CHAPTER 31

Sitting in the Astronomy Tower, only slightly guilty about disobeying McGonagall by coming up here rather than going back to the Slytherin Dungeon, I look up to the stars and wonder if Mrs. Stoico is up there somewhere looking down at me. Would she be proud of me or disappointed in me? Would it please her that I've done my best to resist Voldemort? Even though doing so has not helped me in the slightest . . .

Or would she be too upset with me for all of my past sins to care about me anymore?

Should I care what she thinks about me, considering she lied to me the whole time I knew her? Should it really matter to me at all? Her lies are the reason I was isolated for so long, why I lived so terribly for six years. Had she told the truth, perhaps I would've ended up with Narcissa earlier. All the horrors from my time on the run could've been avoided. Does she really deserve to be mourned? Would her opinion truly matter at all?

A heavy weight presses onto my chest. Of course I care what she thinks about me. She raised me.

And I'm afraid she would see me as nothing more than a murderer, as I see myself as nothing more than a murderer. And until I can do something good enough to counterbalance that, I will always be nothing more than a girl who murdered a family of Muggles.

What have I become? What happened to that defenseless, innocent little girl from the orphanage? Where has she gone, and why hasn't she come back? Is it possible to make her come back? Is that possible?

Would I ever want to be that helpless again though?

Absolutely not. I just wish so much of my six years of hell could be different. No starving, no freezing, no Alex. I wrap my arms around myself, shuddering.

But without those years, my situation here at Hogwarts would be completely different. Narcissa, Draco, and Lucius would've got their blood supremacy hooks in me at a more impressionable age. I would have no reason to taking Occlumency lessons, and despite how frustrating those can be, part of me knows I'd never want to undo all the time working on it with Snape. He'd be just another professor, perhaps someone I looked up to as a Death Eater, but that's it. And that's not what I want.

Sudden footsteps behind me send a spike of fear straight through my heart. Surely McGonagall could not already know that I never went back to the dungeons. I draw my wand and hop to my feet, running to stand beside the door so I can attack or bolt more easily, depending on who the surprise guest is.

The door flies open, and I'm reluctant to lower my wand when I see the white-blond hair of Draco as he enters the tower and moves the center of the room. "What are you doing here?" I ask him.

His wand is pointed at me in less than a second. Then he registers who I am and lowers his weapon. "What are you doing up here?"

"I believe I asked you first."

We watch one another silently until I sigh and take my seat again, waving my wand at one of the telescopes to turn it into a chair and give Draco a place to sit. He doesn't argue.

His gaze avoids mine, instead looming over the castle ground, but I can't pull my eyes away from him. Finally, a few moments later, he turns to me. "So why are you up here, Charlotte?"

I sigh. "Occlumency lessons with Snape led to some rather awful memories that had been blocked from my mind."

"Is that where you were over the holiday? With him?"

"Yes." I don't want to lie anymore, at least not to someone who is also suffering because of Voldemort. "I was with him. He was . . . teaching me Occlumency and how to duel—the Dark Lord was displeased with my dueling skills last year."

"Why didn't your mother teach you? She's been teaching me Occlumency, specifically for my task. I'm sure she could've taught you as well. And there's no need to question her dueling ability."

I don't know why he's so interested, but it feels too good having a student here at Hogwarts who knows a tiny bit of what it's like to be around Voldemort and his Death Eaters not to answer him. "Bellatrix? We would have killed each other." Maybe. Perhaps worse—I would've gotten more attached to her, and she might've gotten more attached to me. "Besides, the Dark Lord has assigned Snape to protect me, so I figure it's better for him to know my whole past over anyone else."

"She speaks of you often," he comments quietly.

"Who?"

"Your mum. She writes to me often, asking about you. Didn't you know?"

I shake my head. "I didn't think she cared about me until the other day."

"When she came to find you?"

"Yes, when she came to find me. And warn me of the dangers at Hogwarts this year. Care to elaborate on that?"

He looks back up at me. "I can't tell you, Charlotte, but believe me, if I could, I would."

