CHAPTER 40

Hours later, after I've rested from my Occlumency test with Dumbledore and classes have finally come to an end for the day, I'm sitting in the common room with my friends, writing to Fred and Zoe to let them both know my good news. I meant to write them earlier, but rest seemed like the better decision at that moment, for which they could hardly begrudge me given the circumstances. Besides, it's unlikely that they expect an expeditious reply anyway; hopefully they don't assume that I failed.

I am also planning to write Bellatrix back. Though part of her letter frustrated me, it seems that we're truly working toward a better relationship here, so I will put my frustrations aside and write back to her. Before anyone can change my opinion and fill me with doubt, I want to let her know that spending Christmas with her sounds nice.

To my left, Christopher, Ella, Julia, and Jacob each attempt to perform nonverbal spells; despite mine and Daphne's multiple attempts to explain to them that nonverbal spells are an advanced magic and that they likely won't be able to accomplish for quite some time, these tenacious first-years simply refuse to listen. They want to "give it a try anyways." Daphne laughs quietly at them every few minutes and continues trying to explain to them that it's virtually impossible to learn this so soon, but they persist their attempts anyway. It's sort of admirable.

"Who taught you?" Ella asks as the two of us, almost blue in the face. "How did you learn how to do it?"

"I still struggle with it, actually," Daphne says, not removing her eyes from the four of them as their wands shake violently from their effort to cast the spells.

"What about you?" Ella asks. She's the first to give up, and she places her wand on the table in surrender. "How did you learn it so easily already, Charlotte?"

I finish putting the final touches on Zoe's letter, looking forward to the moment I can go to the Owlery and send it off with Milo. "I work better under pressure."

"Meaning?" Julia asks as she, too, surrenders and places her wand on the table.

"I would have lost my fingers had I not silently cast the Shield Charm," I say vaguely. That's not true—I didn't learn the spell then. I still failed. In fact, I only accomplished it the first time because my fury was so overwhelming that not even being silenced was enough to keep me from trying to murder Snape.

"What kind of sick git would do something like that?" Christopher says, still trying to cast the nonverbal spell.

I open my mouth to tell them that it was Professor Snape but catch myself before it's too late. No one needs to know that I learned nonverbal spells because he was threatening me. Well, not really threatening me. He was purposefully pushing my buttons to anger me, but they think my nonverbal spell teacher was threatening me, and it's probably best that they don't believe a Hogwarts professor would be willing to maim a student. They also don't need to know what goes on in any of my lessons with him. "A friend." He's not your friend, he's your professor, a Death Eater, don't get too comfortable; he could turn on you at any moment—any Death Eater could turn on you at any moment. I shove that thought down. No, not every Death Eater will turn against me. Snape, Bellatrix, and Draco will not harm me.

"What kind of friends do you make?" Jacob asks.

Tempted as I am to say something mocking and rude to him, I don't. "He's . . . he's used to teaching people, so he knew how to make me succeed. I don't believe he would have actually taken my fingers."

"'He'?" Julia asks. "Who is this 'he'? Is this Fred?"

"He's strictly a friend. I've never had any desire to be anything more than friends with him . . . but I did kiss him once." I can't help but smile about that, having not thought about it in a long time. It's surprising he didn't use our lessons to get back at me for that, but maybe that's why he was so vicious when he was trying penetrate my mind—it was probably all just a way to get revenge on me because of that—well, that and all of the other things I've done to him. "But it was more of a way of showing my independence. I regret it. It was weird. . . ." I exaggerate a fake gag. "It nauseates me to think about it." Always lying to them.

"So, Fred Weasley is involved in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, yeah?" Christopher asks.

"Yeah."

"I've been there!" Ella exclaims. "It was amazing! I didn't know that was the Fred you were with!"

Christopher sighs loudly and stuffs his wand back into his robes. He, too, has given up on nonverbal spells for the day. "When'd you start dating?" he asks.

Grant, who has been relatively quiet for the past half hour, suddenly leans over Astoria to get in the middle of the conversation. "Yes, Charlotte, I don't believe we've heard this story yet, and I, for one, am curious. How long after you and Draco did you start dating him?" Even Daphne has turned her full attention to this conversation now.

