CHAPTER 61
Snape paces back and forth, and it's not until I slam the door shut that he realizes my presence. His face drops; then he starts smiling and rushes toward me and, to my great astonishment, wraps me in his arms. "Charlotte! I thought you were dead," he breathes, his forehead on my shoulder. "I sneaked into St. Mungo's and saw you lying there. . . ."
What the hell is happening?
"The Dark Lord forbade any of us from going, but I—Merlin, Charlotte." He pulls away from me but keeps his hands on my shoulders. "Those Healers were all but incompetent, and I don't believe you ever told me how close—"
I shove him backward, wincing. "Get the hell away from me! Don't you dare fucking touch me!"
"Charlotte—"
"HOW DARE YOU! HE TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU!"
"You must understand—"
"Understand what? That you killed the man who vouched for you? That you betrayed me? That because of your actions, I was Cruciated by my mother, I was attacked by a damn Death Eater, I was sent to St. Mungo's, I missed Dumbledore's funeral, I—HOW DARE YOU?" My adrenaline pumps through me, my blood pounds loudly in my ears, and my vision goes red with the lust to attack him.
"Give me a minute to explain, and everything will make sense. You just need to give me a chance."
"Did you give Dumbledore a chance? Did you? Did you give him a chance to fight back, or did you kill him the cowardly way? ANSWER ME! You murdered him! You murdered him in cold blood! He's the only person who could have helped me escape You-Know-Who!"
Snape steps forward. "'You-Know-Who'? Charlotte, why—"
"Because he has the power to turn everyone I trust! You! My mum! Everyone was—you both turned on me! I trusted you with my life, and you betrayed me!"
Snape raises his hands as if approaching a wild animal, and something about his stance sends a pulse of rage through me, and I cannot stop myself. A loud scream, both from pain and anger, escapes me as I lunge forward and tackle him to the floor.
I pin Snape to the floor and throw my fist across his face, but before I have a chance to get in another punch, he grabs me by the waist—I yelp in pain as flames erupt across my side—and tosses me aside, my back hitting the edge of the coffee table. I scramble to my feet to prepare to kick him, only to find that he is on his feet as well. I rush forward, screaming obscenities, and begin ramming my fists into his chest, whimpering with pain every time I make contact with him, my side begging me to cease this pointless attack.
"Enough!"
"YOU KILLED HIM!" I shriek, managing to connect my fist with his face and draw blood from his lip. He does not strike back. "HE WAS GOING TO HELP ME! YOU WERE GOING TO HELP ME! YOU'VE BEEN LYING THIS WHOLE TIME!" It's like everything has finally come crashing down on me, and I've lost myself just like when I attacked Umbridge last year.
"STOP!"
"YOU BLOODY COWARD!" I thrust my hands into his chest repeatedly. "I TRUSTED YOU!"
Snape grumbles but does nothing to stop me from attacking him.
"Do something!" I cry. "Fight back! Do something!"
Yet he still does not try to stop me. He lets me attack him until I go for his eye, at which point he dodges aside, moving faster than I thought possible for him, and grabs my wrist to pin my arm to my side, and when I try to swing at him with my free hand, he grabs it as well and shoves me backward until I'm trapped against the wall, my hands above my head. The position pulls at my side, and I whimper. "YOU COWARD!"
I attempt once more to kick him, but Snape throws his leg inward to take the hit and then rams his hip into my legs and pins them to the wall as well, rendering them useless. "Stop," he says, his face now close to mine.
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME TOO? YOU KILLED A MAN WHO COULD HAVE SAVED ME! TAKE ME OUT OF MY MISERY! KILL ME!"
A groan of pain breaks free from me, and I close my eyes, preparing to vomit on him. He seems to realize that my arms being pulled above my head is the source of my pain, and he takes my wrists in his hands and pins them down by my sides. I almost sigh in relief. "Give me a chance to explain," he says.
"Kill me. Kill me, like you killed Dumbledore, Severus." I spit his name like it's poison in my mouth. I don't understand why this seems to affect him more than everything else I've said during this encounter, but his face drops as if this is the worst thing I have ever said to him. And it feels good to disrespect him that badly after everything he's put me through.
"I believe I'm still your professor," he says softly.
"Yeah, all right," I snicker. "You're going to waltz right back into Hogwarts, are you?" I throw my head back in exaggerated laughter. "Good luck with that, Snivellus!"