I reach over and take his hand. "Draco, who's going to die this year?" His gray eyes meet my icy blue ones. "Is it Harry?"

"No. I can't tell you."

I squeeze his hand. "You can. Voldemort will never know."

He keeps his eyes locked on mine for a few silent moments before he breathes, "Dumbledore."

My breath catches. "How . . .?"

"I don't know how," he whispers, jaw set and tears wetting his eyes.

"Why would you agree to something like that? Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of all time. How . . . how can you expect . . .?"

"I have to restore the Malfoy name."

"Draco—"

"He's going to kill me, Charlotte, if I don't succeed!" He pulls his hands out of mine and lifts the sleeve on his left arm, and again I lose my breath. The Dark Mark, just like the one on Snape's arm, taints Draco's pale skin. "I've been chosen."

"Draco," I whisper, taking his hand in both of mine and holding it tightly. I can't tell him, but he clearly has no chance of killing Dumbledore, not with the man's great power, the Order roaming through the castle, and the extra defenses around the grounds. Besides, I'm sure he's very well aware of this and would rather not have me say it. Voldemort did this to punish Lucius and Narcissa—make them watch their only child struggle to fulfill the Dark Lord's plans only to fail and face the consequences.

Just like me, Draco is a slave to Voldemort, being forced to do things that he does not want to do. "I'm scared, Charlotte."

"I am too."

"I'll do what I can . . . to postpone it until after Christmas. I'll try my best."

I squeeze his hand, and together we sit in the Astronomy Tower, surrounded by both the terror and the dread of what is to come. Neither of us speaks—we simply sit quietly in each other's presence, looking despondently at each other, knowing that no matter what happens and no matter what lingering resentment might remain between us, we will have to face this together because no one else here will ever understand.

Draco and I don't speak anymore of Voldemort or Death Eaters—in fact, we haven't really spoken much at all since his confession in the Astronomy Tower. He keeps to his circle of friends, and I keep to mine. The only way we communicate much anymore is through a subtle glance across the room, but that's it. It's like we've come to a silent agreement that it's better if we stay apart until further notice.

My tutoring sessions with the first-years have henceforth been taken over by Daphne until I have mastered Occlumency—or mastered as well as I can this quickly—which we will not be sure of until Dumbledore himself tests me when I'm eighteen, nearly a month and a half from now.

Only three weeks in October and twenty-one days in November stand between me and my Occlumency test, but for now, I'm free to put Voldemort out of my mind and go to Hogsmeade. Astoria is staying behind to study (she's preparing for the O.W.L.s much earlier than I had); Daphne regrettably has plans with Grant and cannot go to the village; and the first-years are not yet allowed to go to the village—basically, this is the perfect opportunity to see Zoe.

I'm just stepping into the village when I see her rushing toward me, throwing her arms around me as soon as she gets close enough. "I took the day off!" she announces. "C'mon." It takes a second for me to release her, and once I do, we head toward the heart of the village. "I need to know everything that's happened that you've failed to put in your letters."

"Nothing really," I say.

"How are the first-years doing?"

"All of them—well, except for one who seems to think purebloods are better than everyone else, but we might be able to change his mind—are pretty agreeable. And you? How have you been?"

"Other than the promotion? Nothing's really happened. Oh, but I've almost finished that painting of me liberating you from Snape and Hogwarts. I've been taking my time with it to make sure it's perfect. I'll have to show it to you when it's finished. How's Occlumency going?"

"Great when I'm awake. Not so great when I'm asleep." We step into the Three Broomsticks. "We don't have to eat here, Zoe, I'm sure you must be tired of it by now."

"I get free butterbeers here. Why would I go anywhere else? Wait right here." She leaves me standing by the door while she goes over to a curvy woman with a pretty face who is behind the counter. An angry sort of feeling that I don't understand grips my heart at the sight of Zoe laughing with her and gesturing toward me. The woman nods, smiling, and Zoe disappears to the back, emerging a few minutes later with a victorious grin. "Let's get out of here. I got us some bottles of butterbeer." She hands me one.

