CHAPTER 3

Snape and I have not spoken about the arrangements that will soon force me to go to Malfoy Manor without him. He refused to let me go back to Zoe's again today in fear that I would not return, and in all honesty, he was probably right—he would've had to come hunt me down and drag me back here to make me go to the manor, which would just waste time that he apparently does not have.

I realized a short while after retreating to my borrowed room that being alone is not actually a good thing for me right now and so returned to the living room. Snape didn't question me when I laid down on the sofa, for which I am incredibly grateful because admitting to him that being around him makes me feel slightly stronger and braver feels deeply embarrassing. Even to me, it seems pathetic how much strength I draw from his presence; he was the only reason I succeeded at all when Dumbledore testing my Occlumency.

Despite how long I've been trying to fall asleep on this uncomfortable sofa of Snape's, nothing seems to calm me down long enough to allow sleep to overtake me, not even just being in his presence. I'm terrified of returning to the manor despite my daily trips because this time, the Dark Lord will be around me. Until now, all of my hourlong visits with Bellatrix have not involved the Dark Lord at all. Seeing him will just reaffirm that the time for my duty is approaching too quickly as it is; the thought sends ice through my veins.

"I believe it's time for you to go," Snape says softly. I clasp my hands together on my stomach and look at him pointedly, begging him not to make me leave even though we both know there is no other option. "I'll meet you there later. Keep to yourself. Don't draw any attention to yourself. Act normal, and nothing will happen to you."

"Can you be sure about that?"

He pauses for a second. "Yes."

I close my eyes and take a breath, then roll myself off the sofa and stand to my feet. "And you'll be there as soon as possible?"

He nods and says, "You need to go to the kitchen."

I stare at him for a moment, trying to soak up whatever strength he gives me, then Apparate. In the kitchen of Malfoy Manor stands Bellatrix, waiting for me seemingly agitatedly, who immediately rushes over to me and puts her arms around me. "Aurelia."

"How many times must I tell you not to touch me?" I hiss, pushing her away with all my might, gasping in pain from my side but also feeling a cruel joy when her face drops as if I struck across the cheek. The bruises on her neck have completely disappeared now.

She clenches her hands into fists by her side and sets her jaw stubbornly. "Your time here has not yet changed anything?" she asks.

I frown at her, my heart torn between accepting her back into my life and protecting my against potential pain. "You Cruciated me for seven minutes, and—"

"I didn't have—"

"Let's give it a day for every second I wished for death, shall we? Or, perhaps a year per minute?"

"You're being unreasonable."

"You hurt me. And you still haven't apologized."

"You wanted it to be organic."

"And you haven't organically felt remorse yet? That's disgusting."

Hardly containing her rage, Bellatrix looks away from me and says, "Come with me. The Dark Lord is waiting." She leads me through the manor in silence. She had no choice, Charlotte. You of all people must understand that. I close my eyes and shake the thought from my head. You have the same choices she has—face the Dark Lord or die. It's not really a choice, and neither was the choice Bellatrix was given.

It does not matter whether she truly had a choice because I know that she would have chosen the Dark Lord either way. Before that moment, I claimed her as a mother. I would have been proud—well, somewhat proud but not completely considering who she is—to call her my mother openly and publicly, but the Dark Lord has his hooks in her too deeply for her to ever truly be my mother now. I will never beat him for her love and loyalty; she will always choose him over me. It's time to accept that and move on.

"No one can know who you are," she says to me when we reach the door of the drawing room.

"As if I'd want any of them to know I'm your daughter," I say bitterly.

She closes her eyes for a split second, as if genuinely hurt by my words. Good. She pushes the door open. Inside the drawing room, around the large table, are the Death Eaters of the Inner Circle; the Dark Lord himself sits at the head of the table directly in front of the blazing fireplace. I can just barely make out his silhouette, but that alone is enough to send a chill down my spine. A woman is suspended in the air over the table as if she is attached to a rope, but only Draco seems to be paying any attention to her.

"Charlotte," the Dark Lord's raspy voice floats through the room to me. "Come."