"I don't really know what you want me to say," I laugh.

Astoria sighs dramatically. "Ignore them, Charlotte."

"You and Draco were a thing?" Jacob asks. "What happened? Did he learn your blood status?"

I flick my wand at him and silently use the Langlock Curse that Snape has used on me many times. Jacob grabs his throat and struggles to open his mouth. "My blood status didn't stop me from casting this curse, and your blood status didn't protect you from receiving it. So, really, how important is blood status? What makes purebloods so special?"

He tries in vain to speak, and then hangs his head, and I remove the curse. "What . . . what curse was that?" he asks quietly.

"It was one of the spells invented by my friend."

"Your friend seems like he'd be scum," Jacob mutters.

"I believe you're right," I say. The moment the words leave my mouth, a heart-aching guilt stabs through my chest. How could I have said that about him? Snape isn't scum—he's helped me more than anyone else in my life and deserves so much more than I can ever repay.

Draco walks over at that moment and sits down with us. "She messing with you, Butler?" Jacob nods. "Good." Then he reaches into his robes. "I got you something." I watch him skeptically until he hands me three bottles of butterbeer. "I remember how much you love it."

"Thanks, Draco," I say, smiling. I wave my wand, and nine glasses appear on the table.

"Nine?" he asks.

"Do you not want one?"

He shakes his head. "I've got some things I need to do." Then he gets up and walks away.

I turn back to the glasses and pour some of the butterbeer into all but one. I take one and hand one to each of the friends around me. "Are you sure, Charlotte?" Christopher asks before taking the cup. "It was your gift."

"Just accept it. And enjoy."

As I raise my cup to my lips, I feel the heat of someone taking a seat next to me. "None for me then?" I stop and lower my butterbeer to see Blaise Zabini sitting beside me.

"What?"

"I just thought, considering I'm taking you to Slughorn's Christmas Party, you'd give me some butterbeer as well," he says.

"Not this time, I'm afraid."

Jacob clears his throat, and Zabini and I both look over at him. "Everyone says you're stuck up," the boy says. "Why are you taking a Mudblood to the party?"

"Don't use that word," I say.

"A Mudblood?" Zabini asks.

"Don't use that word," I interject again.

Zabini gives me an odd look, one of confusion mixed with amusement. "Anyways, she's not one of those." There goes that cover. I almost want to smack him. "She's a pureblood. Malfoy told me."

"WHAT?" Jacob bursts.

I slam my heel into Zabini's foot. "OW!" he exclaims. I shoot him a deadly glare. "Anyways, wear something nice, will you?" He winks at me then gets up and leaves the table.

"You're a pureblood?" Julia asks quietly.

I sigh. "Yeah . . . I'm—er—distantly related to Lucius Malfoy."

"My father is a good friend to Mr. Malfoy," Jacob says. "They've never spoken of a 'Rodgers' before."

My brain scrambles for an answer. "Right," I begin, "that's because I'm a bastard. I was born out of wedlock to a pureblooded witch and a fifth cousin of Lucius Malfoy. I kept her last name."

"What happened to her? Your mother?" Julia asks.

I clear my throat. "She was killed. She was trying to save me. A Death Eater killed her." All of the first-years slowly lower their drinks and just look at me, none of them noticing Astoria's confused look. There is so much pity and compassion in their young eyes that I want to crawl under the table and cry but refuse to do that because I've come to terms with Mrs. Stoico's death. "I'm okay. It happened seven years ago."

Jacob now seems uncomfortable. "So . . . when your mother was killed . . . she—she wasn't a—she was a witch?"

"Yes."

Jacob sets his drink on the table and watches me closely. "She . . . she was a pureblooded witch, and they killed her?" I nod, unsure what to do right now. "Why would he kill a pureblood? You-Know-Who? Why would he do that?"

I lower my voice. "Because he's a monster who doesn't just want purebloods to take over the world. He wants only those he thinks worthy to take over."

"Have . . . have you met him?" he asks quietly.

I bite my lip. "Yes, I met him over the holiday." I just don't have to tell them when these holidays were. I'll let them assume whatever they want to assume.

"Then how are you here, sitting there, alive?" Ella asks.

"I don't know. He—he let me live, but I don't know why."