"I'll be back at Hogwarts," he says matter-of-factly, ignoring what I have just called him, which kind of frustrates me because I only called him that to get a rise out of him. "I'll be headmaster."
"You murdered Dumbledore," I hiss. "You murdered Albus Dumbledore and—"
"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?" he shouts. I flinch at his anger, but mostly I flinch because he sounds broken, his voice strained, his eyes in pain. But whatever is bothering him, I can't bring myself to truly care. He killed Dumbledore, and that's all that matters. "You think I don't know what I've done? You think I wanted to do that?"
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT—"
"Albus Dumbledore was dying anyway!"
"So am I, so what don't you go ahead and kill me?"
Snape takes a step away from me, and I sink to the floor, pressing my hand against my side and growling in pain. "I did not have a choice," he says quietly.
"Bellatrix said the same thing about Cruciating me, and she obviously had a choice. Why should I believe you?"
"Because it's the truth," he whispers. "I wasn't given a choice."
"And now you've taken mine away." I bury my face into my knees. "I trusted you."
Snape sinks to the floor next to me, our shoulders now touching. "As did Professor Dumbledore, which is why he knew that if he asked me to end his life, I would do it. Albus was the closest . . . friend I've had in my adult life. I would never have killed him without reason."
"What reason could you possibly have?" I growl.
"His hand—the one that looked dead—was cursed. The curse was going to kill him in a few months," Snape says quietly. "He . . . he asked me to save him from a humiliating death."
"So you killed him? Sent his body over the edge of the Astronomy Tower?" I reply coldly.
"I killed him in battle, the way he needed me to, the way he asked me to. I didn't have a choice." He looks over at me. "You said you trusted me. Is that still true?"
"No."
"Do you really have a choice?"
A wail escapes me, and my body begins trembling. Not caring about the consequences, only needing someone to be close to right now after everything that's happened in the past couple of days, I rest my face against his chest, sobbing, and clench his robes in my hands.
Snape puts his arm around me and rests his head on top of mine, his body slightly trembling with what I assume are suppressed hiccoughs of his own.
Only one night has passed, and already I feel myself slipping away. Am I even a real person? Is all of this even happening? How did I end up here? How is it June, nothing more than a few weeks before the Dark Lord calls upon me? I stare at a scratch on the table, slowly sliding my thumb across it repeatedly, absentmindedly counting how many times my thumb crosses the center. Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty four. Tears slip down my cheeks. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears and the sound of my inner voice still counting.
She tortured me.
Thirty-nine. Forty. Forty-one.
She Cruciated me.
She watched me break my nose and kept going.
She watched blood ooze from my eyes and continued torturing me.
Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six.
He killed him.
Dumbledore and Hogwarts were my only real protection, and he killed him.
He knows what this means for me, what will happen to me, and he killed him.
He planned this all year and let me think that there was hope.
Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven.
I have to get out of here. I can flee to Zoe, and we can go on the run together until You-Know-Who dies. That's the only option at this point.
Snape sets a glass down in front of me, and I flinch, my eyes darting to him for half a second before landing on what appears to be orange juice. I've lost my count, and with it dies any hope of successfully fleeing. That wouldn't be fair to Zoe, to McGonagall, to Narcissa, to my friends at Hogwarts. And it wouldn't be fair to me; I can't live like that again.
"Orange juice. Drink it." It's the first thing either of us has said to the other since we cried together on his floor yesterday, and a spike of fear shoots down my spine. Could it be poisoned? Would he be willing to kill me too? He turns back around and walks to the stove where the bacon is sizzling. The toaster pops, sending two pieces of fresh toast into the air that then make their way to two waiting plates. My eyes find Snape's back; he's not yet wearing his typical robes but rather a pair of black trousers and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Where is he going that he must dress like a Muggle?
A plate of fruit floats to the table, followed by two plates with eggs, bacon, and toast. Snape watches me closely, his expression one of pain, perhaps sorrow; he looks broken. His eyes monitor me as I look down at a plate with more food than I am capable of stomaching right now. I wipe another tear before it can fall. My chest feels immensely heavy, and in this moment, more than anything, I miss speaking with him. But opening my mouth to talk to him right now is not the same as it was. He isn't the same.
