CHAPTER 27

My friends and I sit in front of the fire, Christopher and Ella laughing at something Daphne said. I missed it, having been distracted by my own thoughts over the coming Easter holidays, but I smile with them and pretend to enjoy the joke as much as they did. None of them seems to realize that I'm not actually here with them, that my thoughts are so far away from them right now. And not just on what Bellatrix might do for the holiday when I see her tomorrow, the joy I might share with my mother—rather, I'm trapped in a constant loop of Is this even real? Voldemort really messed me up with that nightmare he showed me. Did he intend to drive me insane like this? Was that part of his goal—drive Charlotte insane so that she is unrecognizable and her death will therefore cause Bellatrix less pain?

Because what if this is all a dream?

If he can make a nightmare seem so realistic, then surely he can make a dream realistic as well. Who's to say I'm not locked away, wandless, while I grow larger with Voldemort's child in my belly? Who's to say any of this is actually real, is actually happening?

After all, so many good things have happened. I stormed Azkaban and rescued my father. I've spent quite a bit of enjoyable time with Severus lately. The Slytherins were playing Beams, for crying out loud. How is any of that even happening?

It isn't. You know it isn't.

I just have to prove it, but until I see Voldemort again, figuring out a way to do so seems impossible. If this is a dream, Voldemort won't hurt me, will he? Outside of the monthly tortures, of course. So, all I have to do is provoke him and make him hurt me to prove one way or another.

But I won't be going back to the manor for a while yet. Hopefully. It might be "convenient" for him to call me back sooner rather than later. I inhale, trying to beat those thoughts out of my mind but failing. They sit there, festering, growing worse. My heartbeat quickens. And finally, I stand. "I'll be back, I think, a little later."

"You think you'll be back, or you think you'll be back later?" Daphne asks.

"I'm not sure, actually."

They don't stop me from leaving the common room, and I start making my way to McGonagall's office. Curfew is still a little more than an hour away, so this works out pretty great for me. Because it's not real, obviously. Stop it, stop thinking about that. But why else is everything going well if not because it's fake?

I come to a stop at McGonagall's office and knock on the door. I wait patiently for her to call out for me to enter. "Good evening, Professor," I greet her.

"Good evening, Rodgers." I stop in front of the chair I usually sit in, and a thought occurs to me. I drag it as close to her desk as possible, then sit down. "Rodgers?" I bring my legs into the chair underneath me and scoot it as far forward as the chair can go until it hits the front of her desk. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see something, Professor."

"Rodgers—"

"Shh, shh."

Her lips thin, but I don't mind. I place my elbows on the desk and brace my head on my hands. "Rodgers, I will not tolerate—"

"Any disrespect, I know," I say quietly. "But that's not necessarily what I'm doing." You're going to burn some bridges.

"Then what would you call—"

"Burning bridges," I say. She furrows her brow, and I clear my throat, adjusting in my seat, preparing for however this might go, real or false. "Professor, I don't think I can do this anymore, if I'm being honest."

"Can't do what?"

"I can't speak with you anymore. Bellatrix was right—I never should have allowed myself to try to become friendly with you. Honestly, I'm surprised I'm just now seeing it."

"What are you just now seeing?"

I darken my gaze at her, unsure whether I'm even ready to deal with this conversation at all but knowing that waiting until there's a chance to provoke Voldemort will drive me insane. So I need to provoke McGonagall. "Professor, I didn't see it before, but it finally makes sense to me. I let you fill the gap left by Mrs. Stoico, but you've never been as good as she was. You've never meant as much to me as she did. And now my mum and I are finally settling our issues. What I'm saying is—I don't need you anymore." The spike pierces through her mouth and through the back of her skull, her eyes glassy and lifeless.. I shake the thought away.

"And you came into my office to tell me this?" she asks tightly.

"Yes."

She sits back in her chair. "You can leave my office, Rodgers."

I narrow my gaze at her. "After what I've just said, you're just sending me out of your office?"

"What else would you have me do?"