"Is that why you call him by his name?" Jacob asks. "Because you've met him?"

"I call him by his name because it irritates him. He prefers to be called the 'Dark Lord' or 'Master' or whatever his followers consider respectful. I call him Voldemort in a way honor my mum. If she could face a Death Eater with no fears, why can't I call Voldemort by his name, especially when he's not even around me?"

Christopher watches me closely, but it is Jacob who asks, "Did you avenge her? Your mother?"

I want to say yes, but instead, I answer, "A passerby tried to stop him, but it was too late. My mother was dead, and that man, the one who tried to help, killed the Death Eater."

"What did you do? You were young, weren't you?" Julia asks.

"The man—his name was Al—became my guardian for a while but . . . I found another guardian, and she took me to Durmstrang until Igor Karkaroff went missing. Then I came here."

"What happened to Al?" Christopher asks.

"He died—natural causes. He was rather old." I look at the pocket watch from the real Alphard. "But I'd rather not talk about it."

They all nod understandingly. Once we finish the three bottles of butterbeer, the first-years all stand and leave the common room. Astoria puts her hand on my forearm. "Don't leave just yet," she whispers.

I nod without looking at her, and we wait for Grant to retreat from the common room, as well as most of the other students to leave. Daphne waits there with us, and only when we're nearly alone—and by that I mean when there are no students close enough to hear us—do they turn their attention back to me. "Have you written down all of these lies, Charlotte?" Astoria asks, not unkindly, just very matter-of-factly.

"No, but that sounds like a brilliant idea."

"What about you is true? Does anyone here know the truth about you?"

"Yeah, some professors and Draco."

She nods oddly while Daphne makes an almost concerned face. "So what about you that we know is true?" Astoria asks.

"Al—Aphard, actually—really did take me in for a while, but I was too young to remember him. Then he died. I'm not from Durmstrang. In fact, I've never been there before. My mother—well, the woman I considered to be my mother—really did die in front of me, and the man who killed her was a Death Eater. And he is dead now. That's all I can say though, because anything else will be too much, and I'm under strict orders not to speak of it."

"Strict orders from who?" Daphne asks, crossing her legs and watching me closely.

"Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, my family."

Astoria leans closer slightly. "So you know your family?"

"Only discovered them less than a year ago." I click my tongue. "It wasn't a happy reunion, to say the least. They all thought I was dead, and I thought the same of them. It's been rocky ever since, but that's all I can really say for now."

Astoria leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. She and Daphne share a strange look before she says, "I hope to one day know the full truth."

"And perhaps one day you will."

"Just one more question, and this isn't about your family or your past or whatever. This is about you currently," she says.

"Oh boy."

"And we want the truth," Daphne adds.

"I will do my best, but I can make no promises, depending on what you're about to ask."

"Zoe," Astoria says. My lips turn up in a smile, and she gives me a knowing look while Daphne starts picking at something on her knee. "Who is she to you? She writes you constantly, and you always reply as soon as you can. It's the same with Fred. Are the three of you—are you all—together?"

"Merlin, no! Zoe dislikes Fred. Fred is neutral about Zoe. He knows she's my friend."

"And is that all?"

Well, there was that time I wanted to kiss her. And I didn't like seeing that other girl at her flat. And I did tell her things I didn't tell Fred. But, still . . . "Zoe is just . . . she's important to me. We understand each other."

"And does she know the truth about you?" Daphne asks quietly, not meeting my eyes.

"Yes."

"And Fred?"

"Yeah, he knows too." Not all of it.

"But the three of you aren't—"

"No," I say quickly. "It's not like that between me and Zoe." Even though there were times I wish it was—no, you can't think things like that. She's your friend. Just your friend. I have Fred, and he's important to me. "Or between Zoe and Fred for that matter."

"We pretty much knew that," Astoria offers with a grin.

Daphne glances at her sister. "Would you tell us the truth though? If there was something?"

"I like to think I would."

They nod to each other, and Astoria says, "Well, those are our questions."

Together they stand up and start making their way to the stairs. "And you're just gonna walk away after that?" I laugh.

"Yeah, you never stick around after interrogating someone, Rodgers," Daphne says over her shoulder. They smile at me one more time before disappearing up the stairs.