I close my eyes while chewing, doing my best to ignore the heavy weight on my chest, and try to expel the doubts from my mind. Snape wouldn't lie about why he killed Dumbledore.
Or would he?
Of course he wouldn't—look at him. He looks like death himself, rings under his eyes, a blank expression on his face, sadness in his eyes running deeper than ever before.
That doesn't matter. All of that can be explained away—he didn't sleep well, he's bored in my presence, he's sad his cover at Hogwarts has been forever blown because he's a murderer! And if he murdered Dumbledore, who's to say he won't murder you too?
With great difficulty, I swallow down a bite of toast, unable to look up from my plate at him, unable to say anything to him, unable to stop the fear slowly growing stronger in my chest. Stop it, stop it, he wouldn't lie about why he killed Dumbledore and he wouldn't hurt you.
Another, angrier voice in my head continues arguing. You don't even really know the man! You've seen glimpses of his past, and that's it! You know nothing!
"What did Bellatrix do to you?" he asks quietly. The sound, however gentle it was, still sends a shock through me, and I flinch at the words, the sound, his voice. The toast halfway to my mouth again, I try to look up at him but can't—instead I watch his chest as he breathes more evenly than natural, then his hands as they fidget together, the the spot behind his ears because looking at his person hurts more than anything right now. Those black eyes make me ill to look upon—he could kill me at any minute. He's known you a fraction of the time he knew Dumbledore, and he killed him without a second thought. "Charlotte—"
"Please," I say, trembling now as I lower the toast back to the plate, still unable to make eye contact, unsure whether I'm begging him to stop asking or begging him to stop speaking to me at all. "Please."
"We—Narcissa, Draco, and I—we heard your screams." I close my eyes, but that does not stop the tears from flowing. "They rang out for—tell me she didn't Cruciate you the whole time you were screaming." Shaking my head, unable to look up at him, I hear his chair scrape on the floor as he shuffles into the chair beside me, his knee against mine. "Charlotte—" A sobs rips free from me and silences him. "The streaks of blood on your face when I saw you in St. Mungo's—she Cruciated you until your eyes bled?"
"And my throat," I whisper, surprised to hear myself answer. "It ripped and bled from the screams." I swallow thickly, not looking at him. "And—and some of it was—some of the blood was from her—her clawing down my face. When I tried to strangle her." The sobs come in full force, and why bother stopping them? I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and rest my elbows on the table, letting my body convulse with my wails.
A gentle hand rests on my shoulder, disappears when I flinch, and then returns. "Look at me, Charlotte." I remove my palms from my eyes and try to look at him but can only manage to look at his chin before giving up and gazing down at my hands, which now lie on the table. Very slowly, giving me time to pull away, he reaches over and takes one of my hands, then holds it in both of his. I do not fight. "I will not hurt you like she did." My trembling intensifies, and he glances at the hand that is now shaking so violently in his. "Charlotte, please look at me." Against my better judgment and fighting every second, I force my eyes from our hands to his chest, to his chin, to his forehead, to the area behind his ear, and finally to his eyes. I fight down the sob in my chest at the pain and sorrow in his black eyes, the heartbreak on his face, the agony in his every feature. "I will not hurt you," he says evenly, sincerely. "I will never do to you what Bellatrix did."
"You killed him," I breathe. "How do I know—"
"Because I didn't want to," he says, his voice cracking. "I never wanted to hurt him. He trusted me to—"
"I trusted her, and I trusted you."
His head drops, and tears spill from his eyes and roll down his hooked nose, then fall to the table. "I didn't want to hurt him," Snape says airily.
"Bellatrix said she didn't want to hurt me either."
His head snaps up quickly, his eyes furious for half a second before devolving into sorrow once more. "That's not comparable. You know that's not comparable." He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "You know it's not comparable, because you came here, didn't you? After she attacked you?" I blink at him. "You came here because you knew I—"
"I wasn't thinking when I left the manor," I say voicelessly. "I just—I was scared and hurt and wanted—wanted to be somewhere safe." His eyes soften. "So I came here. And then I remembered—I remembered what you did." His head drops, hanging. "And I realized I'm not—I'm not safe here anymore. I'm not safe anywhere."
Snape squeezes my hand gently. "That's not true. I never wanted you to be hurt; had I been able to stop it, I—" He shakes his head. "Had I known what would've happened, I would've Stunned you and left you invisible in my office. I never—I never would've—"
"Why didn't you? Why didn't you force me to stay behind? You're powerful enough. You knew what was going to happen that night to Dumbledore."
