CHAPTER 25

My eyes flutter open, aching against the lowlight of the room. I close them back and press my palm to the side of my head and find it sticky with blood. Did he hit me? Did this happen when I fell? I exhale loudly, then place my hands on the stone floor and try to push myself to my feet, but a sharp pain careens up my leg and tears a scream from my throat. I roll onto my back and look down at my leg, which is still turned at an odd angle—so he actually did break it. And just left it that way. What a bitch.

Where is Bellatrix? Or Narcissa? One of them is usually in here to help me. I don't have my wand to Conjure something to help me walk. Why would they just leave me in here like this?

I crawl over to the bed and use it to pull myself up without putting any unnecessary weight on my leg. Already, sweat breaks out on my skin. I'm so tired, my muscles ache and beg for a rest, but I don't want to stay here any longer, which means finding my mum is the priority so I can return to Hogwarts. Severus should be here to return me—he'll heal my leg. He is the priority.

Bracing against the bed, I move as far forward as I can, then take a deep, bracing breath and hobble toward the wall, gasping and whimpering with every tiny movement my leg makes. Still, no one has come for me, and a deep bitterness grips my heart. The one time I actually want them to help me is the one time no one is around.

I all but fall against the wall when I reach it, using it to keep me upright as I whine through the pain. A few more deep breaths, then, leaning against the wall, I make my way to the door and pull it open to an eerily quiet Malfoy Manor. Am I here alone? I don't have a wand! Most of the torches have been put out, but from what I can see, if the scorch marks on the wall and floor are any indication, there's been a fight. I step out of the room and glance down the hall to my right—my heart nearly drops out of my chest as my eyes land on a figure leaning against the wall. But—no, they're not leaning. Large spikes protrude from the body, keeping them upright. What the hell happened here?

I brace my hand on the wall and begin hobbling toward the body, hoping that perhaps their wand might be on the floor somewhere, when a chill rushes down my spine. The hair . . . Though the figure's hair is loose in some places and completely missing in others, the overwhelming majority of it is in a tight bun. No, no, no. In my haste to reach her, I stumble forward and grab onto one of the three spikes sticking out of her torso—one in her abdomen and one through each lung—a wail ripping through my throat. I fall back down and stare up at the body of Professor McGonagall. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

Finding her wand on the floor, I grab it, Conjure a splint around my leg as well as a crutch, and stand to my feet, then limp toward her. My chest grows both empty and heavy in one moment. "Professor?" I breathe, knowing she cannot hear me. All those times I raged internally against the Order not helping me—she finally came, and the Death Eaters have killed her for it.

Professor McGonagall is pinned to the wall by three metal spikes almost as long as my arm in her torso and one pierced through her mouth through the back of her skull. It's so thick that the edges of her lips and the skin halfway up her cheeks have been ripped to make the spike fit; her teeth are shattered, her jaw clearly broken. Her eyes are glassy and unknowing. I put my hand on her arm and let out a sob. I should've told you to stay way, to let me rot. "I'm so sorry," I cry. She's dead because of me. Because of me. Because of me. How could I have allowed this to happen? I wave her wand, and the spikes pull free from her body and clatter to the floor loudly. Let them find me. Let whoever did this to her find me. It'll be the last thing they ever do. With her wand, I gently lower her to the floor, then drop beside her and touch her torn cheek. Was it fast? Did she suffer? Did she feel them shatter her teeth and rip her face? The tears come on strong at the thought, and I let out another wail as grief begins boiling in my veins.

This is all my fault. It's all my fault. She's dead because of me. The Dark Lord has just been waiting for a chance to take her from me. This is all my fault. I should've stayed away. I should've stayed away. I should've stayed away.

I close her eyelids and try to push her jaw back into place so it's not hanging on by just the skin of her torn cheeks, then dig my nails into my palms. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. The pain in my hands is not nearly enough to drown out the pain in my chest, so I grab my broken leg and squeeze, nearly vomiting while I scream in agony, grateful that for just a moment, the pain in my chest is leeched away, overwhelmed by the pain in my leg. I never should have thrown her in Bellatrix's face like I did. This is my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

From around the corner comes a soft groan that almost sounds like my name, so I pull myself up on the crutch and start hobbling in that direction. My breath escapes me as I approach. Lying in a pool of what appears to be her own blood is Narcissa. I try moving too quickly and end up on the floor, crawling through her blood as I try to get beside her. "Aunt Cissy! Aunt Cissy!"

Her blue eyes open, and she smiles weakly at me. "You're all right," she says quietly. I take her hand in mine. "I was . . . trying to make my way to the room when—"

"What happened? What's happened?"