Once they've gone up the stairs, I wave my wand, and the two bottles of butterbeer from Zoe fly down to me from the dormitory. With the bottles in my hand, I stand and leave the common room, and despite the late hour, no one tries to stop me.

I knock on Snape's door, and a few moments later he opens it, looking confused that I knocked instead of bursting in. "Rodgers?"

I clear my throat. "Evening, Professor. Nothing's wrong. No student's in peril or anything."

He looks up and down the corridor. "Then what are you doing out past curfew?"

"I wanted to thank you, sir."

"I believe you've already thanked me."

Heat rises up my neck. "Right, well, I'm not just here to thank you for getting me into the Order." He steps aside and allows me to enter his office. We walk to his desk, and I sit down, then wait for him to take his seat. "I know this isn't much of a thank-you, but"—I place a bottle of butterbeer on his desk—"it's all I have at the moment. Do you like butterbeer?"

Snape looks at the bottle like it's a foreign object for a few heartbeats before reaching forward and taking it into his hand. "I do."

"Fantastic. Well, this is a thanks for putting up with me and my bad food and the edible Dark Marks over the holiday and for the potion you brewed me. As well as a final olive branch, I guess." I try to offer him a smile. "I'm going to do my best not to disrespect you like I did over the holidays. You know, by running off and such. I don't act like it often, but I really do appreciate all you've done for me."

He clenches his jaw, looking at me as if debating something, then sighs and waves his wand. Two glasses appear on his desk. "A celebration is in order, I believe."

"For your being so good of a teacher? Or for my joining the Order?"

He pauses for a moment, then says, "Yes."

"Well, that bottle is for you only." I produce the other bottle. "I brought my own." He almost looks pleased. "I know this doesn't make up for all the hours you've put into helping me, but . . . it felt right to do something." He hides his smile this time by drinking the butterbeer. "So, I believe there's something I need to tell you about Bellatrix?"

"Yes, that was part of the agreement earlier."

I fiddle with the bottle of butterbeer as I give him a rundown of what Bellatrix said in her letter. He doesn't seem the least bit irritated by her saying that he can't be trusted and that I should not put my faith in him, but when I relay to him the part about her trying to find a way for me to spend the holiday with her, he visibly becomes angry. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrow, and he sits back in his chair, his grip on the butterbeer tightening to the point where his knuckles turn white. Why does this bother him so much?

"I know, I know, it's not a good idea, but—"

"It's an absolutely atrocious idea. It's dangerous for you to spend time with her, and you know that. You're tempted to serve the Dark Lord to please her, and you think for a moment that you could handle spending the holiday with her without—"

"I know I can't. She's actually influencing me in ways that I didn't plan. I mean, Merlin, I ran away from the castle to spend a little bit of time with her. But if the Dark Lord grants her permission to take me away for the holiday, is there anything anyone can do to stop it? He knows I fear him. What if he thinks she can—I don't know—reassure me about all of it or whatever?"

He watches me for a moment, a strained expression on his face. "I—I don't know. I doubt there will be any stopping it if she thinks she can help you." He places his half-finished bottle on his desk. "What if I were to inform the Dark Lord that you are already coming around? Don't make that face. If I convince him that you're not nearly as afraid as you used to be, he might not make you go with her for the holiday."

"So you want to lie to him? You think we can just—convince him that I'm suddenly not terrified of him? That all it took was a few weeks and suddenly I'm ready to have his child without any fear, any apprehension? I'm ready to give birth to the Dark Lord's spawn?" I hope not, because part of me wants to spend my Christmas holiday with Bellatrix. It'll be the first time that I will ever have a chance to spend a happy holiday with my mother. How could I possibly turn down something like that?

He frowns at me, like he can see my thoughts. "You can't let yourself—she's not your mother. She's a Death Eater—"

"So are you. And you're still my professor and my mentor." And a friend? "And I'm currently sitting in your office sharing a butterbeer with someone almost no one on either side of this conflict trusts. I'm sure most of the Order would be—most of them would say the same thing that Bellatrix says. That I shouldn't let my guard down around you the way I do, just as you say I can't let my guard down around her. And yet here I am, giving you the benefit of the doubt—"

"That's different."

