CHAPTER 7

The door clicks as it opens, but I choose to ignore it. "Charlotte," Snape says softly from the other side of the room, and when my silence is the only thing that greets him, he takes a few noisy steps into the room. "Charlotte, you can't lock yourself up in here." I close my eyes tighter. A few more steps, then the mattress moves a little, but the weight quickly leaves. I cave and roll over to find Snape crouching by the side of the bed, his arm on the mattress, his chin on his fist, his dark eyes right in front of mine. "You need to leave this room. It will make things easier."

"I don't need to do anything," I sigh.

"My neck and back hurt. Don't make me carry you down those damn steps."

"You shouldn't use such words in front of a student," I whisper. "Bad influence."

"You're not a real student though," he counters.

In spite of myself, I smile. Who would have thought that it would be Severus Snape who made me feel better before I had to face my duty? "Then that means you can't order me around, Severus."

"Ah, but you are in my home. Which means I can. And right now, I'm ordering you to leave this depressing room and go to the sitting room."

"Because that room will be so much better, right?" The flicker of happiness from moments ago is being quickly consumed by the darkness.

"It is." His finality makes it sound so convincing, even though I know there is hardly any difference between being down there and being up here.

Silent tears begin trickling down my cheek. "How?" I breathe.

He reaches up and, surprisingly gently, brushes the tears off my face. "How about this," he says as he wipes the tears from his hand onto the sheets, leaving behind a small water spot, "if you come downstairs, I will teach you anything you want to know. So long as you never call me by my given name again."

So tempting. Everything is so tempting. But, "I don't think there's anything I really want learn."

"Surely there must be something."

"Can you time travel?"

"If I could, don't you think I would have changed my life by now?"

"Touché." He blinks at me but does not remove his eyes from mine, and a thought occurs to me. "Can you fly without a broom?"

His gaze intensifies, his eyebrows rising slightly, his lips turning up minimally. "Well . . ."

"You can?" I laugh sadly, awestruck and almost disbelieving because how can anyone be that powerful, that dazzling. "I thought it was impossible."

"The Dark Lord has done what no other could do."

The feat suddenly becomes less exciting, albeit not less impressive. "And he taught you?"

He nods once.

"He really trusts you, doesn't he?"

"He . . . seems to." Snape looks away for a moment in thought. "There are certain Death Eaters he tries to help because he trusts them and seems to care somewhat of their well-being—mostly depending on what they can offer him and the fact that they must be well-trained in order to give him what they can. I am one of them because I have much to offer."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"If you come downstairs, I'll tell you all about it," he suggests.

"I'm not really up to moving."

"Fair enough, I suppose." He shifts, probably trying to give his muscles a break. "I could always use magic to force you downstairs."

"You wouldn't."

Silence descends upon us and stays for a few minutes before I break it. "How much time do I have?"

"I can't know for sure. He'll summon you when he's ready." An involuntary shiver runs through me, drawing a sad smile from Snape as he reaches out and takes one of my hands in both of his in an action that only makes me want to cry more. "You'll get through this, Charlotte. If I've learned anything about you, it's that despite being broken down and injured and unfairly mistreated, you manage."

"Thank you, Severus," I chuckle.

"I thought I told you not to call me that. I'm a professor, and you should treat me as such."

"But you said I wasn't a real student."

He smiles and releases my hand to cross his arms on the mattress and use their intersection as a place to rest his chin. "You really should leave this room." His eyes shift around the place as if to make a point. "It's truly quite dreary." With a flick of his wrist, the blinds open and shed light into the room.

"Is that necessary?"

"Yes."

"It's right in my eyes."

"If you leave the room, the light will no longer be in your eyes."

"Or I could turn over."

"But the question is—do you really want to?"

My first thought is that I wouldn't care at all as long as I can remain lying in the room while also avoiding the light, but that thought dies quickly when I meet Snape's eyes. I'd rather keep talking to him. I would rather watch him and talk to him than roll over and be alone. The sleeve of his robes shifts each time he exhales, wholly capturing my gaze while I debate my wants and desires. Finally, I make a decision. "No," I sigh. "No, I don't want to be alone."

