose? Though the cauldron in the middle of the room brews a potion, its potioneer is nowhere to be found.

The chains rattle when I pull against them, but no matter how much effort I put into trying to free my hands, they're too tight. With a frustrated huff, I pull myself to my feet and turn toward the large beam to which my chains are attached. I am a failure, just a failure. I couldn't tell Fred the truth; I couldn't tell Voldemort the truth. I couldn't get out of this in the only way currently available to me: death. How does one fail at getting an evil man to kill them?

It's Snape's fault. It's his fault. My life will continue being controlled by others because of him.

A wave of guilt washes over me at the thought. He wasn't trying to keep me under Voldemort's control with his actions—he was trying to save me from a terrible death.

Spitting on him? One of the worst decisions I've made in a while. Spitting on him a second time? One of the most dangerous things I've done in a while. Apparating to Malfoy Manor had done me no good, and now even the attempt feels stupid and shortsighted. Who's to say that Voldemort would've killed me and freed me from the lies? What if he had simply decided to detain me, as Snape has now done, until he is ready for me? Going back to Hogwarts is my best bet to get away from the Dark Lord, and Snape is the only hope I have of going back there. And I risked it all. For what? A moment of joy in spitting on him? Because I couldn't accept that he was simply trying to keep me from dying at the hands of Voldemort?

Besides that, I broke my deal with Snape no more than an hour after making it. Those Anti-Disapparation Jinxes will return in full force, and it's my fault. I just wanted to stop the lies. But my current situation is not at all part of the plan. I have to get out of here.

You can't trust him, Charlotte. He's a Death Eater. And all they've ever done to you for years now is hurt you. You cannot trust him.

I brace one foot against the wall behind the beam to which my chains are connected and attempt to wrench the beam from the wall in hopes that doing so will provide a means of escape, but when it becomes clear that this isn't enough, I tug against the restraint with all of my might and hoist my other foot onto the wall as well. Suspended above the floor, I pull with every last bit of strength in my body, and though the chains do not relent, I refuse to give up.

"That won't work," Snape's voice says.

Caught off guard, I lose my concentration and my hold on the wall and the chains and fall—the chain slides down the beam—and slam onto my back on the floor. "Bloody hell," I moan. I spin around and sit with my back against the wall. "What do you want?"

"Oh, you think I'm down here for you?" My heart begins racing in my chest, pounding against my ribcage, and for a split second, it's not Professor Snape I see standing in front of me—it's Avery, coming back to finish the job, to avenge himself. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, shaking the thought from my head before looking back at him. "No, I'm down here for more important things, such as the potion I'm brewing." He gestures toward the cauldron as if to prove a point. "I want nothing from you. Nothing can help you at this point." Snape turns his back on me and works with the potion, completely silent.

Nothing can help you now. My skull begins burning slightly. Nothing can help you now.

You've ruined everything for yourself, just like you always do. You never think through your decisions. You never see the whole picture.

Taking a few vials of the potion with him, he retreats back up the stairs. Then he adds tauntingly, "Have a good morning."

An indeterminate amount of time passes while I sit there, staring at the door through which Snape has just left, before all of the fight drains out of me and I hang my head and close my eyes, accepting my situation. This was always where I was headed: chained up. It's been coming for me for years; it was only a matter of time. It's karma for every single one of my evil deeds throughout my life. It's something I have worked long and hard to earn. Those people I killed, those people I hurt, those deaths I indirectly caused—they were all leading me here, right here to this moment where I am chained up by someone I trusted. My selfishness, my stupidity, my mistakes: they've all been dragging me here for years.

It's how I deserve to die. I spent so many years running from Death Eaters, harming Death Eaters, and yet allowed myself to trust one. This is the second time I've trusted a follower of the Dark Lord, and it's no surprise that it's turned out exactly the same way. With me in pain. And this time I trusted him willingly, happily. I'm such an idiot. They're all the same. Every last one of them is the same. Regardless of how they present themselves, no Death Eater can be trusted. They all want to hurt me. They all want revenge for what I've done. He's just been playing the long game, waiting for the right moment to punish me for what I did to his friends, his colleagues.

I'm so stupid.

I trusted a Death Eater again and look where it got me.

How could I have done this again?

"Gave up on breaking out of the chains, I see. That's probably for the best."

I don't have the willpower to look up and scowl at him, but I do manage to push myself to my feet, my limbs trembling. It's all my fault. Her death is all my fault. Because I trusted one of these monsters.

He comes toward me and displays two vials in his palm. "I wanted to test something."

He's reduced me to nothing more than a Muggle lab rat. I sigh heavily and with great effort lift my head to look at him. "What?" I whisper, tears slipping down my face.