If this were a dream, she would take this kindly, without yelling at me, just like she is now. This isn't real, it can't be or else she would be punishing me for disrespect. A burning anger spreads through my chest. Voldemort has me locked up somewhere, doesn't he? None of this is even real. I slam my hand down on her desk. "Are you fucking kid—"

"De—"

"NO!"

She pauses for a moment, taken aback. Then she rises to her feet, her hands on her desk. "Detention, Rodgers."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Every night for three weeks!" she says, coming around her desk toward me. "Get out of my office. Right now, Rodgers."

I look up at her where she stands beside me, and a smile comes to my face. She'd be angry like this in real life. This might not be a dream. "Professor, is it really you?"

She pauses again, caught off guard by my question. "Excuse me?"

"Professor, I don't know what's real anymore."

"You cannot speak to me as you just did and then expect—"

"What I mean to say is—I've provoked you." Successfully.

"And that was something—"

"I had to see if I could. If this were a dream, I wouldn't have been able to."

McGonagall watches me for a moment before Conjuring a chair and sitting down beside me. "If this were a dream?" she repeats.

My lip trembles. "Professor, I didn't mean any of it," I whisper, tears pricking my eyes. "But I don't know how else—how else to check—because what if-if he's got me locked away and—"

"Tell me what's going on, and I might be able to help you."

I turn my body toward her, keeping my feet in the chair and wrapping one arm around the back of it. She doesn't seem fake right now, nor did her anger a moment ago. In a perfect world, I could act in any manner without anyone growing angry with me, right? And her concern now seems real. Because your subconscious would make her seem that way to prove your own point. "Professor, he did something to me last time I went to the manor," I whisper. "And I don't know—I don't what's real anymore. He—he—" I look away from her and shake my head.

"What did he do?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "He gave me a potion." I wipe my eyes, unable to meet her gaze. "It caused horrible and realistic nightmares." I swallow down the fear and describe to her every detail of my dream, including the bits about her, as well as how realistic it all was—the pain, the warmth of Severus's blood. She watches, transfixed and evidently disturbed with some of the descriptions, but she remains quiet, allowing me to unburden myself of the experience. "And it occurred to me—what if—what if this isn't real either? What if—what if Vol—the Dark Lord—has me locked away somewhere, giving me a potion like that so I dream of a relatively happy life here at Hogwarts? What if I'm pregnant somewhere, and I'm being allowed to dream all of this so that I do not run away?"

"Rodgers—"

"Too many good things have happened. It doesn't make sense. I rescued by father from Azkaban; Christopher forgave me; I've been relatively happy with—" I clear my throat. "My friends are incredibly understanding; the Slytherins played a game together the other day, a game made up by children; Pansy and I have somewhat buried the hatchet. None of this makes any sense. My mum decided that she wants to help me. She doesn't want me to die. She—she wants to save me."

She frowns at me. "Charlotte, how long have you been afraid of this?"

"Since my last visit to the manor, but I'm afraid now that I've been in a dream for far longer since then. Probably since after the memory fiasco after Azkaban." I drop my voice to a whisper, "He's proven he can control my reality. How can I trust anything?"

"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"

I shake my head and cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hide my trembling lips. "I can't—I can't tell anyone. I thought—I thought about speaking with—with Severus, but I can't tell him that. He's—he's done so much for me, and to bring this to him as well would be too much."

McGonagall watches me, her eyes curious, and I realize that I've accidentally called Severus by his name to her face more than once in this conversation. Perhaps now she's piecing together all of the little clues that I've inadvertently dropped since the beginning of the year, all the little clues about how Severus actually isn't working for the Dark Lord. "What do you already take to him?" she asks.