"Then come to the sitting room."

Then he moves as if to leave, and my arm strikes forward and grabs his. "Please don't leave me. Stay here with me."

"Come to the sitting room with me." He moves back to his previous position. Tears spring to my eyes, and I viciously shake my head. He moves his face closer. "What is so important about staying in here?"

"I . . . I feel safer in here. . . ."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I'll be in the sitting room with you. You'll be safe."

"Why is it so important that I leave?"

He closes his eyes for a moment before saying, "Because after today, you will hole yourself up in this room, and I don't want to see you squander your last few free hours being trapped in the room which will serve as your self-made prison for the next few days, possibly weeks." He stands up. "Now, come on, you're leaving this room."

When I make no move to leave with him, he stoops, scoots his hands under me, and lifts me off the mattress. I do not fight him. "You need to watch your back, Severus," I say with a smile, "you're not as young as you used to be. Carrying me twice in twelve hours might hurt you." His chest vibrates with his quiet laughter. "Don't fall down these steps. It won't be good if I arrive at Malfoy Manor with a broken leg."

"I believe I could mend your leg if it came to it," he comments.

"Sure, you could," I say when we reach the bottom of the steps.

"I hear the doubt in your voice. Don't make me break your leg to prove a point."

A sad laugh bubbles out of me, and he almost manages a smile. "No, please don't."

He sets me down on the sofa and then sits beside me. "Isn't this better already?"

"No, not really."

"It's brighter down here," he says, "not as depressing."

"Just slightly." I would never admit it to him, but I do feel better being down here rather than cooped up in that tiny room. "Do you think you'll ever give me the nice guest room? You know, the larger one."

"You have the nice mattress. What more could you possibly need?"

"Probably nothing in that regard."

He looks down at me, turning his body just slightly in my direction to make conversation easier. "And in other regards?"

I frown. "A drink?"

"Coffee, tea, or—"

"No, that's—that's not what I mean," I say with a smile, raising my hand so that he can see it trembling. "I want alcohol. For my nerves. Will it impede Occlumency?"

"Only if you're inebriated."

"Then I don't need that much. But I—"

"I understand," he says softly, retrieving his wand from his robes and waving it. Two glasses of clear, bubbling liquid appear in the air before us. "A vodka tonic, Miss Lestrange."

"Don't do that. Don't try to provoke me. Are both of these for me?"

"Perhaps I feel the need for one as well," he says plainly, taking a drink in his empty hand.

I grab the other and bring it to my lips immediately, discovering the second it touches my tongue that this is mostly vodka and almost laughing at the revelation that Professor Snape likes his drinks very strong. "Thank you." He looks away from me, his expression strained. Does it bother him that this is happening today? Was I wrong in my panic last night that no one cares about what I must do? "Another request."

"If there is any day in which you may make demands, it is today."

"Do you have a radio? Or do you just live in silence constantly?"

The corner of his lip turns up. "I have a Wizarding Wireless. Are you requesting to listen to it?"

"Yes." With a wave of his wand, a small wooden wireless flies down the stairs and lands on the table in front of the sofa. "Something with no lyrics."

A piano begins playing softly, and I close my eyes. "Do you want to talk—"

"No," I whisper.

"Very well."

He leans against the back of the sofa, then puts one foot up on the coffee table. I take a big gulp of my drink and breathe through the overwhelming taste of liquor, my arms and legs beginning to tremble. Some time later, each of us two drinks deep, I sit with my head against his shoulder, my arm slid through his, holding onto him like his mere presence will save me from what's coming. A pleasant warmth courses through me. He refills my glass again. "This is your last one," he says quietly.

I exhale heavily and take a sip, tears in my eyes again. "Thank you." He just nods, then rests his head back on the sofa.

A quiet pop! announces the arrival of Narcissa, who pauses when she sees us on the sofa, her eyes shifting from me to Snape. "Severus," she says slowly.

He lifts head. "Narcissa."

My breathing quickens, and I tighten my grip on his arm. Narcissa's brows furrow. "Don't panic, Charlotte," she says.