"Who was that?"

"The woman? Oh, she's Madam Rosmerta. She owns the Three Broomsticks."

That feeling in my chest subsides.

"What's that look for?" she asks.

"What look?"

"You seemed pained."

I open my bottle of butterbeer and take a large swig. "Just anxious."

Zoe glances around us before saying, "Probably about something we'll need to talk about in private, yeah?"

"That'd be best."

She slides her arm through mine. "Then to my flat it is!" And together we walk to her home, a small flat on the far side of the village. "How's the Gryffindor?"

"Fred?"

"Yeah, him."

"He's good. The shop he runs with George is booming. He's constantly busy creating new things to sell."

She nods, looking slightly disinterested. "When was the last time you saw him?"

I sigh. "Too long ago."

"And were you planning on seeing him today while you're out of Hogwarts?" There's a curious gleam in her honey eyes, and I can't bring myself to answer her. Of course, I thought about going to see Fred today. So why don't I want to tell her the truth, that I was planning on Apparating to Diagon Alley to see him? "Your eyes have glossed over, I see. Just . . . stay here a bit longer before you visit him."

We stop in front of her door, and Zoe pulls out a key. The place is more or less the way I remember it from the last time I was here, but this time, rather than the loft being cluttered with unpacked boxes, the place is cluttered with open sketchbooks, ripped up paintings that didn't make the cut, and cups of what I assume is water, each of them housing an assortment of paintbrushes. Zoe huffs, marching toward the kitchen area, and grabs a bowl off the wooden table, then tosses it into the sink. "I specifically told her to wash the dishes after she ate," she mutters. "She knows I hate the kitchen being dirty."

I smile to myself and glance back at the mess of paintings, canvases, papers, and paintbrushes that seem to have already taken the job of dirtying the place. As if she can read my thoughts, Zoe says, "Don't judge me. Those paintings aren't dirty. They're clutter." She dries the bowl before turning to me. "And in any case, if someone tells you not to leave a mess in their home, you should do your best to not leave a mess in their home, yes?"

"Yeah. Who was here?"

She smiles. "So, what are you anxious about, Marcus?"

I grab a sketchbook off the sofa and plop down, setting the book in my lap. I fiddle with the corners, breathing evenly. "If Draco doesn't succeed with his task, I will become Voldemort's slave in just a few months. If I don't master Occlumency by then, he will know that I have been fighting against him. He will know that Snape is not loyal to him, which will more than likely lead to Snape's death—and regardless of our shaky past, I couldn't live with myself if I caused his death, he's become much too important to me." I look up at her as she comes to sit next to me, eyeing the sketchbook as if she has an intense desire to take it from my hands but doesn't want to because it is so obviously calming for me to fiddle with it. "I just can't do this, you know?"

Her kind eyes meet mine. "I don't know what's going to happen, and I don't know if anyone will truly be able to help you, because who can be sure about anything when it comes to You-Know-Who? But I do know that it could be worse—they could be trying to force you into slavery much earlier."

I watch her silently for a moment. "I can't do this." I lean over and rest my head on her shoulder. "I just can't do this anymore."

She vibrates with silent laughter, her head now resting against mine. "In the words of your namesake, Marcus, 'Nothing happens to anyone that he can't endure.' Well, in this case, that she can't endure, but you get my point."

I smile in spite of myself. "Do you just have that stuff memorized for moments like this?"

"Yeah."

"You're ridiculous."

"I accept that compliment, thank you."

Before I can say another word, the door to Zoe's apartment opens, and in walks a girl with blonde hair a few shades darker than Draco's white blonde, her arms weighed down with bags. "I got some steaks for dinner," she says. The smile on her face fades when she sees me and Zoe on the sofa. "Who's this?"

Zoe tenses. "Kate, this is Charlotte," she says, finally standing to greet this Kate person.

"The Charlotte?"

"Yeah." Zoe kisses this Kate person, and I clench my jaw.