I sigh. "I tried—I tried so hard to hate him, I did. On Dumbledore's behalf, but I couldn't. He's been so kind to me. He's one of the few Death Eaters who doesn't want me to die and is honestly one of the few who never hurt me. He's still sympathetic toward me because of our Occlumency lessons." Her lips become thin, and unwanted I see the way her mouth was torn to accommodate the spike. "He lets me hide in his office while I recover after my visits to the manor. He makes sure I'm not in pain. I tried so hard to hate him, but I can't. And I can't bring this to him because he already helps me so much. And what would happen if he told the Dark Lord? What would happen if the Dark Lord knew that I was questioning reality? That's not good, Professor, even in the Wizarding World. Because if this isn't a dream—well, I doubt he'd appreciate that his broodmare is losing her mind."

"You're not dreaming, Rodgers. This is all very real, unfortunately. You are going through a terrible duty, and you do suffer for it once a month—"

"It'll be twice a month now when it's convenient for him," I whisper, unable to look at her. "He decided it last time. Snape told me."

She exhales but doesn't try to get me to look at her again. "This is all real, Rodgers." I want to believe her, I really want to believe her, but if this were a dream, wouldn't she say the same thing? Wouldn't my subconscious want to reaffirm that this is all real, just to keep me placated? I reach forward, still not looking at her, and take her hand. When she doesn't pull away from me, I tighten my hold on her. McGonagall pats my hand kindly, almost awkwardly. "If this was a dream, would you suffer?"

"If it had to seem real, probably. If it had to seem real, I'd have to go back to the manor."

"But would you have to go back twice a month rather than just once?"

I shrug.

She clears her throat, and I pull my hand away from her and brush the hair out of my face. "What—what's happened that is both unusual and has caused you pain?"

"When the Dark Lord called me back to the manor to—to punish me for—for helping my father. Lucius held me back while Mum—Bellatrix—Cruciated Snape. And then—well, Bellatrix took me away so the Dark Lord could punish him further. Bellatrix attacked me when I tried saving him. I found—I found him in—a pool of his own blood." I take a shaky breath and close my eyes, trying to rid my mind of the image of him lying there so helplessly.

"You didn't seem too upset about this the last time you spoke of this."

"He's so nice to me, Professor," I say, looking up at her. "And he was tortured because of me. Of course that—I hated it."

"Would a dream have hurt him that badly?" she asks. "Would you have dreamt of something like that?"

I tighten my hold on the back of the chair, then lean over and rest my head on it, pulling my gaze from hers. "I don't know," I whisper.

"How many times has he subjected you to the nightmares?"

"Only the once. He—he wants to torture me. Every time I go back to the manor while my father roams free will end in my torture. Apparently, it lingers."

"I can assure you that this is all happening."

She can't be sure of that, of course. I take a shaky breath and force myself to meet her eyes again. "I'm sorry, Professor. For everything. The way I treated you. Both just now and last term. It was wrong of me." She gives me a short nod, and I take that as a sort of forgiveness. "I do regret it, you know. You didn't deserve that." I clear my throat. "You were included in my nightmare because you mean a great deal to me. I hope you know that, even when I treat you poorly." I push the chair back from her desk and stand to my feet, no longer wanting to confront my fears with her. "Can you promise me that this is not a dream?"

"Yes."

I'm still not certain about this, all things considered, but I feel slightly better about it now that I've spoken this aloud rather than continuing to keep it to myself. "Thank you for your time."

McGonagall does not stop me from leaving her office, and instead of returning to the Slytherin Dungeon, I make my way to the gargoyle statue and head up to Severus's office. I don't knock. Instead, I Conjure a small piece of parchment as well as a quill and a bottle of ink. I scribble a quick note to the headmaster and send it under his door. Then I go to the second-floor girls' bathroom and wait, watching my pocket watch closely, counting down the time I wrote on the note. When at long last it arrives, I attempt to Apparate to Severus's chambers.

He lowered the wards as I requested, and I find myself standing in his private quarters. I sit down on the foot of his bed, falling backward and folding my hands over my stomach. Then I kick off my shoes. I'm surprised that Severus is still working this late.

No, I'm not. He works all the time, I know this. He's so very busy.