I take a shaky breath and walk over to him as Bellatrix moves to sit beside Narcissa at the table. With the pressure of every pair of eyes in this room staring at me, I find it difficult to breathe. Where is Snape? I lock my gaze on Draco, the only person I can handle looking at right now. "For those of you who do not know," the Dark Lord begins, "we are graced by the presence of a young witch who will help me maintain my reign of the Wizarding World. This is Charlotte Rodgers."

The man sitting across from Draco shifts, his eyes full of hatred has he gazes upon me. Why does he look familiar?

"She will give me an heir."

An heir? He can't possibly want an heir. He came back once and will no doubt try to do so again, rendering an heir unnecessary. Is he lying to all of them? I glance at my mother. Does she know whether this is true or not? The Death Eaters all watch me closely, and heat flushes my face as it sinks in that they all know what is to happen to me, what the Dark Lord will do to me. I clear my throat and look down at my feet.

"She is to remain safe and protected."

Perhaps Snape was right about that at least. The Death Eaters here are unlikely to harm me now that the Dark Lord has demanded my safety.

"Take a seat next to Bellatrix."

"Y-yes, my Lord," I say with a slight bow. Then I go to sit beside Bellatrix, who does not even acknowledge me.

I look down at my lap and try to ignore the eyes that are still on me.

"Young Miss Rodgers will be attending Hogwarts in the coming year." The Dark Lord pauses for a split-second and adds with a mocking tone, "Now that Dumbledore is dead." The others snigger. Did they not know where I was before? They didn't even know who you were, Charlotte. Regardless, peace settles into my chest because I will be able to be at Hogwarts, with my friends and with Snape. "Amycus, Alecto, she is to be respected while there."

Two people at the end of the table quickly say, "Yes, my Lord." I recognize the woman as the one who was trying to Cruciate Ginny after Dumbledore's death. He wants them to keep an eye on me. He can't trust Bellatrix to do that now that he knows she cares for me, so he's sending me back to Hogwarts to be watched. To be babysat by those two. And Snape.

I focus once more back on my lap, uncomfortable looking anywhere else, until I hear the Dark Lord say, "Yaxley, Snape, you are very nearly late."

My eyes dart upward, but Snape does not look at me. He only watches the Dark Lord, which I can't really blame him for because he has to seem like an obedient follower and likely has to seem as if he hardly knows me.

"Severus, here." He motions to a chair directly to the right of him. "Yaxley—beside Dolohov." Once they have taken their seats, the Dark Lord looks to Snape. "So?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

The Death Eaters fidget and murmur, each of them now watching the Dark Lord and Snape more intently, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named pays them no mind, his eyes focused solely on Snape with such intensity that he must be applying Legilimency. "Saturday . . . at nightfall," he repeats. Snape looks calmly back into his eyes. "Good. Very good. And this information comes—"

"—from the source we discussed," Snape says. He's never told me that he has a "source." I find myself slightly offended that he has kept this type of information from me even though I have no right to feel this way.

"My Lord." The man named Yaxley leans forward, all eyes now on him. "My Lord, I have heard differently." When the Dark Lord does not reply, Yaxley continues, "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape smiles. "My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

I can only imagine Snape is lying to the Dark Lord but will have to ask him more about this later. My eyes drift up to the woman still suspended in the air, and something about her now strikes me as familiar. I don't know her name, but I've seen her somewhere before.

Hogsmeade maybe? Is she the woman who seems like a close friend of Rosmerta?

"Where are they going to hide the boy next?" the Dark Lord says, his voice dragging me back to the task at hand.

"At the home of one of the Order," Snape says. Why is he doing this? "The place, according to my source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."

The Dark Lord turns to the Yaxley man. I try my hardest to get Snape to look at me, but he refuses to do so.

I lean forward once more to look at Draco, but he will not give me the time of day, his eyes still on the woman in the air. Why is he so bothered by this? Surely he's seen worse during his time around the Death Eaters.