His mouth opens and closes; then he sighs. "I didn't know the Dark Lord would react to your presence the way he did. I—I had hoped he'd let you return to Spinner's End with me, and I could explain everything to you. I could tell you everything that happened between Professor Dumbledore and me. I didn't want you to find out at Hogwarts when I wasn't there to—" Tears start down his face. "You never would've believed me. You never would've listened to me. I needed to be the one to tell you, to explain what Dumbledore asked of me." His hand trembles in mine. "You have to believe me, Charlotte. Someone has to believe me." He swallows with difficulty. "Please."
Before me, I no longer see Severus Snape, the professor who killed Dumbledore in cold blood, but rather a younger version of him, one who cowered in the corner of the living room in this very house, one who later fell into that room as a young adult—not much older than I am now, I realize—sobbing in a plea for forgiveness that no one ever heard. He is the same terribly grief-stricken man that he was in those memories, and it's this fact—that he is mourning Dumbledore like he did Lily—that ultimately makes me believe he is telling me the genuine truth right now and pulls my voice from my throat in a hoarse whisper. "Of course I believe you."
Instant, unfathomable relief floods his features, and a weight seems to lift from his shoulders as he releases my hand and leans back in his chair. For a brief moment he seems overcome with emotion—he exhales deeply and wipes his eyes. We sit that way for a few minutes before he turns his attention back to me. "Thank you," he says softly.
I wipe my nose and eyes on the napkin, and with this acceptance of what he's claimed, a peace settles over me. He didn't betray me, and he won't hurt me. Safe: that's the feeling in my chest right now. I'm safe with him. "I—I'm sorry I doubted you," I whisper.
Snape waves the words away. "How could you not have? I killed—" A crack in his voice stops him, and he just shakes his head.
"You came to St. Mungo's?" I ask quietly.
His eyes snap over to me. "Yes."
"Early enough to see the blood on my face?"
"After you Disapparated from here, I . . ." He just shakes his head and does not continue that line of thought. "It wasn't until later that night that we learned you were at St. Mungo's." My brow furrows, and he adds, "The Dark Lord has followers everywhere." My skin grows cold. "We were forbidden from going—Narcissa begged to be an exception, but . . ." He inhales. "I went that night."
"Did you come again?"
He looks away from me. "Yes. Twice."
"Why—"
"I stole the knife to learn more. I discovered—I'm familiar with the magic he used. So I returned once more with a potion."
That was real. "You put it on my side."
"You woke briefly. The Healers managed from there."
I let this sink in momentarily, tears stinging my eyes, then lean over and put my arms around him. "You saved my life."
"I won't let you die."
"I—I know. When I was at Hogwarts, I begged them—begged them to take me to you. Because I knew you'd help me. I regretted leaving here almost as soon as I did. I—I Splinched my arm from the indecision." He exhales heavily. "I should have stayed."
He pats my back, and I release him, whining at the effort of sitting up straight again. "You need to go put something on that."
Nodding, I stand gingerly and make my way upstairs.
How many times did he tell me that the wizard in control had everything planned already? That was his way of telling me that everything he had to do was under Dumbledore's orders, not the Dark Lord's, because obviously Dumbledore would be the one in control between the two of them. But how many people will ever believe Snape? Had it not been for the massive amount of time we've spent together, I certainly would not have believed him.
Only after closing the door behind me do I consider finding the silver amulet Dumbledore gave me what feels like an eternity ago. What I want with it is unclear, but I want to see it—to see the chessboard that shows Snape and me both in white rather than black. So I dig around in my trunk until my fingers graze the silver chain where it resides with the Black family heirloom. With a sigh, I place it on the bed and wave my wand at it, the chess board appearing instantly at my command; only this time, it looks different than before. Things have changed—the pieces are no longer the way they had been, have moved around, which surprises me despite knowing how powerful and clever Dumbledore was. Sure, I believed him when he told me that the chess pieces moved depending on what happens in real life, but I had never seen evidence of that until this moment.