I swallow down the anger rising. "How?"

"I like to believe I've earned the benefit of the doubt from you. What has your mother ever done to help you? What has she done besides Cruciate you?" Enraged tears prick my eyes and blur my vision, but through them, I can see his face soften. "I truly do pity you, Charlotte. Of all the people in this world to be your mother, you got lashed to Bellatrix Lestrange. I know that's not what you wanted, and it's not what I—you know you cannot have a normal relationship with her."

I tighten my hold on my bottle of butterbeer. "I know that," I grind out, blinking back the tears. "I know I can't have a normal relationship with her. But can't I—I don't know—not have a relationship with her that's built on hate? Is that too much for me to ask for? That my mother and I not hate one another?"

Snape picks up his butterbeer and takes a large gulp. "If she clears it with the Dark Lord, there's nothing either of us could do anyway." His lip twitches as if he wants to curl in it a snarl. "And I suppose it would be unwise to tell the Dark Lord that you're handling your duty well. You might be a good liar, but I doubt if you could keep up that façade when you're around him."

Why does it bother me so much that he seems so unhappy with the idea of me spending time with Bellatrix? I understand why he doesn't want me to be around her, but why does his reaction get under my skin like this? The whole point of bringing him this butterbeer in the first place was to thank him and to smooth over our past issues, and now I'm growing angry with him again. "Perhaps I won't have to go."

He seems highly skeptical that I won't have to go—and I have to force down my slight joy about that because his skepticism means I'll probably get to spend Christmas with my mother. He eyes me closely as a I take another swig of my drink. "There's something else, isn't there? Something you haven't told me?" I look down at my drink. "What are you hiding?"

I sigh, deciding it's best not to risk him finding out another way. "Depending on how the summer holiday goes, she—"

"She wants you to live at the manor again?"

The anger and hatred toward Bellatrix in his voice stun me into silence momentarily. Does he believe I would so easily cave and willingly serve the Dark Lord just because she's nice to me? "No, she—actually, she hasn't said anything about that. No, she agreed to teach me Astronomy."

Snape's eyes narrow, his grip on the butterbeer tightening again. "The term 'agreed' implies that you asked." His face fills with disappointment, and his expression sends my heart plummeting. "You've been writing to her, haven't you?"

"Just a handful of times. And I didn't specifically ask her—"

"You must be careful," he says softly. "I, too, once spent my time with Death Eaters not because I truly wanted to be one but because I wanted to be a part of something. And then then, suddenly, being a Death Eater didn't sound quite so bad anymore."

"I know," I sigh. "I'll be as careful as I can."

Snape lifts the bottle to his lips and is silent for a moment. "As it turns out, however, Professor Dumbledore . . . thinks it could be advantageous if the Dark Lord's best lieutenant has some sort of affinity for a Hogwarts student; consequently, I cannot advise you to avoid her altogether. I can only emphasize that you keep yourself in check around her and do not allow her influence to ruin everything you've worked so hard for."

My throat tightens with embarrassment and disappointment. "What does that mean?"

"It means that perhaps having the Dark Lord's most avid supporter fretting about the well-being of a Hogwarts student will lend some protection to all of the students here. So long as you are present, it seems likely that Bellatrix would use her leverage with the Dark Lord to prevent a full-scale attack due to her fear for your safety. Mind you, even her leverage has its limits."

Tears burn my eyes; heat rises to my neck and cheeks. "So that's the real reason Professor Dumbledore allowed me into the Order, isn't it? Not because I earned it but because ensuring my loyalty to him is advantageous." I take a drink from my bottle to hide my expression as much as possible.

"Absolutely not," he says, his tone severe. "Look at me, Charlotte." I lower the bottle to meet his eyes. "Professor Dumbledore believes you have the right to defend yourself and will be an asset to the Order. That's why he let you join. Don't misunderstand me. Who your mother is and how her affection for you has grown"—his jaw shifts strangely at this words, his countenance just shy of angry—"merely presents an opportunity."

"Then why are you so against me spending time with her if that's what Professor Dumbledore thinks is the right move?"

Snape exhales. "He doesn't know you as well as I and does not know how difficult it will be for you to keep your mother at arm's length."