She closes her eyes again, her breathing weak. "The Order . . . attacked."

"What? How—where is the Dark Lord?"

"Gone," she breathes. "I don't . . . I don't know where. He . . . Disapparated."

A coward. He's a coward. And if I ever get my hands on him again, I'm going to strangle him. "What happened to you?"

She tries to open her eyes again, but they close back immediately. "I . . . I don't know."

Then the unthinkable happens: her chest stops moving. And with the stillness of her chest, my heart stops beating. "Aunt Cissy! Narcissa!" I shake her furiously, hoping she's joking with me and that she's going to open her eyes and laugh, but as I continue to shake her unmoving body, I realize that she's not joking—she's not breathing. She's dead. "No, no, no, no!" I scream. My words devolve into nonsense sounds of rage and agony because she's dead; Aunt Cissy is dead. I place my forehead against hers and just weep for her, my chest aching and constricting and burning. You should have left the manor; you should have left the manor! Why were you trying to find me?

You know why, a voice whispers in my head. She loved you and wanted to try to protect you.

It wasn't supposed to be this way; she was supposed to bury me. She was supposed to mourn me. This isn't fair. The howl that rips out of me nearly blinds me. "You can't leave me! You can't leave me!" I shriek. "PLEASE!"

But she does not move or signal at all that she's heard me. She's gone; you have to leave her now. She's gone. I press a kiss to her forehead and force myself to stand, then begin limping down the corridor again, tears and snot flowing down my face. Why do I smell blood?

I crawl my way up the stairs; the smell of iron grows stronger the closer I get to the drawing room. Fear grips my heart, but I must keep going.

In the drawing room a body lies in the blood I've been smelling, but before I can inspect the poor soul who has suffered so greatly, my attention is dragged to my mother, who lies unmoving, unmarred, but very much dead. I hobble to her, collapsing beside her, the blood from the other person seeping into my robes. I can't lose you too. I can't lose you too! I can't lose every mother in my life today! "Mum!" I cry. "Please don't leave me again! Please!" I pull her body against me, her head just under my chin. Her eyes stare at me, but they're empty and unseeing. "Mum, I can't lose you, I just found you." I place my forehead against hers and sob, but she is unresponsive. I've lost her again. I just got her back, and I've lost her again. Motherless. "I'm so sorry." I failed her. I failed Rodolphus. I didn't save her.

The burning grief within me increases, and I scream at the top of my lungs, my hands pulling at my hair. I can't do this. I can't do this.

I wrap my arms around her, rocking back and forth. "I'm so sorry." I should have tried harder with her to form a better relationship with her. And now I don't have that chance. I've lost her forever. Because of the Dark Lord. Because she would never stop fighting for him, even if it should lead to her death. "I love you, Mum."

You can't help her, a voice says to me, and regrettably I know that it's true. Very gently, I remove her from my lap, place her on the floor, and close her eyes. Then my attention turns to the other body on the floor. I shouldn't even bother checking on them—I know that. But I can't just leave without trying, can I?

It's hopeless.

I ignore that voice and drag myself through the blood, not caring that it is soaking farther into my robes and dampening my skin. I finally get close enough to see the hair, and though he is face down in his own blood, the cold shiver running up my spine and the ululation rending my throat open through me tells me exactly who this is. Severus? I continue pulling myself through his blood. His warm blood.

I come to a stop beside his body, sobbing both from pain and sorrow, then with great effort turn his body over. The nose. That sallow skin. Even though his face is covered with massive cuts and blood, I know that this is him because I would know him anywhere. "Severus!" I put my hands on his chest, and more blood starts seeping out of him. He's been torn open, his entrails scattered across the floor beside him. Severus, you can't die too. Please don't do this to me, I need you. I need you more than I've ever needed you.

Not caring about his blood and open flesh, I place my head on his chest and begin to feel my hair grow heavy with blood. All those times I used to rest my head on his chest—this is so different. There is no steady heartbeat, and his chest no longer rises and falls with his breathing. He's gone, and he's left me here alone with these people. Severus, please. I'm pregnant, you can't leave me like this. I need you. We're going to raise this child together. You and me. We're gonna get away from here. Please, you can't leave me to do that by myself.

I can't do this alone. I know that. He knows that. I've never been strong enough to do something like this alone. "I love you, Severus, please come back." I press my lips to his, but he gives no response.

The burning grief within me consumes me, and I fall down beside him and begin hitting my broken leg, begging for any sort of reprieve from the unbearable fire wrapping around me, constricting me, killing me. I press the heels of my bloody hands into my eyes and scream, raising my leg and dropping it onto the hard floor, hoping that the pain will force me to relinquish consciousness, hoping that I will wake to find alive and well Severus beside me.