My eyes find the Harry pawn that Dumbledore pointed out to me when he gave me the board, and while he has not moved from his position, Dumbledore's queen piece—the one who had been protecting the Harry pawn for so many years—is smashed into two pieces, the two halves lying helplessly on the silver board. In its place stands yet another white queen, before which are the shattered remains of what appears to be a black bishop. For whom that is a stand-in is unimportant—it's doubtful I'd be able to guess regardless—so I leave that piece alone and gingerly pick up what is left of Dumbledore's queen.
I roll it over in my hands a few times. I was in St. Mungo's when he was buried, was unconscious when they put him in the ground. Perhaps I could have found a way to speak with the Golden Trio after the funeral. If Dumbledore truly believes—believed, I remind myself—that Harry can defeat the Dark Lord, it would probably be beneficial for him to know that said Dark Lord is trying to produce a child. Though I don't yet know what he plans to do with a child, since it's something the Dark Lord wants, it simply cannot mean anything good for anyone. What if he's trying to find a way to become immortal? I shake that thought out of my head. That's impossible.
I crawl to the foot of the bed and reach into my trunk, fondling around until I find my wooden box. I pull it from the trunk and place it on my bed. Inside is everything that has ever meant anything to me, and I place the two halves of Dumbledore's queen beside the coin from Dumbledore's Army and the spot reserved for the amulet and the ring given to me by my mother—Bellatrix, she gave up the role of my mother when she Cruciated me; no, a voice says in the back of my mind, she could have made it worse but showed mercy despite what the Dark Lord threatened.
If Snape is in charge of Hogwarts next year, as he believes he will be, Dumbledore's Army will no doubt be reinstated. Keeping the amulet close by might help me learn what they're doing so that I can keep Snape informed. Assuming the Dark Lord doesn't shackle you in the manor cellar. They'll most likely treat him as poorly as they did Umbridge—with good reason—as by now I'm sure many of them know that Snape killed Dumbledore. I mean, they saw him flee the castle with the Death Eaters. No one knows the truth behind his actions.
After securing the Dumbledore piece in its spot, my eyes drift back to the chess board and land on the queen that has so valiantly taken up Dumbledore's position. None of the other pieces have moved—all movement likely ended after Dumbledore's death. I reach forward and try to pick up Dumbledore's replacement, but it refuses to budge. Then, suddenly, a needle emerges from the top of it, and I grab it since I cannot pick up the queen itself.
The little needle snaps in half without me trying to break it, and the two halves form themselves into a small piece of parchment. Brow furrowed, very concerned, I take it in my fingers and unroll it.
Rodgers,
Professor Snape does not know that I have written this, and it would be best that he never learns of its existence. I know what he will do, as it was I myself who commissioned him to do it. You must trust that he will help you through the rest of your journey. He is the other queen on the board, the one about which you asked, and he will do his best to help you.
I now ask something of you. Help him in return. His role will not be easy, but sharing the burden he faces will allow him to continue with less difficulty. He respects you. Speak with him and believe what he says. Help him.
Albus Dumbledore
I stare down at the short note before making a decision, pulling out my wand, and setting the paper ablaze. Its ashes fall to the bed and create a mess, but that's also something Snape doesn't need to know about.
This time when I reach for the queen, it easily comes off the board. I suppose it must have been charmed by Dumbledore so I could find the note. But how am I supposed to help Snape?
Dumbledore told me that the queen that was ready to take his place had once been a pawn. Snape was a pawn in the Dark Lord's scheme, and now he's a queen on Dumbledore's side of the war. He is protecting Harry. He is trying to help me prepare myself for when I am called upon by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
How is he going to help anyone when the entire Wizarding World thinks he is a murderer?
I place the queen back in its space, wave my wand at the board, slide the amulet back onto the chain with the ring, put them both back into the box, and shove the box back into the trunk.
The entire world—or at least the Order—believes Snape is nothing more than a murderer, a traitor who wants the Dark Lord to destroy Harry Potter. How long did he know he would have to kill Dumbledore? How long did he sit with that, dreading that moment, all alone?
I lie down on the bed, grab the potion for my side, and begin applying it.
I might very well be the only living person who knows the truth about Snape now besides himself. Whatever differences he and I once had, Snape has been my greatest defender and protector for almost a year now. How he has helped me cannot truly be calculated; all he's done for me cannot be accounted for. And now it's my turn to help him—Dumbledore has asked me to help him, which means he must suspect that Snape will struggle in this upcoming year.
Snape and I are in this together now, and I will do all in my power to get us both through it.
End of Part Two.