I glance over at Bellatrix, but she's watching Yaxley with the same hatred in her eyes that the man across from Draco is watching me with. Why does he hate me so much? I don't even know who he is. Most of the time, people have to speak to me at least once before developing these cold feelings toward me.

"I shall attend to the boy in person." The Dark Lord's voice once more brings me back to the present circumstance. All I want to do is to get away from here and go back to Zoe's flat or even Spinner's End. I just want to get out of this drawing room full of Death Eaters. The Dark Lord looks up at the revolving woman. "There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than his triumphs."

I have to look away from him, his snake-like face finally becoming far too much for me to handle. That's simply something that can only be taken in short bursts. "I have been careless," he continues, "and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

A loud wail of misery comes from beneath our feet. There's some poor bloke in the Malfoy dungeon, no doubt. I've been there enough times to know how miserable it is, and I pity the person currently trapped down there who is probably being tortured. "Wormtail," the Dark Lord says, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?" With that, the little man gets up and dashes from the room, taking with him an odd silver gleam.

"As I was saying," the Dark Lord continues, "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."

Everyone stops moving, almost as if a single word or movement might force them to hand over their wands. I can't help but look away. I can't give up my wand. I need it to escape . . . well, never mind. That plan is out by now. I have to face him no matter what. Can someone still use Occlumency when wandless? I don't want to risk it, so I still keep my eyes down.

"No volunteers? Let's see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

I look at my uncle, his skin as sickly yellow as Draco's had been during the school year, his eyes sunken and shadowed. His time in Azkaban did him no favors, but at least he's back here with Narcissa now. I have to be happy for her. "My Lord?" His voice is hoarse.

"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."

"I . . ." My uncle looks into his wife's eyes for a moment before taking his wand out of his robes and handing it down the table to the Dark Lord.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord," Malfoy answers quietly.

"And the core?"

"Dragon—dragon heartstring."

I can't watch. Despite how poorly Lucius and I get on, seeing him go through this makes my stomach churn.

"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"

There is some sniggering from around the table. I don't look up but assume I must have missed something.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late. . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

"Nothing—nothing, my Lord!"

"Such lies, Lucius."

There's a hissing coming from beneath the table—Nagini is likely sliding closer to her master. I hold my breath and pray she does not brush me as she slithers by. My fear proves to be unfounded because she already passed me and is now crawling her way up the Dark Lord's chair to creep onto his shoulders. I suppress a shudder.

The Dark Lord strokes her lovingly. "Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius quickly answers. "We did desire it—we do."

Narcissa tenses, and Draco glances at the Dark Lord but quickly looks away.

"My Lord," Bellatrix says. Every muscle in my body tenses at her voice. She can't hurt you now—the Dark Lord has literally just demanded your safety. "It is an honor to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure." She leans closer to him, and therefore closer to me. With great effort, I fight down the scowl and look of disgust I want to give her.

"No higher pleasure," the Dark Lord repeats. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."

She flushes, tears of joy springing up in her eyes, and I have to look away lest I gag in her face. "My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

"I don't know what you mean, my Lord," she says.

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

There's a lot of jeering laughter from the Death Eaters, but my smile is legitimate. Though I haven't yet heard about Tonks and Lupin, I can honestly say that I couldn't be happier for them. There's finally a flicker of hope and joy in this hell surrounding me.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lord," Bellatrix calls over the laughter. "We—Narcissa and I—have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor the beast she marries."

Anger boils in me. How dare she speak of Tonks like that!

"What say you, Draco?" the Dark Lord taunts. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

The laughter increases, but I cannot bring myself to join in. Those are my friends he's mocking. I glance at Snape, who is smirking for appearances—at least I hope it's just for appearances. He meets my eyes, and while it's clear that he's silently commanding me to calm down, not even his easy demeanor does anything to help me fight down the rage growing in my chest.

"Enough," You-Know-Who commands, stroking an angry Nagini. "Enough." Silence comes immediately.

"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," he says to Bellatrix. "You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."

"Yes, my Lord!" she whispers with gratitude. "At the first chance!"