I'm unsure how long I lie like that, but it feels like an absurdly long time before the sound of his office door opening breaks the silence. Still, I don't bother sitting up, and he doesn't try to coax me into sitting up and talking. Instead, he sits down beside me and lies back on the mattress with me. "What kept you so busy this late into the night?" I ask.

He just huffs.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yes." I reach over and take his hand. "Did something happen, Charlotte? Are you all right? I told you to go get some rest."

I turn my head toward him. "I think I'm fine. I just—" Wanted to see if any of this was real, wanted to see if I could control this dream and let myself stop time for just a bit so that I can spend a short forever with him. "I'm leaving for the Easter holiday tomorrow, as I'm sure you're aware."

"With your mother, yes, I know. Which is why I sent you back to the dungeon last night."

"I know. I just . . ." I don't want to tell him about my fears. "I just wanted to see you before I leave. You know, remind myself why I can't let Bellatrix weasel her way into my heart too much. Besides, I got plenty of rest last night."

He turns his head toward me, a smug look on his face. "Is that so?"

"I'm going to be gone for a week, you realize." I move closer to him and press our lips together. "I think I might miss you."

Severus cups my cheek and brings my mouth back to his. "It's only a week."

"You say that like it's not much time at all."

I hear his shoes hit the floor, and a smile comes to my face. "Because it's only a few days," he says. His hand trails down to my hip, and he pulls me against him. "Can you not survive a few days?"

"I can, of course," I say, running my hand through his hair. "But why would I want to do that without a proper goodbye?" He grins at me, and I slide away from him and up toward the headboard. I pat the spot beside me. "Only if you want to, that is."

He moves up toward me and takes my lips in his. I wish I could spend more time with him. I wish I wasn't trapped in the castle as a student. But if you weren't trapped here as a student, you would never get to see him at all. I hook one leg around his hip and pull him closer. And I'm not sure I could handle never seeing him again. "What's wrong?" he asks, propping himself up with his hands on either side of me.

"Nothing's—"

"Your nose is scrunched."

"I had a bad thought, but it's gone now."

"Charlotte."

I exhale and glance away from him for a moment. "I'm afraid of losing you."

He lowers himself down beside me and wraps his arms around me, gathering me close to him. "You're not going to lose me."

I hide my face in the crook of his neck, unwilling to let him see the sorrowful look on my face. "How do you know?" I whisper. "The Dark Lord tortured you because of me, and then tortured you some more because I care about you. If he finds out—if he finds out that we've been—he'll kill you."

He pulls just far enough away to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "He won't find out." He places a soft kiss to my forehead. "But if you would feel safer if we stopped, we can."

A laugh escapes me. "Don't be ridiculous." He grins at me as I reach toward the buttons on his robes and start trying to undo them. "That's not what I want. I just want you to be safe. I've lost so many people in my life already, and the thought of losing you too is unbearable."

"You won't. I promise."

"I hate these buttons."

Severus laughs and kisses me again, his lips soft and welcome and taking away the worry in my heart. "You'll figure them out eventually."

"Or you can just change your robes. Make them easier for me to get you out of," I say, finally getting the first few free. "Why do you have so many? It's so unnecessary."

"Would you like me to do it myself?"

"No, if anyone's going to undress you, it's going to be me." His lips find my neck, and all of my focus goes toward solely on enjoying his warm, wet kisses. He laughs quietly, and I realize that I've stopped trying to undo the buttons. With a small huff I push him away slightly. "You can't distract me like that, Severus."

"My sincerest apologies," he says, most insincerely.

"Oh, shut up." I give him a small push to force him onto his back, then sling my leg over his hip and crawl on top of him, my fingers working at his buttons while he trails his hands along my thighs and hips. Desire begins pooling in my core. Six buttons undone, I lean forward and begin pressing kisses to his chest as his hands dig into my hair.

"You could just ask for help," he says slyly.

"Ugh, fine," I concede. "But only because this will take me forever and you want me to get some rest tonight."