"I think it's time for me to go, I'm sorry." Zoe looks as if she's going to protest, but I continue, "I want to see Fred before I'm required to go back to Hogwarts for . . . the lessons." But by the time I get out of the flat and make my way to the middle of the village, I realize it is too late to go see Fred. I'm supposed to be in Snape's office before dinner, and a trip to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would take me far too long because I would lose track of time.

There is, however, somewhere I can go for a much shorter amount of time that might bring me joy. I Apparate and come to a stop in Bellatrix's room at Malfoy Manor. No one is around, but I call out for Cosmo, who arrives seconds later. "Is Bellatrix here?" He nods. "Could you send her down?"

He vanishes, and seconds later, my mother appears almost exactly where he stood. I smile broadly at her. "Mum."

She rushes toward and grabs my face in her hands, her eyes inspecting my face. "Are you hurt? Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to see you."

Bellatrix pulls me into her arms, her hand holding the back of my head. "What are you doing out of the castle?"

"It's a Hogsmeade day."

"And—and you wanted to come here?" She releases me, her face shocked.

"Yeah, like I said, I wanted to see you. I don't have much time, but . . . Draco said you write to him, to check on me. I thought I'd . . . come show you I'm fine?" As the words leave my mouth, heat trails up my neck. Why does this feel embarrassing?

"You can write me as well," she says.

I grin at her. "I might just start." But I have no idea what to say to her in those.

"How much time do you have?"

I glance at the clock on her wall. "Ten minutes."

"Well, then," she says, looking slightly crestfallen, "I shall keep you all to myself rather than let Cissy know of your presence." We sit on the sofa by her fireplace. "Has Draco come to you?"

"He's keeping his secrets for now, but I'm trying to get him to talk to me so I can help."

She nods. "Don't push him. Let him come to you on his own terms. He's rather like Cissy in that way—they need to go to others for help on their own time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

At no point during my visit does Bellatrix cave and tell me what Draco's assignment is. She doesn't seem to suspect that I know already. My heart is both heavy and light as I hug her once more before returning to Hogsmeade. Perhaps I really should attempt to write to her.

While walking up from the village, almost at the door of the castle, I see Hagrid carrying the limp form of what appears to be a student, followed closely by the Golden Trio and a fourth person I don't know. By the time I reach the entrance hall, McGonagall has taken over and is giving orders to Filch to take a necklace, one that must remain wrapped in a scarf, to Snape. She doesn't notice me lurking around as she escorts the Golden Trio and the other girl away, probably to her office, since it seems something serious has happened.

Once they've disappeared, I make my way down to the dungeons, hoping I've given Filch sufficient time to get away from Snape's office. With a sigh of relief, I pass the caretaker on the steps, but he seems too distracted to say anything to me.

I throw Snape's office door open. "Afternoon, Professor," I say as nonchalantly as possible right now.

He glances over his shoulder at me. "I'm afraid our lessons for today have been postponed. Other matters have come to my attention."

"What's going on with the necklace?"

"And how do you know about that?" He remains focused on something in front of him, probably the necklace in question.

"I overheard McGonagall. What's happened?"

"Someone's been cursed. Beyond that, I cannot say. You may return after dinner so we may attempt to continue your lessons. I am currently unsure if we'll be able to have them at all today, but we can't let someone being cursed stop our plans to get you into the Order, can we?"

"So you're just sending me away then? Without any answers?"

"So it would seem."

I spin on my heel and leave, quietly closing the door behind me. If I want to know what happened, there's really only one option, so I dash up the stairs, going to wait by The Fat Lady for when the Golden Trio finishes talking with McGonagall. Surely, after seeing someone cursed, they would want to retreat to their common room.

I see them walking to the entrance of the Gryffindor Tower before I even have a chance to take up my post there and wait.

"Harry, Malfoy wasn't in Hogsmeade!" Hermione says exasperatedly. I speed toward them, trying to catch them before they duck into the Gryffindor Tower.