His brow furrows as his eyes examine my face. "This might burn, Miss Rodgers, might even make you cry out for death. After all, that is what the Draught of Despair does, isn't it?"

I collapse to my knees. Of course. He's wanted to do this since the Malfoys first sent me with him. This is payback for hurting those Death Eaters. I'll never escape them. The chain pulls my arms up and back uncomfortably, but I remain on my knees, tears stinging my eyes. "I'm sorry." He takes a small step backward. "I'm so sorry," I cry.

The chains disappear, and my arms drop in front of me, the muscles screaming. He waits patiently until I look up and see his smirking face. "Charlotte Rodgers, the Chosen One of the Dark Lord, on her knees in front of a Hogwarts Professor, begging for forgiveness." I don't say anything and instead look at my wrists where they have been torn from my struggling and are now bleeding. They burn relentlessly where the skin has been ripped, as if little fires consume them, but I don't say anything about it; I just pull them close to my body and bite back the pain.

"It was a mistake . . ." I say quietly. "I made a mistake . . . I keep making them." Something begins to ache in the back of my mind, and I feel myself slipping, retreating into myself. I'm not really with Snape down in his basement-dungeon anymore—no, now I'm standing at the graveside of Mrs. Stoico, confronting my own stupidity and accepting that her death was because of me and my decision to trust a Death Eater, finally accepting that my recklessness has taken the lives of so many people and that this same recklessness nearly got me killed or worse just a short while ago. "It's my fault." Warm tears tickle my cheeks as they flow down my face. "I'm so sorry . . . I shouldn't have come back . . . I should've stayed away . . ." My actions could've gotten my friends killed like I got her killed. I could've ruined so many more lives, cut so many short, all because I'm stupid and selfish and shortsighted.

"Rodgers," Snape says softly, though he probably doesn't realize that I'm no longer talking to him but a grave, a grave miles away from here. He crouches down in front of me. "You're safer here than with the Dark Lord." He expects me to trust him again? I can't trust Death Eaters. He grabs my hands and pours something over them. This brings me back to the present. One of the vials he was holding is now empty. The sores and ripped skin on my hands close and fade. "Drink this." I look at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, shaking my head because taking anything from someone of his ilk seems like a dangerous idea. "It won't hurt you." The sob escapes me before I'm even aware it's building in my chest. "It should heal your lip." I slide away from him, pulling my knees to my chest and peering at him over the top of them, trembling. He frowns. "Charlotte, I—" He stops abruptly and waves his wand at me; I flinch but sigh with relief when the injury on my lip and tongue heals, the pain ebbing away. "I did not mean for you to hit the table and split your lip. I . . . apologize."

When has a Death Eater ever apologized to you?

Snape stands and turns for the door, but I can't look up at him to see what he's doing. While he probably expects me to be following him, I can't bring myself to stand. Instead, I slide against the wall, pressing my hand against my mouth and closing my eyes as if that can stifle the growing nausea.

It was wrong of me to attempt telling Voldemort the truth—that I will never serve him. He would have killed me or worse, and that would disgrace the memory of Mrs. Stoico, the memory of a woman who died so that I might live. He might have blamed those I cared about and killed them out of spite. He would've found out everyone I care about, and he would've killed them. My carelessness would've gotten more of my loved ones murdered.

Snape's footsteps cease suddenly. I don't look up but can hear him coming toward me now rather than retreating back upstairs. "Rodgers, stand up." I can't bring myself to do it. "Stand up." A force grabs me and pulls me to my feet. It wasn't exactly the professor; it was he who orchestrated it with his wand, but he didn't manhandle me this time. Finally, I meet his black eyes. "Legilimens."

I'm standing in Mrs. Stoico's office at the orphanage. She's crouched in front of me with tears of joy in her eyes. "Where did you go?" she asks me. "I was so worried about you!" The woman, who was the closest thing to a real mum I ever had, brushes her hand through my hair. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"I'm sorry," I whisper through tears of my own.

She wraps me into a fierce hug.

A gruff voice comes from the door, "Well, well."

I force Snape out of my memories, having put no effort into stopping him until that moment. Snape says nothing, simply watches me. "I believe you just broke our deal, Professor," I say emotionlessly. "No memories of Mrs. Stoico, remember?"

"What're you hiding?"

I exhale forcefully and look down at my hands, my heart heavy in my chest. I can't trust you, I want to say to him. "I won't try running off again. I won't try telling Vol—the Dark Lord—the truth. That's all you're really worried about, isn't it?" Snape doesn't stop me when I trudge up the stairs and open the door to leave. I go to the old table in the sitting room where my wand lies atop my letters, snatch all of it up, and retreat to my tiny, borrowed room.