"What do you need?" Snape asks—all the warmth in his tone has evaporated, replaced with impatience.

"He will summon her within the next two hours. I thought she ought to know." Her voice is quiet, as if she is trying not to frighten me. Then she looks at me with a sort of sadness that draws tears to my eyes again. "I am so sorry. Is there anything—can I get you anything?"

My voice is nonexistent when I say, "No."

Snape gives Narcissa a kind nod, and she Disapparates.

"Charlotte." Though Snape's voice is kind and warm once more, I cannot look up at him. "Charlotte, listen to me." I'm trembling again, my body's quiet refusal to accept this. "Charlotte," he tries again, attempting to move away from me to see me better but stopping when I grab onto his arm again. Slowly, I shift my eyes up to meet his but can't see him through my fearful tears. "Charlotte"—he gently covers my hand that is wrapped around his arm—"you need to breathe."

I gasp, having forgotten to breathe until he commanded it. "I can't do this!"

"I know. I know." He pats my hand, and a blanket flies into the room and settles over me. "You'll be fine."

I bury my face into the side of his arm and burrow further into the sofa.

Snape and I remain silent after that.

And we stay that way for a long time. Surprisingly, it's not awkward. Neither of us knows what to say with my impending duty coming down the tracks so quickly, so we say nothing at all. Nothing can make this easier anyway, nothing can be said to make this weight go away. Nothing can be said or done to get me out of this.

For the first time since he covered me with a blanket, Snape speaks, but it isn't something I want to hear. "The Dark Lord is summoning you."

I splutter, choking on my breath and spit as I lift my head off of him to look him in the face. "What?"

He reaches over and grabs his left arm. "He's summoning you."

My breathing becomes ragged as horror rises inside me again. "What?" is all I can manage to say. It can't be that time already. But I glance outside and see that it's dark. It's time.

"Charlotte," he says softly, "you'll be all right."

"Will I?" I snap.

"Come on," he says gently, coaxing me to my feet. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Are you going?"

"No, but I'll be waiting for you here. If you need anything . . . I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

I wrap my arms around and lean into him, quivering, and his arms come around my shoulders. "You'll be okay." Then I remove myself from him and wipe my eyes, taking a long look at him once more before closing my eyes and Disapparating from Spinner's End.

Bellatrix and Narcissa are waiting for me in the drawing room. My mother rushes to me and takes me into her arms. "Aurelia," she whispers, only for me to hear, "I'm so proud of you."

I want to slap her in the face but just manage to stop myself. She doesn't realize what I'm going through. She doesn't realize that I'm not like her. And so she is not sympathetic to what I am to do. "I'm scared," I breathe.

"You'll be fine."

When she pulls away, Narcissa takes me into her arms. "You'll be fine, Charlotte," she reassures me.

"Where's Draco?" I can't help but ask.

As if on cue, I hear a loud, "Get off me!"

"Draco!" someone else tries. "You can't—"

The door to the drawing room bursts open, and Draco charges in, followed closely by Lucius, who gives his wife an "I couldn't stop him" look. My cousin comes over to me and wraps me up in his arms. And suddenly, I don't care about Bellatrix and Narcissa. Neither of them carries with them the comfort that Draco does. "Remember what I told you," he says quietly. "Not willingly."

"Never," I say, tears already in my eyes.

Then Narcissa and Bellatrix separate us. "Come with us, dear," Narcissa says. In silence, they lead me through the manor. As they do, a new resolve forms in me. I will do as Draco has asked.

I will fight this to the best of my ability.

Each of my arms is claimed by either Bellatrix or Narcissa, the two of them effectively keeping me between them as both whisper words of encouragement to me, not realizing that this encouragement is not helping me but making it worse. They keep muttering things such as "you'll be fine" or "it's not as bad as you think it's going to be" or "you're only worrying yourself over nothing." Not only do these statements scare me even more than I already am, but they also offend me a bit. While Narcissa and Bellatrix probably don't mean to, they make me feel as if I'm some ignorant little child who is merely afraid of being punished for the first time.

