CHAPTER 11

"You must go back to Snape now," Bellatrix's whispers softly into my ear. My eyes hardly open, but she continues, "Come on, get up."

I shake my head and curl back into her, once again weeping into her neck. "I don't want to move." The truth is, I can't move. My limbs are heavy and uncooperative, and there simply isn't enough energy in me to force them to cooperate.

Her fingers ease through my hair, and before I have a chance to do or say anything, Bellatrix Apparates with me in her arms.

I can't bring myself to care where she's taking me. Zoe took everything with her when she died, and all that is left of me is an empty shell of a person. I land on the floor and pull my knees to my chest.

"What's happened to her?" Snape asks.

For a brief moment, I have the desire to speak and tell him exactly what happened—I caused Zoe's death, without me Zoe would still be alive, Zoe's life was ended prematurely because I fell in love with her—but the desire sizzles out quickly, and I close my eyes again.

"The Dark Lord—he killed the Mudblood she's been—"

I try to reach out and hit her but simply do not have enough energy to do so. Zoe was not a Mudblood. She was a beautiful, artistic, kind, wonderful Muggle-born witch. Her honey eyes will never gaze at me with the love that only she has ever bestowed upon me. I've ruined everything.

A soft hand lands on my shoulder. "Charlotte, you have to get off the floor."

I just shake my head, unable to muster up enough energy or courage to speak aloud.

"Where's her bed?" Bellatrix demands.

"Upstairs."

An invisible force lifts me off the floor—I crack open my eyes enough to see that it is my mother who is moving me—and carries me up the stairs. My mother's magic places me on my bed, and I roll over and turn my back to the two of them. Bellatrix brushes the hair away from my cheek, then moves away from me and Disapparates.

I pull my head into my arms and let myself cry again.

"Charlotte," Snape says kindly, the edge of my bed sinking some as he takes a seat next to me, "why—how—when—?"

"I don't know," I breathe. "I don't know how he . . ." My voice trails off. I turn back to him, sobbing, and sit up enough to reach out to him and wrap my arms around his neck. He places one hand on my side to comfort me and the other on the bed to maintain balance. After a short moment of this, he removes himself from me, gently lowers me back to the mattress, and crouches down beside the bed, letting me keep his hand.

"I understand what you're going through," he says gently. "And you don't need—"

"No, you don't."

"I—"

"Lily wasn't tortured because of you! She wasn't tortured and killed in front of you!" His brow furrows, eyes widening, but it's like he doesn't know what to say, so I roll over, turning my back to him.

"How—"

"Your memories and a picture of Harry's parents. I want to be alone. Give me my wand."

"I can't—"

"Please," I whisper, reaching backward for it. "I feel . . . safer when I have it. Please."

He places it in my hand. "I'm trusting you with this. Do not run off."

"I just want to be alone. Please just let me be alone." He doesn't question my request. He simply stands and leaves the room, and once the door shuts, I take a deep breath, only partially upset with myself for disobeying almost immediately, and Disapparate.

Zoe's flat is dark and gloomy, the moonlight just barely cracking through the curtains, and I wave my wand to right the bookshelf again, then make my way to it and pull down her oldest copy of Marcus Aurelius's Mediations. I wave my wand to summon Zoe's black bag from her bedroom area. I place the book into the bag and look back at the large bookshelf. An entire shelf of sketchbooks stares back at me, each spine dated with the year she finished them. I take two of her earliest, two from somewhere in the middle, and her three most recent ones, including the one she never let me see. I snatch up some of her rolled-up canvases and place them in the bag while I make my way to the kitchen for one thing—the tea set.

I place the bag on the table, go to her bedroom, and pick up her knapsack, which I dump onto the bed. It takes no time for me to search through Zoe's drawers for my favorite of her things, only slightly angry at myself for doing this. My eye catches the bed, and I crawl onto it, pulling her pillow to my chest and sobbing into it. I'll come back and clean out the place later. She has no magical family who could come to Hogsmeade, and I fear no one else will be around to take care of things. But for now, I want to get a few things out of here to remember her by.

After sobbing for some twenty minutes, I pull myself up to my feet and leave the bedroom behind. I drop the knapsack beside the duffel bag and freeze before I can do anything else. My eyes drift over to the kitchen knives, and a dark thought passes through my mind, a thought that drags me toward the knives and convinces me to take one into my hand. I can end this. I can be with her again. It'll only hurt for a moment.

Then the door opens and there stands a man I vaguely recognize: Jesse. He worked with Zoe. His eyes are red, his cheeks are puffy, and he is continuously sniffling, but that is very much Jesse. "I—I didn't realize anyone would be here," he whispers.