I sit back and remove my own robes while he shimmies out of his with such ease I find myself growing annoyed with him. He spies the expression on my face and laughs. "I've had years of practice," he says. Then he pulls me down onto him and turns us onto our sides, his hand hooking my leg around his hip, his fingers trailing over my skin as he grinds against me, his underpants the only barrier between us now.

Severus sucks at my neck as his hand slides between us to find that bundle of nerves between my thighs and begin swirling around it, his lips turning to a grin against my neck at my slight moan. My skin grows hot, and I pull his mouth to mine, dipping my tongue into his mouth and sighing at the warmth. He nips at my lip and pushes me onto my back, the heel of his hand pressing against that nub of sensitive flesh, and my eyes close of their own accord, the need to feel him inside of me becoming almost unbearable.

I reach down and push his underpants over his hips, grabbing him and giving him one long stroke as he springs free from the clothing. Then I adjust my hips and guide him to where I need him. Severus's eyes meet mine as he slowly pushes into me. Words fail me, and I smile up at him as he begins moving in and out of me exquisitely.

When I wake up the next morning, I roll over to turn toward Severus, who is still soundly asleep. A little bit of light filters around the curtain covering the window, just enough light to tell me that it's the morning without giving me any hint as to what time it is. Severus cracks his eye open—so I guess he wasn't asleep after all. "Good morning," I say to him.

He closes his eyes again. "Good morning."

I reach over and rest my hand on his chest. "I have to leave today," I grumble.

He covers my hand with his. "Not right now. It's too early."

"Can I eat breakfast in here? I'll go pack my things after."

He rolls onto his side to face me. "That's fine."

Good, because any extra time I get to spend with him, the better. Besides, now that I've begun to fall prey to my mother again, it's probably beneficial to let him influence me just a little more before I spend a week with her. I pull myself closer to him, close enough to share his pillow with him, then kiss his chest. "But we can rest just a few more minutes, yeah?" I bring my face level with his and close my eyes.

He puts his arm around me, his fingers gently running up and down my back. "A few more minutes."

I open my eyes again and watch him rest. He's so peaceful that it almost makes my heart ache. My hand moves to his cheek almost of its own volition, but he doesn't open his eyes. "Severus, is this real?" I ask quietly.

"What?"

When I remain silent, his eyelids open very slowly. Though I'm tempted to look away from his obsidian eyes and the deep concern in them, I can't. He's one of the only people I've ever met with black eyes. I've seen tons of people with blue eyes and some with brown eyes, but I feel that those are normal colors. Severus's black eyes leave me speechless. They draw me in, and I feel as if I can see every bit of the pain he has ever suffered. Can he see the pain in mine?

"Charlotte?"

"Never mind, sorry. I'm just—being silly. Let's go back to resting."

"Charlotte—"

"I'm fine, I promise."

"Your nose is scrunched."

"Severus, it's nothing, I promise."

"Don't lie to me."

I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "All right. Since the nightmare he made me see . . . I don't know if I trust what's real."

A smile spreads across his face; then he kisses my forehead. "Oh, Charlotte, you're worried over nothing," he says. "Are you happy right now, for the most part, in this moment?"

"Yes. Very much, in fact."

"If the Dark Lord had you living a lie, would he allow you to be happy? To sleep with me? Or would he ensure that you're living the kind of life he thinks you're living? If he were in control of your reality, none of this would be happening. Do you think it's a coincidence that your nightmare included only the deaths of McGonagall, Narcissa, Bellatrix, and me?"

Tears prick my eyes. "But what if he's not controlling it? What if this is just the life that I want myself to have, and I'm controlling it?"

"Charlotte, no," he says. "The Dark Lord controlled your nightmare. He would control your dream as well. This is real."

"Maybe."

But I can't really be sure of that.

"Don't make that face. This is real."

"Can you prove it, Severus?"

"The Dark Lord would never let you be happy, Charlotte, in a dream or in reality. He wouldn't let you live happily right now. He would want complete control over your false dreams. He would want you suffering all the time. Are you suffering right now?"

"No."

"Then rest assured that this is real."

I want so badly to believe him.