I pull myself over to his body and wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his silent, unmoving chest. I can't live without you.

Somewhere behind me comes a noise, and I turn in that direction, McGonagall's wand drawn, to see Voldemort himself stepping toward me, Nagini at his heels. He walks through the blood without paying it any attention, as if it's not the blood of one of his supposedly loyal followers. He doesn't so much as glance at my mother—his greatest lieutenant. He doesn't even seem to care that she's dead. He must register the hate in my eyes and suspect that I might attack, for he expels the wand from my hand. "Dear one," he says, his voice kind as he crouches down beside me, "it is time that we go before the Order finds you. We must keep our child safe."

"I can't leave him," I cry. "Please don't make me leave him." I turn my attention back to Severus and throw myself on top of him, wrapping my arms around him.

Voldemort's hand grabs my arm, and I jerk away from him. "I can't leave him!"

The Dark Lord wraps his arms around me from behind and wrenches me away from Severus's body. "No! No, please! Please don't make me leave him! NO!"

We Disapparate.

And suddenly I'm lying, naked, on a bed—the bed in the room. Voldemort sits on the mattress beside me, his wand ready in his hand. With a deep breath, I jerk upright and try to slide away from him but can't because of my broken leg—putting that slight bit of pressure on it draws out a scream. My heart beats rapidly, almost painfully, against my chest. My breaths come in short spurts, tears streaming down my face.

"You seem frightened, Charlotte," Voldemort says. "Did you . . . have a bad dream?" He smiles grotesquely at me.

A . . . a dream? It wasn't a dream—it felt so real. I felt the pain of my leg and my broken heart and Severus's warm blood. Severus. I cover my face with my hands and wail. "Tell me they're still alive!" I cry. His red eyes just watch me, and I fall back onto the bed, sobs wracking through me. "Tell me they're alive, goddammit!"

Voldemort remains quiet as he waves his wand at me, preventing me from moving, and that fire poker tears through me again, that knife carving me open. It hurts worse than the visions he made me see, and my screams come out broken, sobs disrupting them. Still, he makes no comment, not even when I begin begging for mercy does he stop. I turn my head to side, dry-heaving. I want to die.

Try as I might to escape him, I cannot move. There is no reprieve from this torture, nowhere to run. Tears streak down my face, and Voldemort seems to relish in my agony, his expression almost hungry as he watches me writhe in pain, his nails clawing up and down my inner thigh

And then finally, it's over. The Dark Lord stands to leave. "Perhaps the next time you visit me, dear one, I won't be forced to torture you again. Bring your father to me, and your next visit will be completely painless."

Blood tickles as it seeps out of me—this is just as bad as it was the first time he did this to me. I slide my hand between my legs and roll onto my side, feeling like I'm digging my hand into an open wound. A pathetic cry escapes me, but Voldemort doesn't make any comment, which leads me to assume that he's left the room. My assumption is proven right when I hear the door open, followed by Bellatrix's voice telling me that it's all right. It's not, of course, but she can believe whatever she wants. I open my eyes when she places a gentle hand on my head. Immediately, I start sobbing again, which only causes the pain in my core to increase significantly, but I can't stop. "I-I thought—I thought you were—you were dead."

Her hand brushes my hair gently. "I'm not, Aurelia. I'm right here. Drink this." She puts a potion to my lips. "It'll help with the pain." As much as I know I shouldn't trust this potion considering what just happened because of another, I can't stop myself from accepting it because it might offer a break from the knife. I breathe a sigh of relief when the potion begins working its way into my system, tempering the agony.

I take her hand, my face scrunched with the effort to hold back my tears. "I saw you dead."

"Hush," she coos. "I'm alive and well." Then she takes my hand in hers. "This might hurt." I nod to let her know that I'm prepared, then she Disapparates, and I screech the entire time until I come to a stop on her bed and vomit. She Vanishes it and wraps me up in her arms. "I know, I know." She runs her hands through my hair. "You're fine."

"He tortured me," I whisper. She kisses the top of my head. "You should have warned me. I could've—I could've—"

"You would have braced yourself, and he would have known I'd told you. I fear he would have hurt you worse."

I press my hand into my belly, whimpering, seriously doubting he could have done anything worse to me than what he already did—forcing me to find McGonagall and Narcissa Bellatrix and Severus dead before ever even implementing the Dark Magic against me. "What did he give me?" I ask quietly, trying to breathe through the stabbing, burning sensations within me. "What did he give me that showed me those visions?"