We stop at a door I have never seen before. "I don't recognize this," I say quietly.

"You wouldn't," Narcissa says, looking queasy. "It's charmed. It wasn't here before."

"Is this where he stays most of the time?"

"No," Bellatrix says.

In her short answer I hear all that I need to hear: any trace of what is about to happen is not desirable for the Dark Lord to have in his private chambers.

"We can go no farther with you, Charlotte," Narcissa says quietly. I offer her a weak smile, but she sees right through it and pulls me close to her, a small sniffle escaping her. "We'll be here. After . . ."

I nod, not wanting her to say any more. Bellatrix gently takes me away from Narcissa and holds me tightly. "Aurelia," she whispers into my ear again, "I'm so proud of you." My mother looks into my eyes and smiles. "You were . . . you were born for this. It was not ideal to begin with, but now . . . I couldn't be more pleased for this to be your destiny."

Biting back my anger, I give her the same weak smile that I had offered Narcissa. Both my aunt and my mother take a step back, silently telling me to enter the room. With a trembling hand—almost needing to use the other to stabilize it—I grab the handle. The door creaks as it opens, and I take one last glance at the two women behind me. They each smile at me in their own way, Narcissa with a sad and compassionate smile and tears in her eyes, and Bellatrix with proud and encouraging smile. I focus on Narcissa's before closing the door.

The room is lit with torches, much like Snape's basement. Tears are already filling my eyes. This room is set up quite similarly to Bellatrix's room—a large cast-iron bed in the center, a fireplace, and a sofa. The sheets are green and silver. I should have guessed that the Dark Lord would choose Slytherin colors. I walk to the middle of the room and stop, where I cross my arms over my chest and prepare myself for a battle despite quaking in every limb.

Another door opens, and in walks the Dark Lord himself. "Charlotte," he greets me.

My breath catches, and I have to gulp it down. My heartbeat quickens, and my stomach plummets, which only sets my nerves on edge even more. I'm going to throw up.

"I trust Severus is being hospitable?"

"You 'trust' right." Though I try to sound cold, the quiver in my voice ruins the effect. It still seems to anger him though.

His red eyes lock onto my face. He tries applying Legilimency to see into my mind, but I don't let him. "Who taught you Occlumency, dear one?"

I set my jaw. "Albus Dumbledore," I say, unafraid of him learning the truth because I know how to keep it from him.

"On behalf of your mother," he says, "I will not harm you." He takes a step closer to me. "But if you ever disrespect me like that again, I will not be as forgiving. I am your Lord; I am your Master. You will treat me as such." Again, he tries to apply Legilimency. Much as Dumbledore had done when testing me, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named applies it with such force that it throws me onto my back on the floor. "Dumbledore taught you well."

I try to slide away from him.

"I understand that you are fearful," he says softly, "but I will not hurt you."

"I've heard that before."

The Dark Lord draws his wand and points it at me—his spell lifts me to my feet against my will. "I commend you for your bravery despite the horror that is no doubt growing in you, but this has been decided for too many years. There is no other way."

"Is that your form of an apology?" I snap. "Because it's—"

"Apology?" he taunts me cruelly. "Not even you are enough to warrant something such as that."

He takes another step toward me, and try as I might, I cannot move away. Instead, I am going toward him, unable to stop myself or do anything else. He's right. There is nothing I can do. I'm not even in control of myself anymore, but this brings me blissful peace. All of my worries seem to have been wiped out of my mind somehow. It just seems that everything will be okay. I don't know where this feeling is coming from, but I never want it to go away. Nothing matters when I'm this happy.

And then the feeling vanishes.

The Dark Lord reaches out and grabs me by the chin, his red eyes glaring into my blue ones with such intensity that I have a strong urge to flee and hide as he attempts Legilimency again. Not even Dumbledore's Legilimency was as strong as the Dark Lord's. My mind aches, throbbing under his spell, but I cannot get away from him.

"You are proficient at keeping me from entering your mind," he says dangerously.

This time, when he applies Legilimency, I let him into my thoughts.