I walk over to the sofa and sit down, motioning for him to join me if he so wishes, but he makes no movement toward me. "How did you find out?" I ask quietly.

He shrugs and crosses his arms, looking down at his feet.

I narrow my eyes at him. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did it."

He nods but still doesn't look at me. "The Death Eaters know you, right?"

"They've tried recruiting me," I lie. "I guess . . . they must have found out that was . . . involved with a Muggle-born." The knife slips from my hand and thumps onto the floor. I bury my face in my hands. "I should've stayed away from her."

"Yes. You should have," he states coolly. I look back up at him, his dark eyes glaring at me, his sniffling seeming to quiet down. "It's because of you she's dead, don't you get that? You should have stayed with that filthy Gryffindor of yours. Zoe would still be here. Now she's not."

"Don't do this," I plead. "I know it's my fault. You-Know-Who is a hateful man, and he took out his anger on Zoe. I don't need you to tell me that."

"HAD YOU NOT BEEN INVOLVED WITH THE DEATH EATERS, THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED! YOU GOT HER KILLED!"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THIS WOULD HAPPEN?"

Jesse casts a resentful glare at me, and I flinch away as if he was planning to attack me. "You should have known something was going to happen when that Death Eater tried killing you. They're dangerous. You should have warned her away."

I blink. "How did you know a Death Eater tried killing me?"

He swallows.

"How would you know that? The only people who know about that are other Death Eaters! How did you know?"

"I—"

"What did you do?" I growl.

Jesse watches me with wide eyes, fear growing in them by the second. "I didn't know they would—he only wanted information—he said they'd—"

"They'd what? What did you think was going to happen?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She—please listen—"

"To what? You thought telling the Dark Lord's disciples about me and Zoe would perfectly fine? You thought he would just accept it in stride and allow me to continue—" I choke on my words. "Who did you tell?"

"I don't—"

"WHAT DEATH EATER DID YOU TELL?" I shout, rising to my feet.

"I don't know his name!"

"Why did you do it? Why would you out us like that?"

His hand flies to his mouth, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I was hoping that—that you—I was led to believe that you were—you were simply in line to be a Death Eater—and I thought that—I was told that—that they would split you up and—"

"Well, they did! By killing her!" He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and I close my eyes to attempt fighting down the fury that his sorrow erupts in me. "YOU—you were trying—"

"You have to forgive me, please. You have to understand that I never wanted—I never wanted Zoe to die. I never would have done anything to hurt her."

"And so you told the Death Eater—"

"I didn't want this for her." An idea begins forming in my mind, but I try to beat it back. Moments ago, he was blaming me for Zoe's death when he knew that it was really his fault. He was planning to let me despise myself for Zoe's death when I had nothing to do with it. Zoe is dead because of Jesse. "I loved her, Charlotte. I thought, given enough time—I don't know, that she would—" He inhales sharply.

The idea takes shape, and I cannot stop myself. The knife from the floor flies into my hand—I don't even have a chance to consider that I've just performed wandless magic—and I rush toward him, jumping atop the coffee table and lunging at him. "I LOVED HER!" I shriek as the blade pierces into his chest the first time. "AND YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!" I pull the knife from his chest and plunge it into him repeatedly, his hot blood splashing onto my face, burning my eyes and nose and filling my mouth with the awful taste of iron. "YOU KILLED HER!" The light in his eyes fades quickly, but I do not pull back. Instead, I continue thrusting the knife into him, long after the moment he becomes a husk, long after his life has been drained, long after he is simply an empty shell.

I roll off him and lie on my back in Zoe's flat. Jesse's blood soaks through my clothes and dampens my skin, but I cannot bring myself to move away from his body. I lie here, weeping into the empty home. No one can help you now, Charlotte. You should have come, got what you were looking for, and left. Now all you can do is lie here and wait for someone to catch you and turn you over to the Ministry. You'll rot in Azkaban for this.

That's not entirely true. I Disapparate and find myself, still bloodied, lying on the floor of Spinner's End. "Help me," I sob. "Help me."

It takes just a moment before Snape is crouched beside me. "What have you done?"

"I killed him, I killed him!" I cry. "Just like Avery! Help me!"

I can't hold my eyes open any longer—Jesse's blood burns them too badly.

My stomach empties on the floor.

"Please tell me this isn't your blood," he says softly.

"It's his!"

"Get up. We have to clean you off before someone finds out."

I shake my head and draw my legs to my chest, then vomit again.

Snape whispers the Vanishing Spell before his arms slip around me and he lifts me into the air, seemingly un-fazed by the blood soaking into his clothes. "Where did you go?"