"He must have used an accomplice, then," Harry says. "Crabbe or Goyle—or, come to think of it, another Death Eater, he'll have loads better cronies than Crabbe or Goyle now he's joined up—"

"What happened?" I call from behind them. They turn to look at me. "I saw Hagrid carrying someone and a necklace being taken to Snape. What happened?"

Hermione tries to answer me, obviously willing to accept any distraction from her argument with Harry. "Katie Bell was cursed—" is all she can say before Harry interrupts her.

"Tell them, Charlotte! Tell them that Malfoy is a Death Eater! It only makes sense! His father was one! He's replaced his father! Tell them!"

It takes a second before I say, "It makes sense, but I really don't think he is one, Harry. Voldemort would only use the best, and I'll deny I said it if asked, but Draco isn't that good of a wizard." That's not true though; he's not a bad wizard at all.

Harry just stares at me in frustration. Then he huffs and spins around, headed to The Fat Lady once more. Hermione seems apologetic, but she says no more, both she and Ron following Harry into the Tower.

So much for that. However, I might be able to find out the details from Hermione later, when she's not arguing with Harry about something. And if that doesn't work, perhaps I can beg Snape enough that he'll tell me what's happened. I mean, surely this pertains to Voldemort, right? How else would someone get cursed?

Draco. If I truly want to know what happened, he's the one I need to speak with. He'll definitely know what happened—and if he doesn't, then it has nothing to do with the Death Eaters, which means I shouldn't worry too much about it.

My journey back to the Slytherin Dungeon is slow and boring, but my luck is not good enough to allow me to run into Draco before I reach the common room, which, as I find out when the door opens, is much fuller than desired. Many of the students must have returned from Hogsmeade because of the weather, which is steadily growing gloomier.

I take a seat by the sofa, not bothering to search for Daphne or any of the others, instead choosing to just watch the flames while I wait for Draco to return to the common room, which I'm sure he'll do eventually. Though I am relatively calm right now, an overwhelming feeling pecks at my mind and demands my attention: I should've gone to see Fred today, and I regret not doing so. I regret choosing to see Zoe instead. But she knows everything about my duty to Voldemort, so I thought she'd be able to help me more than Fred. I close my eyes.

My mind wanders to Bellatrix. Despite trying not to think about what Draco told me, about Bellatrix checking up on me, it's always there now. And I can't stop the little jolts of happiness—and perhaps pride—that course through me. My mother cares about me.

My mother, the woman I thought was dead for so long, is in my life and is worried about me and my well-being.

That's something I never thought possible.

First, she was dead for so long.

Second, she's Bellatrix Lestrange, the Death Eater who tortured the Longbottoms to insanity.

Third, she was completely disgusted to find out that I was not dead but rather alive and well and the very person Voldemort had chosen to bear him a child—an "honor" that she seems to envy greatly.

As much as I had initially wanted to keep my mother at arm's length because being around her puts me more in Voldemort's immediate circle, I'm failing that rather pathetically; despite my desire not to let Bellatrix get closer to me, a larger part of me desperately wants her to love me.

A Death Eater.

I want a bloody Death Eater to love me.

And that thought makes me sick. How dare I? Death Eaters have been making my life a living hell for so many years, and now I'm desperate to have one of them care for me, love me, spend time with me, write letters to me.

But you're not the only one who wants a parent's love, a voice in the back of my mind says. That very Death Eater whose love you so crave took away Neville's parents. That very Death Eater whose affections you want to win serves the Dark Lord who took Harry's parents from him.

How dare I be so selfish.

I don't go to dinner when the students in the common room get up and leave. I stay where I am, refusing to eat as a way to somewhat punish myself for desiring a relationship with Bellatrix and going so far as to visit her earlier.

When my friends return, I speak with no one, and perhaps they can feel my frustration, for none of them attempts to say anything to me.

But no matter how upset I am with myself, allowing that to ruin my chances of joining the Order is unacceptable, so I force myself to head to Snape's office for my Occlumency lessons.