"I'm not sure, my love." I close my eyes and hold her tightly, trying to block it all out.

"Can you call Aunt Cissy in here?" I whisper. I lose consciousness before she can even reply.

Gentle shaking wakes me up some time later. "You need to get up." I just pull her closer, a silent plea for her not to make me move right now. "Snape will be here any minute to take you back to the castle."

"Can . . . can you Apparate us to the drawing room? He . . . broke my leg."

She strokes my head. "Yes, of course." But instead of doing that, she pries my arms away from her despite my reluctant whining and crawls off the bed.

"Charlotte—" I turn suddenly, letting out a groan, and throw my arms around Narcissa, who sits beside me on the bed. She holds me tightly. "I'm here."

"You're alive," I breathe, tightening my hold on her.

"I'm here," she repeats, then kisses my forehead.

Narcissa helps me into a sitting position, my face scrunching in pain, and she and Bellatrix work carefully to put my Hogwarts robes on me with as little assistance from me as possible. Narcissa secures the robe shut and gently strokes my cheek.

"I love you, Aunt Cissy," I say quietly.

Teary-eyed, she puts her arms around me briefly. "I love you too."

"This will hurt again," Bellatrix says softly. My mother slides one arm around my waist and another under my knees to lift me and carry me. Once I'm secure with my arms around her neck and shoulders, she Apparates to the drawing room, cooing at me again when I whine.

Slowly, she lowers my legs to the floor but allows me to hang onto her to stay upright. "Thank you," I whisper, tightening my hold on her. "I love you, Mum."

Bellatrix rubs my back kindly. "I love you too, Aurelia."

Only a minute or so later, Severus appears in the room, and sobs of relief burst through me before I can stop them. He's alive. "Snape," Bellatrix calls over my shoulder. "Her leg is broken, and I don't mend broken bones. Heal it when you return to the castle or take her to the hospital wing. Help her."

Suddenly his hand is on my waist, and before I can move toward him to brace myself, Bellatrix kisses my forehead, then lets Severus take her position in my arms. "Take this."

I'm assuming she's talking to him because she doesn't try to get me to move away from him. "Bye, Mum," I whisper.

She touches my back once more. Then Severus Disapparates, and again I groan throughout the process. He gingerly sets me down on the bed in his chambers. "It was worse this time?"

I curl onto my side but hold his hand tightly in mine. "Yes." Severus waves his wand at my leg, and I hear the bone snap back into place at the exact moment I yell out from the pain. Then it's over, and I smile gratefully at him. "Thank you. He tortured me because I wouldn't tell him where my father is." He touches my cheek. "He forced terrible nightmares on me, Severus. I saw . . . I saw McGonagall and Narcissa and Bellatrix . . . and you. Merlin, there was so much blood. You were . . . you were lying in your own blood. You were—you were disemboweled—and I—"

"Shhh," he says. "It wasn't real."

"I could feel everything. The pain in my leg—the warmth of your blood, the stillness of your chest. You weren't breathing." I close my eyes, tears slipping out anyway.

"I'm alive. And I plan to stay that way."

I take a shaky breath, trying to convince myself that he's right—that he is alive. But how do I know that this isn't just a dream? Seeing Severus dead in a pool of blood seemed so real—how do I know that it wasn't the real thing and that this is just some pity dream to keep me compliant until I have a baby. I was pregnant in that dream, wasn't I? What if I actually am pregnant and trapped somewhere, under some potion that lets me spend time with Severus again? What if none of this is real?

"Stop," he says.

I open my eyes and look at him. "Stop what?"

"Whatever you're worried about, stop."

"What makes you think—"

"Your nose was scrunched. You're worried. But you needn't worry about me, Charlotte. I'm here, I'm alive, and I'll stay that way."

I nod. I so desperately want to believe him, but how can I believe anything now? If Voldemort can make nightmares seem so real, what's to keep him from giving me pleasant dreams so that I won't try to escape with his unborn child?

"Charlotte."

"Sorry."

He smiles at me, and my heart feels lighter. He's here with me. He's fine.

"Why does it hurt like this again? It hasn't hurt this badly in so long."

"I don't know," he says. "Perhaps the Dark Lord was trying to harm you more?"

I tighten my grip on his hand. "Will . . . will you hold me? Until the pain goes away?"

He pulls his hand out of mine, and I wait patiently, bracing myself for when the mattress dips. Sure enough, pain rushes through me, and I grunt, unable to stop myself. He makes an apologetic noise, then his arm comes around me, his front to my back, and I take his hand in mine. "Did he send any more of that stuff to help with the pain?" I whisper.