I clench my fists together, and Snape again gives me a warning glance. I stare into his black eyes and picture myself entering a tunnel where I can escape this awful place, one that leads far into the center of the earth and comes back up in Hogsmeade. And not just anywhere in Hogsmeade. It stops just outside the Three Broomsticks.

I have to find a way to warn Tonks and Lupin.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" the Dark Lord asks.

My escape is taken away when Snape looks up at the revolving prisoner. "Severus! Help me!" the woman cries.

"Ah, yes," Snape says.

"And you, Draco?" the Dark Lord asks. "But you would not have taken her classes. For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until quite recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I could kick myself for not having realized who she is. I've never spoken to her, but I've caught glimpses of her around the castle. She doesn't deserve this. My breathing becomes ragged, and I grab tightly onto my knee to ground myself in the present.

"Yes . . . Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles . . . how they are not so different from us . . ."

A Death Eater spits on the floor. Professor Burbage revolves to face Snape again.

"Severus . . . please . . . please . . ."

"Silence," the Dark Lord commands. She falls silent with a flick of his borrowed wand. I try to meet Snape's eyes, but he's intently watching his colleague. How can he just sit there? He knows this woman! "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance. . . . She would have us all mate with Muggles . . . or, no doubt, werewolves. . . ."

No one laughs this time, probably due to the hate and contempt that fills his voice. Tears spill out of the poor woman's eyes and into her hair. She looks at Snape again.

My breathing becomes more ragged, and I feel a hand wrap around mine. I glance over at Bellatrix, whose knowing expression tells me she's aware of my growing panic. I flip my hand over and lock my fingers with hers. A spark of hope ignites in her eyes, and for some reason this makes me hopeful as well, despite how many times she's hurt me in the past.

Her hand squeezes mine tightly, and while I desperately want to lean closer to her and rest my head on her shoulder, doing so is impossible and dangerous because there are so many Death Eaters around.

And she is one of those Death Eaters, Charlotte. We've been over this. You cannot fall prey to the idea of her again. You saw what happened last time. You know you can't trust her.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green light illuminates the room, and the woman falls to the table, her lifeless body landing roughly on the wood, startling several people and causing them to jump backward. Draco falls out of his seat.

I ignore my own advice and tighten my hold on Bellatrix's hand.

"Dinner, Nagini," the Dark Lord says softly. The great snake slides from her master's shoulders, her long body seemingly never ending as she slithers onto the polished table. Her head turns slightly, those eyes of hers boring into my mind, before she moves closer to the woman. My stomach twists into knots, and I want to push away from the table and go hide somewhere—even if that somewhere is the cellar of the manor and I am magicless and at risk of being attacked because I would do literally anything to get out of this room right now—but I am unable to escape.

I catch Snape's eye, and he subtly shakes his head, trying to command me to calm down. I glance back down at my hand locked with my mother's, then shut my eyes tightly. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be around these Death Eaters anymore. I just want to go back to Hogsmeade. I want to spend the day in bed with Zoe, her arms around me, comforting me, holding me close and telling me that I'll be away from the Dark Lord soon enough.

But for right now, I'm trapped in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, You-Know-Who close enough to me that, if he so desired, he could reach over and grab me. He could lay that cold hand of his against my arm. He could pull me from the room and throw me into the cellar. He could hurt me. And no one in this room could—or would—stop him.

I look up at him and, finding his eyes on me, quickly jerk my gaze away. Then, unable to control myself, my eyes shift back up to him. Those red eyes watch me still, expressionless, before moving to my arm and down to the table. Can he see that Bellatrix is holding my hand? I can't look away from him as the truth of that floods my veins. He knows she's comforting me, and I know the punishment for accepting her affection. His gaze meets mine again, and a cold chill shoots down my spine.

He says nothing to me or my mother, yet there is something in his eyes that strikes a fear in my heart, and I cannot tear my eyes away from him until he looks at Nagini.

Air rushes back into my lungs, and I shut my eyes once more, waiting for Nagini's feeding to be finished with so I can get out of this place.