In my rucksack is a wooden box containing the only things that I have ever cared about: a knife used for reasons I prefer not to think about but cannot get rid of for reasons that don't really make sense to me, the letter from Fred that Lee delivered to me upon my return to Hogwarts after the Easter holidays, and the coin from the D.A.; I place the letters on top of the coin, close the box, and shove it into my bag.

I need to talk to someone. No, it's not a need; I want to speak with someone, someone other than Snape.

I apprehensively go back down the stairs. "Professor." Snape opens the basement door and comes out. "Professor, I—"

"Decided you wanted to talk about what happened down there?" Snape suggests.

I frown at him, bitterness growing in my chest. You hurt me. "I need you to lift the Anti-Disapparation Jinx."

"After what you attempted to do last time, you honestly expect me to lift the jinx again? Rodgers—"

"I'm not going to Malfoy Manor," I say helplessly, anger rising. "If I put myself in a position where the Dark Lord can kill me, I disrespect the memory of those who have died so that I can live. I'm not going to him. I want to speak with Professor McGonagall."

"Professor McGonagall?"

I grimace. "Yeah. You know, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor House. Ringing any bells? She's been your colleague for—how many years now? Over a decade at least."

"I know who she is," he answers darkly.

"Then you should know that it's safe to trust her. Please let me go."

"Do you even know where to find her?"

I pause, having not thought this far in advance. "I thought . . . I'd start at Hogwarts . . ."

His eyebrows go up, a smirk still on his face. "You thought you'd just search around for her?"

"I . . . hadn't really . . ."

"Planned that far ahead? Yes, I see that."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Now why would I know that?"

Why didn't I see it earlier? "She's part of the Order too, right?" I ask, proud of myself for finally figuring this out yet ashamed that it took this long to piece together. With how loyal she is to Dumbledore, this should've been so obvious.

"I wouldn't know," Snape says. "I've told you: I am not part of the Order."

Would you feel like you could trust him more if you knew for certain he was? "You know where she is, don't you?"

Silence.

"Don't you?"

Snape shakes his head. "No."

My anger once again begins to fade, replaced by emptiness. "Please just let me go," I say quietly. "There's something I need to talk about that I don't want to talk to you about. No offense."

"You don't know how to find her, so why should I let you go wandering around?"

"I'll go to—" I stop, surprisingly incapable of saying the name of the Order's headquarters. "I'll go to Sirius's place."

"He's dead," Snape says reflexively.

I bite my tongue. "That doesn't matter right now."

"You expect me to remove the Anti-Disapparation Jinx after all the times you've broken our deals and tried to get yourself killed?"

"Please."

"No.

"But—"

"I do not trust you—"

"The feeling's mutual," I growl.

He pauses as if surprised to hear that. "What I mean to say is that I do not trust you to return, nor do I trust you not to go to Malfoy Manor." I clench my jaw, glaring at him. "I'm not removing the jinx."

"You're going to make me do something that I don't want to do."

"We both know your dueling capabilities, Rodgers. You won't be able to—"

"I never said I was going to fight you, Professor." A short moment passes. "I give you my word that I won't do anything stupid if you will just lift the jinx for a short while."

"Your word means nothing."

A burst of anger jolts through me. "Professor—"

"My decision is final."

I scowl at him, then close my eyes and take a deep breath, planning my next move. Without a second thought, I silently cast a shield around myself, dash to the front door, throw it open, and sprint away into the early morning air. "RODGERS! Do not expect to return here!" Like I care. I glance behind me and see Snape standing in the doorway, his wand aimed at me. Snape is unable to stop me from Apparating once I get outside the range of the Anti-Disapparation Jinx.

I go to the door of Grimmauld Place and open it without knocking, shocked to see a flurry of activity, of people talking and wandering around. Why are there so many people in a dead man's home? A man turns and points his wand at me. "Who're you?" he says bluntly.

"Ch-Charlotte Rodgers."

Tonks comes out of the kitchen. "Put it down, Mundungus," my cousin commands. "She's a friend." The man reluctantly drops his wand down. "What are you doing here, Charlotte?"

"Looking for McGonagall," I say. "Is she here?"

"Why would she be here?" Tonks asks innocently.

"Do you know where she is? It's important."

"I believe she's back at Hogwarts for now."

"Thanks." I turn and Apparate to Hogsmeade, then walk to the grounds and begin making way to McGonagall's office. If she's here at the castle, that's the best place to start looking.

Walking alone gives me the chance to ponder just how terrible an idea it was to leave Spinner's End like that. Snape has been relatively kind to me recently—no he hasn't! He threw you into the goddamn table! I close my eyes against the thought. Why did I think he was trustworthy? How did I fall so easily into believing him? Because he was nicer to me than Lucius, than Voldemort? My actions have probably unfortunately ruined any chance of staying at Spinner's End any further after this, and they'll probably send me back to the manor. Sorrow presses down onto my chest, surprisingly heavy. If I don't trust him, why does the idea of leaving hurt so much? If I truly hate him, why does being kicked out of Spinner's End make me want to cry?