"Yes, but you've just taken some, and taking more right now won't help," he says gently, his breath warm on my neck. "You can have some later."

I breathe shakily, knowing I have to trust him. "All right." I pull his arm tighter around myself.

At some point later, I wake up, my insides burning, and Severus immediately has a vial at my lips. I gulp it down quickly, and it starts to eat the pain away. I sigh, almost content. "How did you know I needed that right now?"

"You were making noises in your sleep."

I hold my breath and turn toward him, relishing the fact that it hurts considerably less now than it did earlier. "I don't know how many more times I can go through this."

His fingers slip into my hair and brush it back gently. "You're stronger than you think you are. You can handle this more easily than you think you can." He leans forward and kisses my forehead, and I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest and hoping to go back to sleep soon. The steady pounding of his heart relaxes me—he's alive, right here with me.

The next time I open my eyes, Severus is not there, and my heart clenches painfully. "Severus!" I shout, pushing to an upright position, thankful that I'm only sore now and not in excruciating pain. "Severus!"

His bathroom door flies open. "Charlotte?" He's by the bed in a just a moment. "Charlotte, what's wrong?"

"I thought—I was worried about you when I saw you were—when I saw you were gone."

"I'm fine." He glances back to the bathroom. "I drew you a bath. There's dried blood on you still." I reach out to him, and he helps me off the bed. "How are you feeling?"

I hold onto his arm as we walk toward the bathroom. "Like I spent all day yesterday doing sit-ups, but I suppose that's better than feeling like my insides are just an open wound."

"Progress."

I grin at him. "What did Bellatrix give you when we left?"

"The rest of your clothes." I look at the edge of the tub, debating how I'm supposed to crawl into it without hurting myself. He seems to notice my hesitation. "Do . . . do you need help?"

"Will you judge me if I say yes?"

"Never."

Severus politely looks away from me when I remove the robes, then offers me his arm so I can brace on him while trying to get myself into the bathtub, but I don't like him feeling uncomfortable, so I say, "We've had sex. You can see me naked, I don't care."

"I didn't want you to think—"

"It's fine." He turns more toward me and helps lift me bit until I am safely standing in the water. I gently lower myself into the warm water, a content sigh escaping me when I submerge myself. "What time is it?"

"It's early." He clears his throat. "I'll . . . be right back." He exits the room, leaving the door still open. A few minutes later he returns with another vial. "This should help take away the rest of the pain."

He hands it to me, and I quickly drink it. "Thank you." Sure enough, I feel the last lingering pain and soreness dissipate, and I smile in relief. I want to see Lord Voldemort die. Severus sits down on the edge of the tub and takes the empty vial from me.

"I'm guessing it worked?" he asks, a knowing grin on his lips.

"Yes," I breathe. "Thank you." I reach up and touch his fingers, trailing mine over them. "So, would it be all right if I stayed in here a little longer? And by that, I mean can I stay here tonight? I'll still go to class tomorrow."

"You want to risk having people notice that you're missing?" I frown. No, that's not really what I want, but I simply cannot go back into the castle right now. His eyebrows rise. "I'll go make a quick appearance as you and come back in . . . half an hour? An hour? How long would you like to remain in here?"

"Half an hour's fine." I don't want to be separated from him very long right now.

He reaches forward, but I swat his hand away, then pluck a strand of hair from my head. "It didn't hurt as bad this time, and I was prepared. I think you were wrong before." He doesn't answer as he takes the piece of hair from me and disappears from the room. Though I don't deserve his kindness at all, I so deeply appreciate it.

A thought still lingers in my head once I know he's gone: How can I be sure that any of this is real?

No, I know. I need to provoke Voldemort. If this is a dream, he won't hurt me, because my dream wouldn't allow that—if this is supposed to be a nice and perfect world, that means Voldemort likely will torture me outside of the impregnation attempts. I just need to find the best way to anger him again outside of those meetings.

I've only just begun planning how I could possibly provoke Voldemort when Severus enters the room again and sits down on the edge of the tub, his eyes sympathetic as he looks at the rust-colored water. "I have . . . bad news."

Tears immediately spring into my eyes when I look at him.

"He is growing more impatient." Severus reaches over and takes my hand from the water. "He thinks he should—make it more frequent."

"No," I whine, closing my eyes and turning away from him, my arms and legs beginning to tremble. "I can't."

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "He wants you to begin going back to the manor twice a month, whenever it is most convenient for him."

Severus moves closer to me and lets me rest my head on his leg while I weep.