I'm standing beside Harry Potter. There are hundreds of witches and wizards all standing around him, cheering and applauding. I turn and look at Harry's feet. The corpse of the Dark Lord lies there, helpless. His hand is open, his wand lying in it, a wand that had stood no chance against Harry.

"You-Know-Who is dead!" someone from the crowd shouts.

Then they all begin to chant Harry's name and lift him onto their shoulders. Everyone wants to congratulate The Boy Who Lived.

Then I shove the Dark Lord from my mind and stare him down, unwilling to look away even though I so desperately want to.

"The boy will not defeat me. And you would be wise to know that."

"I have faith."

Once more, a spell lifts me into the air, but this time I'm not gently placed on my feet. This time, he lifts me high into the air and slams me onto the floor, my back popping uncomfortably. I cough through the pain and roll over to struggle my way to my feet.

"You do not want to anger me, Charlotte." His voice is icy and dangerous. "I planned to be kind to you, not letting you feel the pain, but it is clear—"

"I don't care. No matter what you say or do, I will not have sex with you willingly." He looks at me with surprise, and a flash of rage surges through me. "Did you expect me to just lie down for you?"

"That was never my plan."

"So you always planned to force yourself upon me?"

"Dear one, no," he says, coming closer to me. Instinctively, I step away, and he stops. "I never planned to have sex with you."

A sigh bursts through me, and I almost start sobbing with relief, tears springing in my eyes. My chest allows me to breathe for the first time in what feels like forever, and I'm actually tempted to reach out and thank him. Actually thank him. I bend over, my hands on my hips, trying to process this new information. Wait, a voice says in the back of my mind, he kept that from Snape, he didn't want me to know. He knew how afraid I was. He wanted me to panic. He wanted to keep me fearful of him. He's been purposefully keeping me miserable. He's telling you this now to make you think he's kind; he's trying to manipulate you.

"Dear one," he says, stepping closer to me, something about his change of tone putting me on guard more than before; I don't like that he's suddenly trying to seem nice to me again, "is that why you so feared me?"

I force myself to straighten up and cover my mouth with my hand, but unable to look at him, I just nod my head. He already knows this. He's been toying with me. He wanted me to suffer in my terror of him.He wants me to be grateful that he's chosen not to harm me like that. He wants me not to put up a fight.

"That will not happen unless the magic is ineffective."

My heartbeat slows exponentially, and I wipe my tears from my cheeks. "M-magic?"

"Magic, yes," he confirms. "Having my child will not be a curse."

Something in me snaps and I hiss, "It will be a curse no matter how it happens!"

His anger flares in his eyes for a moment before he contains it. "Dear one," he says smoothly, hiding the rage in his voice but flexing his hand as if itching to strike me again, "you have irritated me. This could have been painless for you. Not now."

I swallow down my increasing panic.

The Dark Lord points his wand at me, and I start making my way to the large bed despite my struggle against it. That strange happiness fills me again, but it is not as enjoyable this time, even though part of me feels that I should enjoy it, should enjoy not having to think for myself, that everything is worth it so long as this spell helps me stay mindless and keeps me warm with this carefree feeling. Then I begin removing my clothes, and though I should be and want to be fighting, I can't—surprisingly, this doesn't anger and frighten me as much as it should.

Naked and vulnerable, I crawl onto the bed and spread my legs, tears filling my eyes now. My body is frozen in place as You-Know-Who sits down next to me and physically spreads my legs more. "This will not be pleasant. You will learn to respect me." A vial emerges from his robes. "It could have been painless for you," he repeats. With a vicious look in his eye, he throws the vial onto the floor, where it shatters, the potion spreading across the stone. My heart sinks, bringing me once again to the point of sobbing. "Now it will not be so."

He waves his wand, and the most intense pain I have ever felt consumes me. It is worse than the Cruciatus Curse. It starts with a fire burning in my core that spreads to the rest of my body, followed shortly by a sharp stabbing pain, almost as if a hot fire-poker is being rammed into me, almost as if a knife has been thrust into my core and is slowly ripping me open, peeling me open from the inside out. All I can do I scream as that knife carves into me.