What if the Dark Lord throws me in the cellar at Malfoy Manor?

I stop at McGonagall's office. If I leave now, will Snape allow me to stay at Spinner's End? If he knows I decided against speaking with McGonagall in order to go to him and apologize, will he be lenient? Or will he simply not care?

Severus Snape won't care about my apologies. But despite what's just happened, I do not want him to turn against me because he's the only Death Eater that seems to care whether I'm hurt or killed. I just don't understand him at all.

I knock on McGonagall's door. There is no answer, and I wait a moment before knocking again, only to get the same silent response. Perhaps this is the universe's way of telling me to get back to Spinner's End and try to make amends with Snape. Perhaps this is the universe's way of telling me not to speak of this ever again.

But I've never really respected the universe's vague clues, so I knock once more on the door for good measure. To my immense joy, the door opens this time. McGonagall looks down at me with confusion. "Rodgers?"

"Professor."

"Come in. Come in," she says, waving me inside her office. "What're you doing here?"

"I . . . I had to—I had a meeting with Voldemort." My whole plan vanishes, replaced by a deep desire to just receive comfort from someone who has never hurt me, and she's one of the few people currently in my life who fits that bill.

She pauses for a second before going to sit behind her desk as she usually does. Then she says, "How long ago?"

"About a week," I answer quietly. "I would've come sooner, but I kind of . . . locked myself away. . . ."

"What did he say?"

"Well"—my voice wavers already at the thought of what was said and what is to happen—"he has . . . chosen a day."

"A d—" She seems to suddenly realize my meaning. "When?"

I go on to tell her about the stipulations of the time (without mentioning that it is Draco who has to do something for Voldemort; it's better that he's not incriminated when I don't even know what he's to do). She doesn't really know what to say, so she sits in silence for a few moments, just looking back at me with the same look of helplessness I feel, neither of us able to really think of anything to follow the news she just received. All she can say is, "Rodgers," in a very distressed way, which doesn't encourage me but does bring some comfort because it seems she cares. Finally, she asks, "Who else knows?"

"The dates?" She nods. "Bellatrix—I told her right after; in a moment of weakness, I wanted her to be my mother. Narcissa—after Bellatrix and I had an argument and lost all sense of sentimentality, I went to her for help." Try as I might to deny it, Narcissa had been more mothering toward me than I had thought possible. "And S—" Oh no. I scramble for anyone I can think of whose name would start with an "S" sound. The closest I can think of is, "Zoe Accrington."

"The Slytherin?"

I nod. "We—we're friends. And I trust her."

"Enough to tell her the truth about yourself?"

"Yes."

Another short moment of silence before, "Professor Dumbledore and Potter will find a way to stop him."

"Voldemort?"

"You will be fine, Rodgers. The Order will stop him."

That's an encouraging thought. Or it was the first few times someone said it to me. It's lost its meaning now, really. I stay there for nearly an hour. I tell her about my moment with Bellatrix and how awfully that had ended, and what Narcissa had told me over the Easter holidays about how my mother had truly cared for me. Not really wanting to leave her office, I find myself saying more than I really should, unable to stop myself now that the words have surfaced, and before I can stop it, a question flies out of my mouth. "Professor, do you trust Snape?"

Her brow furrows. "Professor Dumbledore trusts him, and I trust his judgment. Why do you ask?"

"He—he's the only—the only Death Eater who . . . until recently—" I stop and shake my head.

"Rodgers, what's going on?"

"He's a Death Eater!" She doesn't look the least bit surprised. "You—you already know that?"

"Yes, Rodgers."

"And yet Professor Dumbledore trusts him?"

"He has his reasons, and I trust his judgment. What's going on? What's happened?"

"Is he a part of the Order?" I ask quietly.

"Charlotte—"

"Professor, I—I just need to know—I need to know if I can trust him." She frowns, a brief look of unsurety crossing her face. "He's been at the manor a few times. I can't tell you why, but he's been around. He—he's the only Death Eater who . . . who seems like he doesn't hate me. I just—I need to know if he can be an ally. You've known him for decades."

"Yes, he's in the Order." A sigh of relief escapes me. Does that mean I can actually trust him? "I will speak to Professor Dumbledore. I believe you should speak with him about any concerns you have regarding Professor Snape. You are not the first person to question his loyalties, but you are perhaps in a more vulnerable position than most others are. I believe Professor Dumbledore may be able to help you sort through some of your worries."

Feeling a miniscule bit better, I say goodbye to her, then step off the Hogwarts grounds and Apparate back to Spinner's End.