"Zoe's," I choke. I grip the front of Snape's robes tightly and hide my face in his chest. "I have to go back! The body! The paintings! Milo!"

"You can't go back," Snape says. "That's too dangerous right now."

He sets me down on the floor of the bathtub and turns on the water, letting it wash over me and hopefully clean off some of the blood from my hair and clothes. Snape rolls his sleeves up and takes me by the chin to force me to meet his eyes. "Tell me what you left behind."

The shower water mixes with my tears, but I have no doubt he can still see them. "The owl, and the bags. The teapot . . . and . . . the body . . ."

I try to look away, but he does not release my face. "Where did you put all of it?"

"The kitchen table," I whisper. "Everything—is on the kitchen table. Except . . . for him."

"Do not drown yourself." He Disapparates.

I close my eyes and turn my face to the warm water. How difficult would it be to drown myself in here? It would take a lot more effort than I am willing to put forth. Snape bursts into the room and throws a bag down. "Get up, wash off, put on some new clothes, and come down stairs as quickly as possible! Now! Something has happened. Give me your wand."

"I know something's happened," I sigh, looking over at him through half-closed eyes. "I killed him."

"Do not say that aloud again!" He takes a calming breath, his expression darkening. "His body wasn't there. The Dark Mark is burning. I can buy you a half hour at the most. Hurry!" I make no movement, and Snape comes forward, grabs me by the arms, and hauls me to my feet. "They know something has happened, Charlotte, don't you understand that? You must get this blood off yourself immediately." I nod, pulling out my wand and giving it back to him. "This was not in your possession, do you understand me?"

I nod again, and Snape releases me and retreats from the room. I struggle to peel the bloody clothes off my body, then I roll them up, stash them in the bin, and let the warm water wash over me, the blood tainting the water red. My legs lose their strength, and I sink back to the tub floor. I became Bellatrix again. I became that scared child who murdered Avery after he killed Mrs. Stoico. I lost myself again.

"Where is she?" my mother's voice shouts from the living room, feet stomping up the stairs right after that. "Where is she, Snape?" Bellatrix rams her fist against the bathroom door. "Charlotte, are you in there?"

I shut the water off. "Yeah, just—give—" My voice cracks. "Just give me a minute." I climb out of the shower and towel myself off. My eyes land on the bag Snape left in here, and I inwardly groan. It's not even my bag, it's the bag from Zoe's flat. I land on my knees before it and pull it into my lap. The first thing I find in the bag is one of Zoe's T-shirts. Why did I take her clothes? Hating myself, I lift the shirt to my nose and take in the smell of the one I've lost and realize for the first time that eventually that smell will be gone and I will forget her scent.

The tears attack, and I do nothing to stop them.

"Charlotte," Bellatrix calls, banging against the door again.

"A moment," I choke, pulling Zoe's clothes on. I wipe my tears and open the door.

"What are you—are those Muggle clothes?" my mother asks coldly.

"It's what I happened to grab."

Her eyes trail from my bare feet to my head, a grimace on her face, and she says, "Go change. You have a meeting with the Dark Lord, and he will not appreciate the Muggle—" Fury flares in her eyes, and I fear she must have realized something. "You didn't take those from the Mudblood."

"Don't call her that."

"When? When did you take those?" She grabs me by the shoulders and gets into my face. "When did you take those?"

I shake my head.

"Go change. Go change now." She leads me to the room I stay in and pushes me inside. "Put on something presentable."

Which basically means taking off my Muggle clothes. I fold them carefully and gingerly place them on the bed. Then I pull on my typical robes and go back out to meet my mother, who is now in the sitting room of Spinner's End. "Snape, you will be staying here," she says to him.

I meet those black eyes and plead for him to come with us, but it's useless because if the Dark Lord commanded Snape to stay behind, he'll stay behind. Bellatrix Apparates with me to Malfoy Manor. She leads me from the sitting room, whispering quiet commands such as, "Do not lie to him, Aurelia. Answer everything, he asks of you."

"Answer everything about what?"

Bellatrix casts a sideways glance at me but remains quiet.

"Will you stay with me?" I don't know why I suddenly care about facing the Dark Lord alone, but I do. All I want is to have her there next to me when I am no doubt interrogated by You-Know-Who.

"I cannot ask that of the Dark Lord, but if he does not tell me to leave, I won't."

I nod and remain silent until we enter a room I've never been to, without knocking (something that should confuse and disturb me more than it does). The Dark Lord is not present, but Bellatrix doesn't seem to care, for she calmly walks me over to the sofa and sits me down, then takes her place next to me, her hand sliding into mine. I lean against her, my head on her shoulder, and fight back the tears burning in my eyes. The last time I was in this damn manor—just a few hours ago—Zoe was murdered right in front of me. By the very man who has summoned me back here.

And he's on his way here now.

"How far is he?" I ask hoarsely.

She says softly, "I'm unsure."

I don't know what's going to happen to me, but had this all taken place a few weeks ago, I know that I would be going to Zoe right after leaving this hellhole. She would hold me closely and tell me that everything will be fine, that I will eventually get away from the Dark Lord, that we will be able together and happy someday.

But I cannot do that this time.

Because Zoe is gone. She is dead because I couldn't stay away from her. I fooled myself into believing that I could be happy. All of that time was hopeless. It was never meant to work out because that's simply not what my life does. Things get worse and worse, and no one can help me stop it. Since the day I was born to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, my life was set on a course for ruin.

The door on the far side of the room opens, and in walks the Dark Lord, those red eyes watching me hatefully. I feel myself begin to tremble, my throat begin to close up, my heart race, my lungs labor for breath. My hand clenches my mother's hand tightly, and she returns the gesture as she pulls us to our feet.

She holds me tightly until her master's eyes furiously dart toward our locked hands, at which point she immediately releases me and even takes a step away from me.

"Do not leave, Bella," he commands in an icy voice that immediately sends me into a quiet panic. I can't breathe. It does not bode well for me if he plans to let Bellatrix stay here with me. "You killed him, did you not, Charlotte?"

"I've no idea what you mean."

"He kept watch over Hogsmeade for me. And you killed him."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He wastes no time before using Legilimency against me, but I keep him out of my mind the best that I can, a searing pain erupting in my mind because of the effort. Then he grunts, and my brain splits in half.

I lunge across the coffee table and plunge the knife into Jesse's chest.

I gasp loudly, clutching my eyes shut tightly and falling to my knees, and shriek, pulling myself against Bellatrix's leg, hiding my face from him. Snape will be so disappointed. I've failed him. All those months of Occlumency wasted because I cannot control my emotions about Zoe.

The Dark Lord commands Bellatrix to pry me off herself, and once she does, he watches me viciously. Then, laughter in his voice, he says, "Crucio!"

I scream out, pleading for mercy, my voice meshing with my mother's as she, too, begs for him to stop. The pain only increases. I think I might die. He's skinning me alive, he's setting me on fire, he's killing me. The pain continues to intensify, my throat ripping open from my screams until, at long last, he releases the spell.

I gasp on the floor, the spell's effects almost lingering in my skin. I place my hand on Bellatrix's foot to get her attention. Hatred for him settles into my very bones as one thought becomes my guiding force: I will watch him die. "Help me stand." She does not argue but rather lifts me to my feet. Every muscle in my body burns, but I manage to look the Dark Lord directly in the face, something consuming me. I spit in his direction. "You can torture me, you son of a bitch, but nothing you can ever do will ever hurt me more than when you murdered Zoe. So do whatever you want to me, I don't care."

"The Mudblood deserved death."

"SHE DID NOTHING TO YOU!"

"You will learn some respect," he says dangerously.

"Respect for you? No, I can't respect a coward who murders someone in cold blood because he envies that she earned—"

"Enough!"

"No! I will not fear you any longer, Tom Riddle. You've taken everything from me! What else can you do to me? Nothing you will ever do can stop me from hating you or stop me from fighting you. Someday, I will watch you die. And then I'll be free from you forever."

His hand jerks forward and snatches me by the neck. Then he pulls me close to him, our faces hardly a hand's length away, his red eyes staring me down. "You will never be free from me, Charlotte Rodgers." The look in his eyes becomes violent, and he grins viciously. Without removing his gaze from me, he says to my mother, "Bella, escort Miss Rodgers to Azkaban. Take—"

"My Lord, please don't—"

"—Narcissa with you." His eyes shift to her. "My best lieutenant need not be alone during this trying time."

"My Lord—"

The Dark Lord shoves me to the floor with all his might. My shoulder shrieks for mercy, and I roll over, moving closer to my mother as she rushes toward me, pleading with her Lord to spare me.

His gaze darkens. "Azkaban, Bella. Do not argue."

The room's temperature drops drastically, and I feel myself falling into a pit. I've taken things too far. I disrespected him too severely. I disrespected the man in charge of the Ministry, I disrespected the Dark Lord. I've pushed things too far with a man who has too much power. Now, despite all my talk of being irreplaceable, I am to pay the ultimate price.

Lord Voldemort is sending me to Azkaban.